Posted in Writings

Christmas Instiutions That Need to Stop


The object of this joyous game, which I like to affectionately call “5 Finger Discount Christmas”, is to go to a table riddled with gifts, take one, open it, hopefully getting something you like and then praying to whatever God you believe in that the second person choses to pick from the table and not pluck that wonderful little present from your not so cold and dead hands. But alas, it’s encouraged to take from the person so that the ooohs and ahhhs can be heard all the way to the North Pole making Santa and probably the Baby Jesus cry.

His tears help make Egg Nog

So there you are presentless again and now you must trod off to the table and grab another gift hoping your luck will remain but knowing history tends to repeat itself. And this goes on and on and on until everyone has something in their hands from either the table or by simply ripping off the person who had it first. Because nothing screams Christmas spirit more than out right thievery.

The Patron Saint of White Elephants

Some will argue that it’s not about the gifts it’s about the game and the fun. Yes, I’m sure the person who started the game with a $500 gift card from Amazon is perfectly happy with the Pine and Dog Shit scented Yankee Candle they got at the end.

For those romantic evenings


Usually it works the same as any other Secret Santa, you pull a name from a hat (usually a Santa or elf hat because why not indulge in clichés’) and now that persons happiness and your reputation are permanently intertwined.  It becomes an almost month long stressed induced nightmare of “What the Fuck do I get this person” Made worse because A) you are new and you don’t really know anyone at the office or B) the person you picked is new which means you will either form a strong bond by the end of this or simply look like a jackass and your name will appear has the headline for the Office Gossip Gazette or C) you ended up with someone you don’t like, like Gary from accounting who’s just an asshole. So not only did you get the asshole, not only do have no clue what the asshole would want  but now you’re pissed at yourself because you’re worried about what to get the asshole for Christmas.

Gary’s such an asshole

But it doesn’t even end when you present your gift because even after they open it and smile and gush with the thank you’s and all the You shouldn’t haves, you will always wonder in the back of your mind “Did they really like the gift or will I find it back on the shelf at Goodwill where I found it in the first place”  


Let’s get one thing straight, there is no war on Christmas. People are not lining up outside of Starbucks with pitch forks and torches because their cups aren’t Christiany enough (they’re probably mad because they limited the espresso shots) Most people really don’t care. Besides do you really want this on a cup containing your delicious, frothy double foam macchiato?

Jesus Died for our Latte’s

And no the President never banned Christmas trees or the saying of Merry Christmas and if you believe he did then you deserve coal in your stocking and then getting repeatedly beaten with said stocking because you’re an idiot.  Most of the flames of this war on Christmas rhetoric were fanned by this guy (Whose  name I will not mention) who looks like a cross between Kevin James and Fred Durst who was not really born but more like he was hatched while under a heat lamp at Burger King.

King of the Whopper of all Lies

The bottom line is this is the time of year to come together. No matter your belief, no matter your gender, no matter your color Christmas time is for everyone because buying last minute gifts at the Dollar Store is a universal trait.


No song has ever brought the worlds of Romance, Christmas and Sexual Assault together so seamlessly than this little ditty. How could you not feel the warmth of a crackling fire with lyrics like this:

My mother will start to worry (beautiful what’s your hurry?)
My father will be pacing the floor (listen to the fireplace roar)

Or feel the air of Christmas with these verses:
So really I’d better scurry (beautiful please don’t hurry)
But maybe just a half a drink more (put some records on while I pour)

Or feel the abject terror that awaits with these melodic words:
The neighbors might think (baby, it’s bad out there)
Say what’s in this drink? (no cabs to be had out there)

I’d be surprised if Dean Martin didn’t end up wearing a skin suit by the end of this song.

Baby its cold outside so I need your skin to keep me warm