Yeah I realize that shit started weeks ago, shut up. For some reason the Bible-thumpers seem to be bugging my bowels even more than usual this year. I don’t know who smoked a bunch of frankincense and dreamed up the imaginary “War on Christmas,” but this heated, yet one-sided argument (I've yet to see someone get all militant against the use of the C-word. Well, THIS particular C-word, anyway) but here’s my take on the annual December debate: Happy Holidays vs Merry Christmas.
First of all, those of us that acknowledge the little ball we cruise around the sun on is over 6000 years old are also aware that this holiday was celebrated long before baby Jesus ever pooped in a camel-pelt Pamper. But don’t try telling that to the Nazareth Nazis. And don’t worry; it’s safe to call them that as they obviously hate Jewish people.
But regardless of your religious beliefs or lack thereof, isn't it nice to hear people say “Happy Holidays!” or “Merry Christmas!” as opposed to the “Fuck you, Shitface!” that you’re accustomed to the other 11 months of the year? I mean, pretty much all versions of the December holidays boil down to spreading joy, goodwill to all, and clogging the crapper at your grandparents’ house after you shovel massive amounts of your weird uncle’s Festivus chili into your facehole.
For once I’m going to get to my point quickly: I’m not a Christian. I say “Merry Christmas.” But mainly so no uppity asswad jumps down my throat about the whole keeping-whoever in- whatever thing. That shit’s annoying.
So I’ll wrap this up (a non-poop related pun!), as I still have 4000 cookies to bake and 800 presents to shove in a bag with a piece of wadded up tissue paper… after all, ‘Tis the Season! That is, the season to be a frazzled, familied-out fucktard for weeks on end. All I really wanted to get out here was that regardless of what or if you celebrate, you should definitely buy the brand spanking new short story collection Crappy Shorts: Deuces Wild. It was released this week and features a fecally fabulous short story by yours pooply—the master of shitty segues.
The editor of the collection refers to me as a “prolific if not infamous blogger,” which proves two things: #1) He doesn’t follow this blog, and #2) Hahaha I said number two. My contribution is pretty much Turd Mountain: The Fiction Edition. But fear not, there are also seven other stories written by REAL writers, so you’ll get your $1.99 worth somehow. But probably not to prop up your lopsided table, because it’s an e-book. Unless you want to use your laptop, smartphone, or Kindle for that, but then it doesn’t seem like such a good value. But, I digress.
Anyway, there’s my sales pitch. And with five shopping days left ‘til you-know-what, there’s only one thing left to say: Fuck you, shitfaces.
Merry Christmas. And shit.