There are many conflicting accounts on the birth of Christ.
Historically, read them and weep, bitches, Jesus is real. You heard that right,
historians wrote about him, even before they had blogs. He himself did not
write anything, preferring the spoken word. However, Matthew, Mark, Luke and
John all contributed to ‘1001 Things I Love’, the first ever blog. Back to the
birth of our Lord and Savior and why I hate Christmas, it was that time in the
middle of BC and AD where they decided to not keep track when He was born. His
mother, Mary, had a virgin birth (a tradition kept alive to this day by
Catholic schoolgirls). Joseph, who had never laid a hand (more likely a penis)
on his soon-to-be-wife, hired a private detective to get to the bottom of it.
He never did, and now we are left with a religion that hinges on books written
with more holes and conflicting information than any other ever published.
Regardless, Jesus went on to be a great teacher and brought us
some of the greatest words of wisdom ever written, ones that would make our
lives perfect should we only abide by them. Instead, we decided to destroy
entire civilizations, appropriating any cause we felt the notion to uphold at
the time, in His name. But in the dickest move of the last 2000 years, He
delivered unto us the end of the world, without giving us a date as to when it
will come (this is why He has topped my Biggest Dick list five years in a row
and is my personal hero.) In the name of Jesus Christ, bringer of wisdom,
destroyer of demons, who died for our sins, we shall set aside one day each
year to honor him. This blog is about the one holiday I hate most, Christmas.
Not even a paragraph away, I still find it awesome that doomsday
slowly balances above our heads, dropping low to whisper in our ears, “What,
bitch? Should I end it now, make you wait, oh, yeah, that’s my decision. Not
tellin’.” When doomsday comes, it will hit you in the balls, laugh, then hit
you in the balls again. The same can be said for Christmas, only it hits you in
the ass, laughs, then hits you in the ass again. Christmas is a bullshit
holiday that no one can even remember why it is celebrated. Kids think it is
about some old, fat guy in a red suit. Teens think it is about new cell phones
that they can take naked pictures of themselves on to send to their boyfriends
of one week and get upset when they hit the internet after the breakup.
Parents, well, who the hell knows what they are thinking. My great-grandmother
had it all figured out. She gave each of her great-grandchildren a dollar.
Trust me, that is a lot of money. It also brings me to the “thought that
counts” bullshit.
Why is a gift about the giver? You notice this shit? People buy
you a gift because they want to be the one who gave you something you wanted,
so they can feel special because they bought it. Even worse, sometimes they buy
you something they wanted you to have, even though you didn’t want it. Why
don’t they just buy it for themselves? But it’s the thought that counts, right?
Well, I’ve thought about it and I’m pretty sure you can go fuck yourself with
the present you wanted, but bought for me to feel less guilty about wanting it for
yourself. If you would have admitted that to begin with, no complaints. But you
didn’t.
You see, people are selfish and care about themselves more than
anything. In fact, the only reason people care about their kids is because
genetics forces them to. If you don’t care for your kid, you cannot pass on
your DNA and die. In short, and because I promised I would make my blogs
shorter for the reading impaired, quit pretending Christmas is all about
others. It’s all about yourself. What did you get for Christmas?