To most people, a holiday is a joyous occasion where family and friends get together and forget about how Uncle Joe is addicted to heroin (and steals from everyone in the family to support his pathetic addiction), or that your twin brother is still pussy prodding your wife. Yes, holidays are supposed to be wondrous occasions to celebrate, but a well-known few come to mind that should be abolished and permanently etched off calendars worldwide.

1. Christmas

The first syllable in Christmas defines the holiday perfectly, because every time December 25th hits, all I can say is “CHRIST, AGAIN?!” This is the only holiday I can think of where it is mandatory to spend your entire life savings on garish gifts that are just going to spend an entire life sentence locked away in a basement or a closet. I use to be a mindless minion to the spirit of Christmas, waking up early and driving to visit my family just so I could get three shirts and a pack of socks. Of course, waking up that early for me is like trying to rouse a corpse for a brunch party, because I usually start my day at 11pm. If I want to get shitty clothing once a year at 6am, I can just go to the Dollar Store every Christmas morning and spend $5 on what will be purchased for me anyway.

If anyone can logically explain why it's necessary to spend 10 hours outside of a Walmart during winter in a fucking tent before Black Friday, I will eat my cat alive. Nowadays, I just celebrate Christmas through the mail, meaning my friends and relatives mail me my presents. If it's anything that I don't desire, I just soak all my gifts in kerosene, and set them ablaze with a blowtorch for heat in case I forget to pay the heating bill that month.

“But Michael, how can you be such a Scrooge? Christmas is the time of year to remember Jesus Christ's birthday and spend joyous time with our loved ones.”

Good thing you brought that to my attention, enigmatic italic text, otherwise I would have already been finished owning Christmas. First off, if you can point out to me in the Bible where it specifically says “Jesus Christ was born on December 25th,” then I will personally create my own transsexual/bestiality website. Here's a brief explanation (feel free to research further):

Was Jesus born on December 25? There is no evidence for this date. So then, who decided that Jesus' birth would be celebrated on that date? The early Christian church did not celebrate Jesus' birth. It wasn't until A.D. 440 that the church officially proclaimed December 25 as the birth of Christ. This was not based on any religious evidence but on a pagan feast. Saturnalia was a tradition inherited by the Roman pagans from an earlier Babylonian priesthood. December 25 was used as a celebration of the birthday of the sun god. It was observed near the winter solstice.

The apostles in the Bible predicted that some Christians would adopt pagan beliefs to enable them to make their religion more palatable to the pagans around them. Therefore, some scholars think the church chose the date of this pagan celebration to interest them in Christianity. The pagans were already used to celebrating on this date.

The Bible itself tells us that December 25 is an unlikely date for His birth. Palestine is very cold in December. It was much too cold to ask everyone to travel to the city of their fathers to register for taxes. Also the shepherds were in the fields (Luke 2:8-12). Shepherds were not in the fields in the winter time. They are in the fields early in March until early October. This would place Jesus' birth in the spring or early fall. It is also known that Jesus lived for 33.5 years and died at the feast of the Passover, which is at Easter time. He must therefore have been born six months the other side of Easter – making the date around the September/October time frames.

Bad scruffy Santa with a crying kid on his lap
“Sorry kid, gettin rid of this boner is the one wish Santa can't grant.”
That's right, Christmas, the precious holiday where Walmart cash registers gorge on $100 bills, has pagan origins. You fuck stains are being conned into celebrating a holiday that's falsely believed to be the birthday of Jesus Christ. Even worse, Jesus has steaming ears every year you celebrate Christmas, because you're breaking the Second Commandment by worshipping a false idol, AKA Santa Claus. Oh sure, Chris Kringle is a jolly morbidly obese man garbed in scarlet who delivers presents to 1,500,000,000 houses in one night, without somehow breaking the reindeer sleigh with his elephantine ass and his 6.7 trillion presents piled sky high. Yes, you see a grinning fat man who children love and adore, but what you don't see is the real Santa Claus—the one who, centuries ago, was nothing more than a man who proclaimed himself to be a God, murdered babies, killed his own father, and impregnated his own mother (see this blurb for explanation).

I can imagine Jesus is rolling in his grave, because we allow a holiday to be set up in his name, only for him to be completely overshadowed by a fat man who ejaculates inside his own mother. Congratulations, fuck stains (Christians especially, because they should know better), Satan has his biggest orgasm once a year on December 25th because of how you've made Jesus grind his teeth at this idolatrous holiday. Happy Hell-adays from Satan Claus, fucking nimrods.

2. New Year's

Once a year, to display my insurmountable hatred for New Year's (and the millions of single brain-celled dullards who celebrate it), I will fly out to New York on a jet pack and seize that hideous Times Square Ball before midnight. I will then toss that wannabe disco ball into the planet Mercury, and unveil the new Times Square Celebration for New Year's. This consists of me hovering around on my jet pack, unleashing the contents of my bladder on the millions at Times Square celebrating the New Year. Why not? It is symbolic in a way, since each and every New Year you get pissed on by life anyway.

