in #writing2 months ago

I can now report on my Christmas Day activities having had enough time to recover from pretending to be nice to people. Ordinarily I spend every Christmas Day, luring excited children into traffic. As you can imagine there's not a lot of traffic on the roads on Christmas Day. Therefore timing is critical. You've got to bide your time waiting for a suitably heavy vehicle. It needs to be traveling at a great enough velocity. The driver being drunk is always an advantage, but often you don't have enough time to work that out. Then it's a case of using a suitable lure. These are age dependent, but I find An Elf On A Shelf usually works up to the age of about 9. A major advantage being it works with all genders. Another thing I like to do on Christmas Day is obstruct an ambulance proceeding to the site of a serious accident. Sirens blaring, lights flashing. Speeding along, until it meets up with me. On some rare occasions I've managed to lure an excited child in front of one traveling to the aid of the previously lured child. Life doesn't get any better than that. You should try it. One day I'm hoping to get a second ambulance to run over a child. Three for one. It's unlikely I know, but a man can dream.

(The copyright to this image is the property of Bloor Street Fitness.)

Yesterday passed without major incident. The excitement of Christmas Eve and the ensuing manhunt forgotten. The surviving hostages freed after a clean get away. All I had to do was turn up for a large meal, paid for by someone else. More importantly cooked by them. No washing up for me to do either. I say me, I mean my ethnic orphans. I like to give them a day off once a year. It does lower productivity, but I save money by not giving them their handful of rice. That Nike shit won't make itself you know. I try to avoid cooking as much as possible. I throw something into the microwave. One of the orphans, if they've not been putting in their 18 hours a day of hard labor to my satisfaction. Look someone will exploit them so why shouldn't it be me? I'm more of a victim to globalization than they are. I'm not Apple. I can't outsource my inflicting of misery, then pretend to be liberal and caring. I haven't got their marketing budget. Although I do have their disdain for the poor in the developing world and all their customers. So don't judge me you iPhone using cocks.

As I have intimated previously, due to my mature attitude towards Christmas (It's for children you morons.), I have been called Scrooge. A label I object to. While "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens starts out sort of okay it rapidly deteriorates. Scrooge has a healthy disdain for the festive season to begin with. Although there's a lot less violent death, torture and eye gouging than I'd like, it sends out a powerful message I agree with. The poor are there to suffer at my convenience. This mediocre opening, where Scrooge is far too caring for me personally, then descends into a maudlin farce. You can take your redemption and shove it where the sun don't shine. A reasonably cynical, selfish and uncaring miser ends up becoming a frankly sickening philanthropist. What were you thinking Dickens? Writing a happy ending, and not the good massage one, in one of your tales. I want the hero to suffer all the way through and end up attending the funeral of someone he loved. Or alternatively dying himself in a stupid act of courage that will never be appreciated by anyone.

The trouble is that after the day I had yesterday, I'm worried that there is a danger I could become redeemed. I enjoyed the company of the people I was with. I encountered excited children I didn't want to lure into traffic. I was smiling genuinely. Marveling at the kindness of people I barely knew. This is awful. There's a distinct danger I could become far less cynical about humankind. I could eventually end up doing something kind and generous myself. Laying down my life to protect others instead of taking as many of them with me as possible. That's how I want to go out. In a monstrous atrocity of my making. One name among a long list of fatalities. Right at the top, because I killed them all. Their names will fade from memory and history. Mine will live on forever as the monster I truly am. That's the way the system works. It's the way it always has.

Thankfully I now have this thing called Boxing Day. It's a day most of the world knows nothing about. Only celebrated in the UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. What I intend doing is bringing this to the rest of the world. Let them enjoy the concept of one more day of Christmas. The modern version dates back to the Victorian era. When men were men and women who knew mathematics were confined to lunatic asylums, where they belonged. Everyone knows you can't mix science and mathematics with ovaries. At least they knew in Victorian times. We've lost so much in our headlong pursuit of progress at any cost. I think burning them as witches went a bit too far, just because they knew what 2+2 was. Locking them up in the loony bin was much fairer. Better than they deserved in most cases. But I'm a bit of a softy about this.

Well anyway, in Victorian times, on the day after Christmas the rich would allow their servants the day off. Having worked on Christmas Day, they'd receive their Christmas Box on Boxing Day. It would contain a gift or money. Which was a bit over the top. This is where the rot set in, in my opinion. A day off and a gift? What the hell were they playing at? The day itself dates back even further, to at least the Middle Ages. Now I could be wrong here, because I'm making this up, but back then the whole process was far less pandering to the peasants. In my psychotic imagination I picture the Lord of the Manor, riding up to each of his serf's dwellings. He'd hand over a box. They'd open the box. Then try to work out which relative of theirs the severed fingers or ears belonged to. If they guessed correctly they'd keep all of their body parts for at least another year.

Now that's what I'd like to share with the rest of the world. Promote it far and wide. Show people what the true spirit of Christmas is all about. It's about trying to keep all your fingers or having something to rest your spectacles on. Sales of fingerless gloves would rocket I'm sure. Boosting the economy. To make it even better we could have boxes of assorted fingers. Which family member does this middle finger belong to? Are these Uncle Norman's ears or Grandma's? The tension would build as the clock counted down. If we televised it and created the right format we could live stream the event. I think this would be just what we needed to get our priorities back to what really matters. You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us. Watching people frantically rummaging through a box of severed fingers against the clock. It's entertainment gold I tell ya.


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I think I've laughed in a super exaggerated way hahahaha

Greetings from Venezuela

hi dear @spunkpuppet, I join @iamsaray! Lots of laughs!! seeing you would be less cynical would be a crime, but it gets old or gets worse (difficult for you) or becomes a little softer !!
It happened to me that I hated Christmas as much as you did, then a year for me the end of a crazy and vomiting job coincided with the Christmas holidays, the Christmas I loved and in which I rejoiced, humming songs. since then christmas reminds me of beautiful things !!!
congratulations on your writing