If You’re Not Excited About The Holiday Season, Get The Hell Out Of My Face
First it’s Halloween, then it’s Thanksgiving, then it’s Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukah, the Wiccan festival of Midwinter. It doesn’t really matter what the hell you celebrate, because you’d better believe it’s holiday season. As for me, I’m going to go stuff a humorous amount of corn and leaves and literally all the best grains possible into a cornucopia, toss that up on my mantle, surround that bad boy with some seasonal candles, Instagram the shit out of it, and let the whole beautiful, goddamn autumnal world know that holiday season is commencing.
Oh my god, who the hell thinks it’s possible to work or even eat, drink, breathe, and properly function as a sentient being once the fall leaves starting dropping? The mind starts moving to thoughts of beautiful gumdrops and nutcrackers and, holy lord I am getting ahead of myself, there are Halloween costume decisions to be made — sexy kitty cat, zombie doctor, tongue-in-cheek idiot who sticks three pieces of black paper to a white shirt and calls himself a “three-hole punch” like he’s some comedy genius. Thank sweet baby Jesus the holiday season only lasts two months otherwise we’d all be bumbling infants walking around in suits and dresses like unproductive aliens in some weird almost parallel universe. This time of year all I can do is think about Christmas presents and turkey carving, and, wow it gets my blood pumping, some hand-knit sweaters and sick winter swag like, hello?, that series of artisanal wicker baskets totally brings the room together.
I don’t know about you, but this weekend I plan on sitting down, helping myself to a bowl of candy corn, pretending to like it, and popping open the family photo album to get a little holiday nostalgia going. Sure there’s that weird picture of my great-uncle wearing overalls and smiling two hours before the police arrested him and threw him in jail for thirty years because he attempted a goddamn heist — but it’s the holiday season, so shit gets real. You’d better learn how to deal with it; otherwise you might as well hibernate your sorry ass through this dope season, because if you can’t take some heat, you don’t deserve the winter cold.
And does anyone else start hyperventilating when they think about all those sweet little snowflakes flaking their flaky way to the ground like some sort of beautifully possessed magic pixie is driving them? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph those perfect symmetrical suckers are so cute you could pinch them. If I could do one thing in this life it would be to become a snowflake. Literally everybody would like you. I don’t care if you’re the snowplow guy making bank when those blessed ice crystals form out of some atmospheric water vapor or if you’re the kid who gets to stay home from school and go sledding for the day, anyone who doesn’t like a snowflake is dead to me. Deader than the person’s heart who doesn’t think the holiday season is the only thing that matters in this wretched life. Holy shit I am jacked like a tire for this holiday season.
All that’s left is to unnecessarily carve about a dozen pumpkins, let those guys rot, hang some lights, buy a tree, put a menorah on top of it, throw a decorative Mkeka Kwanzaa mat beneath it, and hang some bitchin’ hand-decorated ornaments on it. Then stand back and take it all in.
Damn that’s festive.