"’Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and somewhere in the house, Lyle was searching the Internet, double-clicking his mouse. With work in the morning he decided to call it a night, but then thought to himself, ‘Fuck it, I’ll write!’" So that’s how I ended up doing this really awesome list of things I love about Christmas. (Side note: Anyone else see the word "Xmas" and think it could be the name of a really overweight and dyslexic X-Men character?)
Traditionally, Xmas has always been about love, family, sharing, going to church, and opening gifts that have nothing to do with the birth of Jesus (which by the way, has been discovered to not have been on the 25th of December 0). But then things changed and Christmas became a time of hangovers, drinking to remove hangovers, and eating so much good meat that it leaves you in a vegetative coma. See what I did there? Meat? Vegetative state? I can hear a Rick Flair coming on! Whoooooo! Now on to the list! And Santa’s evil ways…
Bow down! Bow down! Bow down to the power of Santa! Or be crushed! Be crushed! By… his jolly boots of doom!Now you might be saying, "What the fuck? This doesn’t seem to be something to love about Xmas…. But I’m intrigued by Lyle’s mysterious ways and must continue reading!" And to that I say shut up and let me tell you exactly what’s going on. This is not a list of 101 things I love about Xmas—that list would start and end with boobs. This is a list of 10 things I hate about Xmas. See? I lied to you too! We’ve all been lied to before during these Pagan/Christian festivities. Like once when I was 12 my father told me he got me a PlayStation 3009 that he procured from a secret mission to the future with Bob Hope. Instead I got a super absorbent pillow case that year, probably to soak up the tears as I cried myself to sleep.
The food served on the 25th is designed as a weapon to kill or leave you in a coma. Either way, your crazy necrophilic pedophilic uncle is trying to get laid. This food is super delicious, especially in my family where we usually cook ducturlambken. That is a duck stuffed in a turkey stuffed in a lamb stuffed in a chicken, marinated in the tears of juvenile vegetarians and cooked over a spit braai fuelled by crude oil and cholesterol. This will knock your ass out.
This is based solely on the year when I nearly engaged in my first threesome with some twins. The one I got with was very hot, and we recognized each other’s mating potential, when all of a sudden she says her twin sister wanna join in. Well spank my ass and call me Rudolf, BRING HER IN. My actual words. But then disaster struck as I realized they were very much non-identical, as the tragedy walked her crooked-tooth cock-eyed self in. I escaped by taking a never-ending beer run.
What the hell happened to giving me presents, huh? Where is my goddamn Optimus Prime with the kung fu grip? Jayden got an Optimus Prime with the kung fu grip and he hasn’t even seen Transformers and later fantasized about Megan Fox! There’s beer in the fridge? Fuck you and your Transformer, little kid, it’ll be broken in half an hour anyway!
Well not exactly, but you have to hate the scathing looks thrown your way by the local priest or bishop or nun when you’ve just finished drinking a case of beer with your cousins and the carol burping contest has begun. That priest is just jealous his pants aren’t on his head, because he wears a dress.
Man, there’s a reason I don’t talk to some of you guys during the year: because you’re either an annoying retard or a hillbilly. Why do these people always start stalking me at Xmas parties? It’s as if my awesomeness has a gravitational pull that attracts that third cousin twice removed (what the fuck does that mean by the way?), Billy from Godknowswhereville.
This might sound weird because South Africans don’t generally use mistletoe, probably because catching a mistle is hard enough without having to wrestle it to the ground and try to amputate a digit from its foot. My grandparents always find some clandestine way to acquire mistletoe and hang this shit up everywhere. Erm, Grandma, I don’t wanna kiss these random girls under mistletoe anymore. I wanna kiss them under cameltoe these days. Sigh, I’ll explain once you’re old enough to understand.
8. Broken Toys
Ha! I told you, asshole! I knew the Optimus Prime with the kung fu grip was doomed! You know what’s not broken? My beer, motherfucker!
I hate cleaning in general. But now on this wretched day there are piles of dishes and wrapping paper and those stupid little cracker/tampon things to get rid of. And everything has to be done so neatly and efficiently as if we were in some Taiwanese sweatshop. Nobody ever lets me pour dishwashing liquid on everything and stroll through the house with a fire hose.
Just the sudden realization that in 12 short months you will be plagued with all this garbage once again.
BONUS POINT: BOOOOOOBS!!
This is the only thing I love about Xmas. The Internet is crowded with pictures of my favorite anime chicks in sexy Xmas suits. And remember, a pair of boobs isn’t just for Xmas, it’s for life.