The Anti-Christmas: A Yule-dimmed Tide

The black light of holiday switches on once more to illuminate the psychic Rorschach of hidden stains smeared across your family. Christmas is not a celebration. It is a mouth, a hunger, swallowing joy day-by-day with its approach. It is a pitiless, blinking, LED riot of bad memories and tomorrow's worse memories.

Front yards sprawl gangrenously resplendent with nightmare phosphorescence in the crisp winter nights. Their merriness is their danger. Glowing in the dark like the lure of abyssal predators. Beckoning you to Get In the Spirit. Make no mistake, doom rides for millions. No headlines are written of the horror of this beast. Dishes broken, chests seized in stressed coronary. Misery is the gift. 'Tis the reason for the season.

No. Rise up. Rise. Burn the churches. Burn the synagogues. Burn the Hello Kitty store next to the Yankee Candle. Smash the Calendar Store. Let the blood of their lies decorate 365 Days of Dilbert. Cast off the yoke of doorbusters. Stalk the salesmen and women. Strangle them with the intercom phones.

Let this be the Last Christmas!

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