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y0lk #126: "Merry Fucking Christmas" - by meenk
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Every day I watch them. Consume, waste, pollute. They shrug it off
with their shit eating grins, rationalizing their actions by occasionally
donating to a cause or recycling, as long as it doesn't interfere with their
important lives. This time of year is the worst. They wish merriment upon
eachother, then tear out eachother's eyes over the last blue <insert fad
action figure here> because junior would have a fit if he didn't have the
chance to posses, tire of, and break it. They stop off at the pseudo-santa
ringing a bell outside and give him a few coins, absolving any of the guilt
they may have felt after blinding the little old woman who was in the wrong
section and just trying to find a restroom. Then, because of the insane
parking lot traffic they are forced to hop the curb in the family minivan,
striking the poor pseudo-santa down rupturing his bloated, diseased liver.
Can't be late for Gram's pre-Christmas Eve dinner.
Sometimes, for a kick, the very shopping day before Christmas, I like
to go to the mall. I walk around leisurely, earning rueful stares from
frantic shoppers as they push past. "Damned Jews, crowding our malls after
their holiday is over." That's right. I'm a Jew. I am THE Jew. I'm surprised
they don't recognize me. Every year these people maim eachother, wasting
their money on things no one wants, all in my name. I don't feel a shread of
guilt though. I wasn't the one who made Christmas the way it is. Shit, I
wasn't even born on December 25th. I was born on January 6th. Some guy
decided to make me two weeks older just so he and his Pagan wife could
celebrate on the same day.
I always pause outside the Christmas village and watch the little
boys and girls hop up onto the lap of a stranger and tell him their deepest
desires. Oftentimes, a teenaged girl will rest her taut little ass on the man
and whisper to him. An attempt to make him blush provoked by a dare from her
friends. Sometimes the girl is wanton and she gets her Christmas wish. Santa
will take a break and disappear into a mall broom closet for 20 minutes,
emerging with rosier cheeks and a twinkle in his eye. The girl gets to tell
friends she lost it to Santa. It is a win-win situation.
This, too, amuses me. See, people have dismissed Santa Claus as a
mythical figure, but he exsists. The real myths are the village in the north,
Mrs. Claus, the sleigh, eight tiny reindeer, and the elves. In fact, the real
spelling is Santa Claws, changed (probably by the same man who changed my
birthday) so the holiday season was not marred by legends of a clawed elf
going around eviscerating people. After all, it is a time of cheer, right? I
know this because I _am_ Santa Claws. I started this gig after I was
crucified. My dad, whom you may know by the name God, was tired of me
sulking around heaven. I still wanted to make people happy. Dad hooked me up
with a nice pad, somewhere in Europe. He told me for my birthday I would be
allowed to perform one minor miracle, anonymously, once a year. I would give
everyone their most desired material thing (within reason, of course). The
rest of the year I was allowed to travel and preach, taking on a disguise so
I didn't cause an uproar.
For the first 40 or 50 years this was fulfilling, but after a while
people stopped appreciating it. One year, deciding I had enough of the
ingratitude, I donned the claws. I travelled around the world, disembowling
those displaying the least amount of gratitude and the most greed. Thousands
perished as I ripped through their soft flesh, causing their warm blood to
gush forth and their slippery guts to spill onto their shoes. I died for
these people, then granted them what they most desired, and they still wanted
more. It felt great to rip them apart and watch as they writhed in their
intestines, their life pouring out into a puddle around them. The next year I
stayed home, neither doling out gifts, nor killing (Dad went ballistic). Soon
after, my alias was altered. People didn't want to make the association
between my giving nature and the outcome of my rage. They were content to
stick to the tradition, purchasing and making gifts on their own.
Now, I reside in Manhattan, watching humanity, becoming more and more
disgusted by it. I considered going on another killing spree, taking out the
worst of the worst, but death no longer has shock value. I guess I will have
to go through with this second coming crap. *sigh* Like it will matter
anyway. I would kill myself but I already know what is waiting on the other
side, and I had a hard enough time moving out of my parent's house the first
time.
Oooh, Handy Snax<tm>. Mmmmmmmmmmm.
(author's note: heohaoehaoh. I made christ apathetic. cool.)