Bah Humbug
Dec. 10th, 2004 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiat_knoxMe and the Party Spirit aren't on the best of terms. Never have been.
I've never been fond of parties. If I live my life without attending a party, I'll be happy. I have other ways to enjoy myself, that don't involve ruining my liver, acting like an arse and getting rejected by women.
One particular Party Spirit I truly can't stand is the Christmas Spirit. It's like spam email. You have to tolerate it, no matter how much you despise it, because it's inevitable. However, unlike spam email, I can't just toss Christmas into a folder marked "Crapmail" and mark it as spam for the anti-spam software to deal with and block.
I have a strong aversion towards Christmas. It's the falsity of it all. It galls me, sickens me. It's hypocrisy, set to jaunty music with sleighbells and a school choir. Nauseating as piss flavoured castor oil.
The rest of the year, people whom I know to be lying, cheating, dishonest, backstabbing, devious and generally less than pleasant suddenly feel the urge to dress like lemons, smile a lot, act cheerful and jolly and listen to the same stupid Number One Christmas records, over and over. And it's an act, as phoney as their miserable lives the rest of the year.
Like the fictitious Ebenezer Scrooge, I'd rather keep the money and be healthy. I don't receive presents from people: why should I care about foisting cards and gifts on others? If I love a person, it's all the year around, and it shows in a million different ways, not just some dreadful, cheesy, tactless pieces of cardboard on birthdays, Vlentine's, Easter and Christmas.
I've got far greater imagination than that, and when it comes to showing someone that I love and care for them, I let the ideas my imagination and creativity come up with say far more about my love than a cheap bit of processed dead tree can ever do.
Bah. Given the chance, I'd disappear into my flat, pull the sheets over my head and hibernate until early February.
I despise Christmas.
I've never been fond of parties. If I live my life without attending a party, I'll be happy. I have other ways to enjoy myself, that don't involve ruining my liver, acting like an arse and getting rejected by women.
One particular Party Spirit I truly can't stand is the Christmas Spirit. It's like spam email. You have to tolerate it, no matter how much you despise it, because it's inevitable. However, unlike spam email, I can't just toss Christmas into a folder marked "Crapmail" and mark it as spam for the anti-spam software to deal with and block.
I have a strong aversion towards Christmas. It's the falsity of it all. It galls me, sickens me. It's hypocrisy, set to jaunty music with sleighbells and a school choir. Nauseating as piss flavoured castor oil.
The rest of the year, people whom I know to be lying, cheating, dishonest, backstabbing, devious and generally less than pleasant suddenly feel the urge to dress like lemons, smile a lot, act cheerful and jolly and listen to the same stupid Number One Christmas records, over and over. And it's an act, as phoney as their miserable lives the rest of the year.
Like the fictitious Ebenezer Scrooge, I'd rather keep the money and be healthy. I don't receive presents from people: why should I care about foisting cards and gifts on others? If I love a person, it's all the year around, and it shows in a million different ways, not just some dreadful, cheesy, tactless pieces of cardboard on birthdays, Vlentine's, Easter and Christmas.
I've got far greater imagination than that, and when it comes to showing someone that I love and care for them, I let the ideas my imagination and creativity come up with say far more about my love than a cheap bit of processed dead tree can ever do.
Bah. Given the chance, I'd disappear into my flat, pull the sheets over my head and hibernate until early February.
I despise Christmas.
