Ho, Ho, H-ah Forget It

Jan 10th, 2011 | By | Category: Columns

Another Christmas has come and gone, and, much like everyone in my life who I thought loved me, has left me, leaving me an even more bitter and cynical man than I was the year before.

There are certain things I’ll just never understand about the whole Christmas phenomenon; I get the history of it, so no need writing angry letters condemning me for not recognizing the birth of a pretty righteous dude. No, it’s the whole shopping thing. Why is it that retailers feel the need to shove shoddily crafted Christmas themed merchandise down our throats just because it’s a holiday? I mean a Santa Claus wine stopper, really? Guess that explains why the jolly fat man’s cheeks are so rosy. (Also, all those mall Santas whom I thought were mere drunks, were simply fulfilling their role as accurately as possible right down to the vomit soaked beard and breath smelling of whiskey and cheap cigarettes.)

It’s as if companies all got together and said, “We need ways to milk the masses for their hard earned money, but we can’t release big ticket items, that’d only attract a small percentage. There has to be a way where we can nickel and dime the entire population…”

Then, in the back of that room, a light shown through the window, and completely encapsulated one representative. He slowly rises, as all heads turn toward this man, and, after a hush has settled over the room, he simply says “Snowman salt and pepper shakers.” Cries of “BRILLANT!” echoed throughout the room, as they probe him for even more and more ideas, with items ranging from Igloo shaped dog dishes, to umbrellas designed to look like Christmas trees.

Now, I’m sure some you are saying to yourself “A snowman salt and pepper shake would look very cute in the middle of the dining table.” and for that, you have my deepest condolences as you have the IQ of a wet envelope. Actually, studies have been done on this unnatural phenomenon, and what they’ve discovered is that when a brain leaves one’s head, the subject tends to make a very distinctive “Awwww” sound. They’ve discovered this response tends to occur around items that are nowhere near cute, as well as things that serves no purpose outside of just sitting there. I’ve yet to have someone justify owning a Santa toilet paper dispenser without using the word “Christmas.” Hell, even if it weren’t Christmas, the only time you would buy a toilet paper dispenser is if you managed to break yours after pretending it was a switchblade, while looking in the mirror doing your best “Taxi Driver” impression.

So, you continue to place these useless trinkets in every room of your house, isolating yourself from your loved ones, as they really can’t see a reason as to why they should feel anything for you outside of complete disgust, and utter disdain. By the end of the holiday, no less than two of them will develop a serious drinking problem as a result of Santa’s Sleigh, trimmed with bright, LED lights that’s rigged to fly around their room at all hours of the night.

This crappy shopping habit isn’t just relegated to general house decoration, it spills over into giving to others. Now now, I know ’tis better to give than receive, and the simple act of thinking someone during the holiday should be more than enough, that’s all fine and dandy… but I live in the real world. In the real world, if you give someone a reindeer mug, if they don’t choke and die on their own rage right there and manage to make it home, their exact statement will be “I don’t know why he gave me this piece of s***…” as they throw it into the darkest, most obscure corner in their home. Now, you may think that you were sharing your love of the holiday with someone you consider a friend, but the next time to see that person, they will treat you just differently enough for you to notice.

However, at the moment the gifts were exchanged, you were completely oblivious to their disappointment in your very existence, and continued dolling out your dancing polar bear statues, that shake what their mama gave them to Run DMC’s “Christmas in Hollis” which has been sped up to sound like the Chipmunks. Everyone who receives one loses a little bit of happiness, and a fraction of that part of them that loves Christmas. All of those wonderful Christmas memories that they had as a child: opening presents while their parents were looking on lovingly, that happy-anxious feeling as you open each gift (to find something you really wanted), Grandma making home-made cinnamon rolls–each of these memories are taken from someone whenever they receive one of your gaudy “gifts.” Meaning, you not only managed to ruin however many Christmases they have left, but managed to steal the warm feeling of past ones, effectively making you “The Douche who stole Christmas Past”.

Consider this, if you wish to maintain your friendships after the holiday has ended, stay away from the bargain bin at the Dollar store. Unfortunately for you, you received this bit of advice after the holiday was over and done with, and in your ignorance, you purchased and passed off these items as “gifts.” If you did, I can assure you, consider it a Christmas miracle if they even acknowledge you’re still alive around the holidays and, when they’re in their car, may brake if you’re crossing the street in front of them….or, they’ll turn up “Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer” and gun it right for you.


Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

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