Christmas time. It comes every year, and it really is the best time of the year. I love the merriment, the new cold (not like that February cold, where it’s been cold for so long that you’re ready to wear shorts as soon as it’s in the 50’s and would murder multiple people if the ground would just thaw), and crooning music being played on Top 40 Stations.

I’m no Grinch (see what I did there? Took a classic villain of Christmas and made him me? I’m too much!), but not all is well with the Christmas season. Not all is well.

  • Christmas Letters That Come With Cards: (/rubs temples, /rubs face with hand) ALRIGHT, it’s not that I don’t care about you, your family, or what’s been going on in your life in the past year. It’s just that I don’t care about you, your family, or what’s been going on in your life in the past year. If I DID care about any of that stuff, I’d already know about it. In fact, if I don’t know about something around when it happens (“Oh man, did you hear about the Mollen Family? Can’t believe there was a live grenade buried under their house like forty years ago! Talk about bad luck, huh?”), I probably don’t need to hear about it until I run into you at the grocery store, homecoming, or better yet, never. Oh, you ran a half marathon? ORIGINAL. New job? Fantastic, give me money. Just got married? I KNOW, I HAD TO SIT THROUGH YOUR BORING, ALCOHOL-LESS WEDDING. DON’T REMIND ME.

    Keep it to cards featuring sweaters and a dog or something. At least that’s like a trading card I can put up to show how many people like me. The answer: two.

  • Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire: Have you ever SMELLED  a chestnut roasting on any fire, open or otherwise? It smells like one of those Fancy Feast, long-haired cats got thrown into a garbage fire. Not for me, friend.
  • John Lennon’s “So This Is Christmas”: I don’t mind most Christmas songs, stupid suggestions of burning foul-smelling nuts aside. But there are some I loathe. And there is one song in particular that seems to hunt me down every time I turn on any music device: Lennon’s “So This Is Christmas.” What an AWFUL, TERRIBLE, BARFTASTIC song. I can’t ever seem to change the channel fast enough. One time I changed the channel, and it was on another station too, causing me to drive right into a bridge embankment. I hear it every, haunting morning as my alarm clock, and I don’t even have a clock radio alarm, it’s just my cell phone. It’s a song so gut-wrenching that despite their contributions to music and pop culture and whatever, I wish the Beatles hadn’t even existed in the first place.

    That. Song. Sucks.

  • Lifetime Movies About Finding The True Meaning of Christmas: I’m sorry but there are only a few different meanings of Christmas. Jesus being born, Cherishing Family and stuff, being Thankful (BECAUSE YOU MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT SINCE YOU LAST GORGED YOURSELF LAST MONTH), and enjoying peace in a world that doesn’t often encourage it. All of these Christmas movies about Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jenny McCarthy, or anyone else who has a name starting with J-E-N, struggling through the first 11 months of the year only to end up “finding the true spirit of Christmas…and a little bit about themselves” shouldn’t be revolving around Christmas at all. They should be revolving around…okay, they shouldn’t be movies at all, but if you’ve GOT to make movies, Lifetime, SPARE THE HOLIDAY SEASON.

    Now, Fred Claus? Elf? The Santa Clause (although, not 2 or 3)? Fine holiday films. I don’t need to hear how Tammy is going to get out of the sticky situation of a couple of failed marriages whaling on her emotions around Christmas. Send me a Christmas letter that I can feed to my dog instead.

    By the way, that’s a true story. Came home yesterday to Newman the Invincible having  DESTROYED such a letter. Proves two things: One, my dog > all other dogs, due to the fact he can read, and two, EVEN DOGS HATE THOSE STUPID LETTERS.

Other than that, guys, have a Happy Holiday season. Wait, Hanukkah’s over, right? Okay, Merry Christmas and Happy Festivus.

Published by Zack Stovall

Writer living in New York, NY.

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