I just went to the store because I have no food in my house and I’m hungry. Well, it turns out that some dead guy was born over 2000 years ago so everybody and their brother has to buy something for everyone they know. I walked in, saw that there were teeming masses of people in the way of me and my food and walked right back out again.
I try not to denigrate other people’s beliefs no matter how stupid they are. As long as they don’t try to convince me they are right, they can believe in whatever folly they want to. It is a constitutional right after all. If people really believe that a carpenter was the son of some god, who am I to dissuade them? But when that belief deteriorates into mass marketing several times a year, what is the point? I fail to see the correlation between the birth of the supposed son of god and buying a new sweater for Uncle Harry.
Which brings me to another point. Why is it that people always wait until the last minute to do things? You know the tax deadline is April 15th. So, why wait until April 14th to do something about it? As far as I know, Christmas is not a roving holiday. It falls on the same date every year. So why must everyone be in my way when I am simply trying to buy some common household goods?
When I was a kid, Christmas was it. It was the greatest day of all. New toys, Christmas lights, snowmen and all the frosted cookies I could shove into my tiny, as of yet, unsullied mouth. My parents dragged me to church but that was just something I had to suffer through in order to get to the good stuff. I discovered my mother was indeed Santy Claus by a thorough handwriting comparison around the age of five. It didn’t matter. I still got the toys regardless of who gave them to me. It wasn’t a great leap of logic from there to figure that if Santa Claus was imaginary, then so was Jesus. In less than one dog-year, I had founded my belief system.
Now, as a completely cynical adult, I don’t really see the point of it all. If you aren’t a kid or don’t have kids, there’s really not much to get all that excited about. Except maybe the frosted cookies. And out here on the west coast, there’s not even any snow to make you feel remotely “in the Christmas spirit”. People in California take a perfectly good real tree and cover it in fake, semi-toxic snow. I got cut off three times driving home. I get no Christmas bonus. If Christmas falls on a weekend, I get no time off. And I still have no food in my house. Therefore, the Baby Jesus can kiss my lilly-white ass.
If you are at all offended by this tirade, what the hell were you doing reading something titled “The Baby Jesus Can Kiss My Ass” in the first place? I’m going to get me a pizza.