Tis the Season, Bi-a-tches!

In the world of Matt Groening’s Futurama, Christmas is permanently shortened to Xmas, the palm tree has replaced the pine tree as the present bearer of choice, and Santa Clause is a huge, metalic robot, hell bent on wide-spread terror, rather than festive cheer.


Your mistletoe is no match for my T.O.W. missile!

If you ask me, I would champion this scenario if it meant I didn’t have to listen to Christmas carols playing continuously on the radio, shelter myself from a blatant over use of ’tis and ’twas, and be able to escape the hoards of crazy consumers at my local shopping centre. Terror brings us together more effectively than the prospect of another obligatory calendar holiday.

But, alas, deep down, this is not how I truly feel. I like to pretend I’m a cynical hard ass, yet it is merely a facade. The part about Christmascarols making my ears bleed is the truth, however, I still cherish the childhood perspective of Christmas. The excitement, the pretty decorations, the family being together and eating until we all lapse into a food induced coma.

Presents under the Christmas tree, even if the tree is one foot tall, made out of plastic and can only sustain five baubles max. The smell of pine needles on the carpet is a fond memory, but cleaning up afterwards, not so much.

In my thinkings, presents are much more satisfying all wrapped up and pretty. Sometimes, the anticipation of what’s inside induces warmer feelings than the actual present itself. I, myself, being the minimalist that I am (chortle, chortle), and long removed from the binds of commercial society (haughty chin waggle), aren’t too fussed about receiving gifts. Giving them, however, provides a substantial boost to my ego.

I just want everyone to know how thoughtful I am, and hopefully much more thoughtful than them. Oh, what’s that? I remembered exactly what you wanted and it’s in your favourite colour? Come again, I got you exactly what you needed and you didn’t even know you needed it? How generous and wonderful am I? It’s okay, I’m not adverse to your showering of praise. Humility? What’s that again? Some sort of descriptor for the weather?

I kid, I kid. Obviously my gift giving comes from a pure space of love… After all isn’t that the true spirit of Christmas? (Gag.)

For me it used to be watching ‘The Muppet Christmas Carol’ every year and receiving stationary (which I love – don’t ask me why). Now it’s mainly just an excuse to stuff myself with expensive prawns.

No shrimp on the barbie, puh-lease. Repeat after me: pr-aw-ns. Someone go back and time and gag Paul Hogan. This injustice must be rectified!

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