I have a confession to make. I’m a Christmas asshole.
Don’t get me wrong here, it’s my favorite time of the year. (That totally rhymed, and I didn’t even mean it to. Look at me, all poetic and shit. Moving along now. Tangent. Sorry.) I love the entire feel of the season; The warmth, love, family, Christmas movies, claymation Rudolph, cookies, eggnog, getting drunk and fat, yada yada yada. But every year I get Christmas cards from friends, some even handmade with love, and the result is a tinge of warmth followed by overwhelming Christmas guilt. Like, ‘Holy shit this person went out of their way to pick out a card, slap a stamp on it, trek out in the freezing cold to mail it, all for me, and here I sit, licking cookie crumbs off a computer keyboard’ guilt. Not that I really lick crumbs off a keyboard. OK, maybe I just did. Whatever. Don’t judge me. Anyhoo… As horrible as they make me feel as a person, I applaud these friends. The whole Christmas card deal seems like something I should get on board with. I mean, I’m a nice person. I like to think I go out of my way for people, more so than most. But the thought of collecting addresses, having to write heartfelt greetings with my poor, crippled carpal-tunnel-stricken hand (insert pathetic violin music here), purchasing stamps (Like, do people really do that anymore?) is, frankly, exhausting just to think about. So not only am I a Christmas asshole, I am a very lazy Christmas asshole.
So, to everyone who’s sent me a Christmas card this year, I’d like to apologize for my Christmas assholiness, and offer you this super creepy Santa:
Ho. Ho. Effin’ Ho.