By John Sammon

       I did it! I finally did it! Got revenge on Christmas. I found a way. You can do it too. 

       It was so easy. I just took all the sh.'t back. Returned it all, and got back the money. But don't call me Scrooge, because that wouldn't be fair.

       Here's the deal.

       I'm one of these brilliant noble guys who have a hard time making a living. I'm not clever (I don't want to be), and I don't scheme and cheat people. I don't trade land, buy and sell it like a real estate shark. I don't do the things that most pot-bellied average simpletons do, get themselves ensconced into some government job where they can be incompetent and still work there because it's the government. Like a leech sucking blood.

       I also don't do the corporate scene where you have to suck up to some no-good coward two-bit-punk-in-a-pin-striped-suit manager.

       I'm a man. Like Kit Carson. I go my own way.

       For this I've paid the price. I can't meet my bills. Fu.'k 'em.

       Then along comes Christmas, a yearly ritual that every assho.'e in the country has to observe. It's supposed to be celebrating the birth of Jesus, a Jew who we don't know much about. So what do we do? Buy things made in China by slave laborers.

       The holiday celebrating a man who wore only a robe and who died miserably nailed to a cross is celebrated by an expenditure of cash, money that you don't have. How did this holiday get started, who thought it up? Was it the wise men? They brought gifts to the baby Jesus.

       If they thought a bribe would get them a cushy place in heaven, they were wrong. The Christian religion doesn't work on bribes (Jesus himself overturned the tables of the money changers in the temple).

       Christmas used to be just giving a carved stick to a kid, and that was it. Now, you have to spend a thousand dollars, because our house-of-cards economy depends on it.

       You go into debt to play this yearly game.

       You string lights on a tree that now costs $100, more than a used car I once bought. You go to a shopping mall just like a million other fools, all burning gas and polluting the air with their cars, jamming in at the same time like lemmings (a furry rodent) mindlessly marching over a cliff.

       Then you buy the junk. Sh.'t. Mostly plastic sh.'t, soon to be collecting dust in your house that will soon be foreclosed because you overspent and can't make your payments. I'm not fuc..'in Scrooge. He had money and didn't like people. I don't have money and I like people okay as people go, and I go into debt with this lousy holiday that I've come to hate because every year it sets me back.

       If you spend money you don't have you're not Scrooge. You're just a goddammned fool!

       Don't you hate those puky Christmas songs you hear every year, the same ones. Turn on the TV. There's an ad where a guy is giving a new Mercedes Benz to his wife, with a big red bow on the top of it. I can't afford a car like that. Did Jesus drive such a car? He rode a donkey.

       I threatened to boycott it. Shine the whole thing. A holiday commemorating Jesus that we celebrate in our perverted way by buying stuff, expending cash, and then saying a German fat man in a red suit squeezed down our chimney and left the presents

       I DON'T EVEN GET CREDIT (SANTA DOES) FOR THE PRESENTS THAT I BOUGHT THAT ARE NOW GOING TO BANKRUPT ME!

I RESENT IT! I REALLY DO!

       Fu.'k Christmas, and Santa, and the reindeer he rode into town.

       I threatened to become a Muslim so I could ignore this holiday. No! I came up with something better. It's so diabolical. I love it. I'm in rapture.

       I take the sh.'t back. That's it.

       We ran out of money and couldn't meet our bills and our checks are bouncing on other bills because Christmas wiped us out. We returned all the stuff we bought and got the money back.

       I'm in heaven. I can make it until the end of the year. I put Santa the fictional fat man and those greedy retailers who sponge off me every year.in their places.

       Save your tags.

       It's simple. We buy the crap. Wrap the gifts. Open the gifts. Make the necessary praise, "ooh-ahh! I love it!"  Then the next day, take the stuff back, and get our money back.

       We had our fun. It didn't cost us a cent.

       There you are. Is Jesus happy? Is Santa happy?

       Everybody's happy. Ho ho ho!

       I no longer have to sing, "it's the worst time of the year, it's the worst time of the year."

  © Copyright 2008 by SammonSays.com