The Christmas Post

I was reading a few of my usual blogs today, and I noticed that everyone else has a Christmas post. Feeling rather left out, I decided to make a Christmas post.

The trouble comes now. I’m not feeling very Christmas-y, or jolly, or fun. So, I’m going to tell a story, and everyone is going to pretend the characters have Santa hats on the entire time. Because everyone knows that Santa hats mean it’s Christmas.

Gather around the fire children, and let the story begin.

Once there was a cute family of bunnies. Oh, they were adorable. They had their cute little noses and their fluffy little cotton tails.

Life is swell.

Then one day, something not so nice happened.

The Black Plague will make your eyeballs pop out and you will die.

The bunnies contracted the plague and their eyeballs popped out. But they didn’t die. Oh, no.

They hopped on, sure that life would get better.

“And did it?”, you ask.

Well, no.

They hopped. And they hopped. And they hopped some more. Until eventually they hopped….

NOMNOMNOMMOTHERFUCKERS

Right into a nest of rattle snakes.

And they were eaten, one by one. Forced to hear the screams of their fallen comrades.

The End.

Merry fucking Christmas.

For some people, Christmas is a time of good cheer, and joy, and love, and family. Everyone can sit around the roast beast and be civil and talk about Mary Sue and her beautiful fucking children and how Bobbie Jean is going to grow up to be so freaking handsome, and ‘man we love each other lets go sing until our hearts explode from Christmas joy’ sorts of feelings.

Then there are those of us that really hate Bobbie Jean and Mary Sue and couldn’t sing a single Christmas carol if their life depended on it. We are the people who live in reality.

We’re the sort of people that sit by Aunt Norma because she smells and everyone got the good seats. We’re the sort of people that end up last in line for food because we got sent to the gas station for ice because no one likes us. We end up cleaning the kitchen while everyone else watches some stupid movie in the living room.

I start out thinking Christmas is going to be awesome and wonderful and full of love and cheer and stuff. The I get the plague. The Family Plague (which, ironically, is a close cousin of the Black Plague) and my eyeballs pop out and all sorts of boils, in the form of close-proximity-stupid contact, start to spring up all over my body.

But, I think that everything will get better. So, I continue on my merry way.

Then, the venom filled fangs of judgement are unsheathed and it is revealed that I am a failure.

Everyone stops when I enter the room. The quite whispers stop, then resume after a sufficiently awkward pause is made.

“Look at that independent, art deco, hippie, terrorist, tattoo-ed, pierced up, sex orgy having relative we have.”

“Oh, yes. I see her. Something right out of National Geographic.”

Family. Family. Family.

They will eat you alive.