Christmas? Humbug!

Not me, that's for jingle-damned sure.

Obviously, the bitterness came early this holiday season, kiddoes. As my sainted mother used to say, I am "sick-unto-death" of hearing about other people's problems, questions, concerns, plans, desires, intentions, opinions, and suggestions. Perhaps this comes of being an instructor and having to listen to hosts of questions about everything from online technical issues to where to properly place a staple on a printed document (yes, that actually came up this year).

Perhaps my acidic Scroogeyness comes of my increasing disinterest in anything occuring in the so-called "real world" these days. I mean, what is there in real life that even holds a candle to poetry, to the beautiful other-worlds of Auden, Eliot, Thomas, Keats, Arnold, Browning, Yeats, Heaney, Milton, Shakespeare, Coleridge, Tennyson, Hopkins, Poe, Robinson, Rossetti, Dickinson, Donne, Blake, Baudelaire, Byron, Frost, Whitman and Wordsworth? I'd exchange an average day of my lackluster life for any single line by any one of these poets, especially at Christmas. No, really, that is not an overstatement.

As the horror of another empty Christmas darkens the horizon, I realize how truly little I care about several specific things. The following litany of holiday "who cares" includes the items that will elicit either complete indifference from me, or possibly a swift sidekick to the face. And lucky you, I decided to list them, jazzy X-mas bullet-style! Boo-yah!

I don't care about your awesome Christmas party. Nothing is quite as irksome as having to listen to the lame exploits of your stupid holiday get-together. Grow up.


I don't care about Christmas gifts for me or for you. Don't ask me what I want for Christmas because the reply, like "For you to move to Australia," might cause you pain.


I don't care about the discounts you got on anything. The surest way to provoke me into punching you in the kidneys is the mention of any sale you encountered this year.


I don't care about your festive, seasonal decorations. In fact, if you'd like to avoid having them ripped down and burned, you might just keep them in the attic this December.


I don't care about the marvelous Christmas goodies you made. Actually, the very word "goodies" makes me want to break something brightly colored and cheery, like your face.


I don't care about the kickin' Christmas mix you downloaded on your iPod. I'll shove that little white bastard where the majestic Tree Topper's light don't shine.


I don't care about your family's holiday plans. Whoever's coming to your house this year is probably just as big a moron as you are, and you'll all have a splendidly moronic time together, I'm sure.

Take that, Holiday Season! Don't pretend you're happy around me. Don't tell me 'tis the season to be jolly. Let's see some humility and contrition. If you want to talk about how the human race was so repugnantly foul that our kind and perfect Creator had to take on human flesh and die to redeem us from our disgusting, brutish, sinful selves, then gather 'round the egg-nogg bowl and we'll chat awhile. Otherwise, stay the holly-hell out of my anti-festive face.

Merry Christmas!

Please excuse the preceeding vitriolic invective against Christmas and Christmastime. The author simply needed to vent his burgeoning frustrations and did not intend to offend, frighten, belittle, intimidate, undermine, judge, or trivialize any of your sacred holiday feelings. The author merely asks you to abide by the listed suggestions to avoid his increased displeasure and discomfort, and he wishes to inform you in no uncertain terms of his sincere hope to avoid harming you for contravening any of the enumerated prohibitions on his list. Offer expires 12-31-08. Void where prohibited.