Merry Christmyass!

 

What the fuck is up with this tacky-ass shit?

I mean, really, what the actual fuck??

We are awash in a sea of craven tackiness the like of which makes Las Vegas Elvis look positively cultured by comparison.

A flood tide of cheap-shot plastic crap, cheap-shot plastic emotions, and cheap-shot plastic sentiment has inundated the whole world, and I find myself surrounded by hordes of people manning the pumps overtime, doing their damnedest, furiously working, to pump still more of this shit over the dikes toward the protected side of things, raising the water-line higher and higher, seeking to drown everyone and everything in their deluge of bullshit.

For the love of all that’s good and right, stop. STOP, GODDAMNIT!!

But my voice is swept away on the stormwinds, never heard, never acknowledged.

It’s as if I don’t even exist.

No choice is offered, none is given, the torrent carries away everything in its path, gone, all gone to smash.

Factories in China cannot keep up with the demand for a hurricane of rubbish, sucked into a vortex of such profound stupidity as to beggar the imagination. Slave labor in their millions curse their vile fate as their endless sixteen-hour workdays grind them into an ever-diminishing grit of smaller and smaller fragments, even as the hundred millionth leering plastic Santa grins crazedly at them, sweeping by on an unstoppable conveyor belt groaning beneath its meaninglessly-psychotic burden of flowing, pulsing, poisonous garbage.

Religious loonies and fuckwits of every stripe and color lurch off into a shared dance of death, screaming “Love!, Peace!, Joy!” even as they smash the heels of their jackboots directly into the faces of any and all who would dare to disagree with their message of good cheer.

False Happiness is worn like a mask that smirks back at you from every street corner, every grocery store aisle, every where, unblinking, uncaring, frozen in a terrifying rictus of cultural imperialism, unyielding in its lies, unconcerned for your true sentiments, unstopping in its demands to submit, to obey.

The world has lost its collective mind and wants very much to persuade you that it’s you that has a problem! It’s you that’s unhappy! It’s you that has it all wrong!

And if you let it, the world just might convince you of this.

Your voice, long gone on the storm, has no effect on even yourself, if you’re not careful.

You find yourself battling an opponent most fell, most treacherous, most persistent, and you cannot let down your guard for even a moment, lest you find yourself being taken under, taken to your doom.

I shall fight you motherfuckers in the trenches. I shall fight you motherfuckers in the hills. I shall fight you motherfuckers on the beaches. I shall fight you motherfuckers whenever and wherever I encounter you, and I shall not stop fighting until I have slain every last one of you.

Your fleering grins shall not co-opt me. