Monday, December 16, 2013

My Annual Heartfelt Tribute To The Christmas Spirit.

Original blogpost airdate, December 28, 2009. Also can be found in my awesome book, perfect as a Christmas gift to appease that son of god prick. Still time to order now for X-mas delivery. 

You know, for someone who professes to love us all, you'd think that maybe the thought our time could be worth a little something might enter Jesus' skull once or twice. That maybe Jesus could tell us, "You know, there's no need to go all out for my birthday. Really. Me and my Dad, the all knowing, omnipotent creator of universes known and unknown, the Deity that can part seas with his breath, move mountains with his pinky and knows the exact number of hairs on your head, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Don't put yourself out just on my account."

"And there is really no need to invent The Clapper to sell in the season of my special day. You work too hard for your money."

That's what my Uncle Harold would say. Uncle Harold always insisted we never make a big deal about his birthday, because that was just the kind of guy Harold was. Unlike this prick Jesus who pretty much ruined my whole week with this Christmas shit.

And by whole week I mean entire month of December. And part of November as well. Traffic gets backed up because of a goddamn parade. People everywhere I want to shop. A big pile of pine trees right where I normally park my car at work. All because this savior of mankind lets it go straight to his head.

I got news for you Jesus. I once saved the life of a mouse we found in the backroom of the store. That's right. Instead of killing it, I captured the little guy and let him loose in the woods in back of the mall. And I don't expect the mouse to buy shit every year for my birthday either. I think maybe I could teach you a thing or two about humility Mr. Son of God.

The sad thing is it's not just me that gets screwed. The entire goddamn planet has to put their lives on hold just for Jesus every year. Fuck it makes me so mad. I got over birthdays when I was like 9, and Jesus still gets all giddy like a girl after 2000 of them? Give me a break.

Buddhism looks better every day. No wonder there are so many Buddhists.


Anonymous said...

I doubt you'll find anywhere that Jesus wanted all this commercialism associated with the date we have chosen to celebrate His birth. He came here FOR us, not to take FROM us.

I'm sorry something has happened that turned your heart against Him.

girlvet said...

oh my the above comment was as inevitable as a me getting up tomorrow with another gray hair

ThatDeborahGirl said...

I got my mom a Clapper with a remote for Christmas like four years ago. She never took it out the box. Earlier this year she had surgery and it was a really big help to her.

It was delayed joyful reaction to what had seemed to be a silly Christmas gift that really came in handy eventually. I figured it had been yard saled but she pointed out that if she still has the jar of sand art that I did for her in the third grade on her bedroom mantle, it wasn't likely she'd throw out a Christmas gift from a few years back. Considering that my own daughter is in her final year of college, I had to concede her point.

I see you're getting married old blog pal of mine. Congrats. She's getting a wonderful, if not cynical old SOB for a husband. If you don't have any of the tshirts left, I'll send her one for a wedding gift.

Be good to her or we'll tar and feather you at dawn. Don't let the Christmas music get you down. :D

Anonymous said...

Hey give the Buddhists that celebrate Christmas a break. Besides, some of 'em are just as tawdry with their discretionary spending... . I should know, my husband is Buddhist.

He did most of the grocery store shopping this year; I didn't step out into the rush, at all, except for last-minute longjohns and milk and eggs. It was at the end of the day; the lines were long. There was noise, and the thermo-regulator was set high. Still, it was well-controlled because the other people were not overly loud nor rambunctious.

When my husband was out, he came home to tell tales of grown women tussling over items, and children wailing. I just chalked it up to too many ill-advised people in a hurry to complete a chore for which they were unprepared. Grown-up temper tantrums. Nothing to do with Christmas except the time of year.