Man at New Year's party in yellow wine glasses
You'll all be seeing yellow after my New Year's Bladderbration, as felt from the mysterious toilet in the sky.
What is there to hate about New Year's? The fact that millions of fuck stains get completely obliterated by alcoholic beverages and stumble around aimlessly like a pack of vertigo patients who just got off a merry-go-round. This somehow fills them up with a false sense of happiness, which causes the millions in the mindless New Year mob to shout “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” louder than a banshee with a megaphone at midnight every January 1st.

Newsflash: The previous 365 suicide-contemplating days will not be any different than the next 365 suicide-contemplating days. You can shout “Happy New Year” all you want, but it won't change the fact that your wife won't stop accepting sperm deposits from other men, or the fact that you'll never have that six-figure salary again, and that you'll be on welfare and food stamps for a long time once your 99 weeks of unemployment insurance run out. Might as well let your uvula happily embrace that hand gun lead now, because this year, your life will not magically change. Instead, your life will continue to be a bigger shit hole than Paul Bunyan's toilet after a plumbing failure.

3. Black Friday (technically not a holiday)

Another mob mentality-based day like New Year's, but 80 points lower on the IQ scale. If anyone can logically explain why it's necessary to spend 10 hours outside of a Walmart during winter in a fucking tent, I will eat my cat alive. Go ahead, nearly sacrifice your lives by sitting outside in Arctic weather for 10 hours or nearly getting trampled to death for the advertised $99 laptop and the $50 PlayStation 3. You foolishly think they have trillions of them in stock, but what you don't realize is that they've set just one row of your delightfully deal-breaking item on the front of the shelf—behind that you'll find boxes of Crock-Pots and twin bed sheets.

Once you realize your asshole has been rendered a gaping chasm by the phallus of deceptive advertising, you will be forced to stuff your shopping cart with impressively less-on-sale items. Black Friday should be in fact called “Black Fraud-Day.” Anyone who is trampled and left an unrecognizable pile of flattened shoe-imprinted flesh, or suffered a shopping cart collision-induced miscarriage on Black Friday deserved it. If you have a mind of your own like me, you will safely surf on Amazon and eBay for discounted items. But if you'd rather have your body parts scattered into 20 different aisles, then go ahead…one less fuck stain in the world.

4. Valentine's Day

To most people, V-Day is a holiday that falls on February 14th in which couples celebrate their love and affection for one another. To me, V-Day is a holiday in which your girlfriend will blow your brains out—instead of your penis—if you do not buy her a heart-shaped box of chocolates, jewelry, a Hallmark card (that will probably be thrown out within four days), and a gaudily-colored stuffed bear. Come on, you greedy materialistic gluttons, men already waste half their paychecks every week purchasing you superfluous shit to reassure you that their love is authentic. Nonetheless, if you refuse to buy your wife/girlfriend anything on Valentine's Day, they'll act like a breakup/divorce is imminent. If any woman is like that with me on Valentine's Day, then hand me your house key, walk out my door, and forever be banished to the Land of Boyfriend-Less Bitches.


On the other end of the spectrum, here are a couple of holidays that aren't so bad…


Thanksgiving, a holiday that, so far, has a flawless track record of awesomeness for me. Last year, we ate the usual Thanksgiving food, but only finished half the turkey. We had no room in the refrigerator for the rest of the turkey and nothing to wrap it in, so we javelined the rest of the dead bird over the fence into the backyard of the abandoned house next door. The following morning there were a million turkey vultures pecking at the flesh of the rotted turkey, perching on every house and tree in the fucking neighborhood. One gray cat approached the meal, but he was no match for the treacherous turkey vultures and their avaricious hunger.

The year before this, I ate a shit load of food and suffocated my girlfriend's (at the time) asshole with my penis. The only way too top the two previous Thanksgivings this year is if I get to anally rape my current girlfriend's ass while watching a trillion turkey vultures ravage a human corpse in the middle of the road.


I haven't been trick or treating in years, but I'm coming out of Halloween retirement this year, dressed as Doctor Mike Hunt, the gynecologist from the 8th Layer of Hell. I will be garbed in a white doctor's shirt that says “Gynecologist,” which will be doused in fake blood (the most realistic-looking fake blood is chocolate milk mixed with red food coloring). The fake blood will also be smeared all over my mouth, because I'm a certified redwing vagina doctor. It should also be noted that Doctor Mike Hunt performs his daily vagina inspections with a deadly hook, his implement of choice in his previous career as an abortion doctor.

I will not be knocking door to door in my Mike Hunt outfit; instead, I will be maliciously shredding open the candy bags of young children. Any angered parents attempting to throw their fists at me because I made their 6-year-old Petey cry like a rape victim will have their retinas introduced to a splash of actual period blood I will be carrying in a petri dish.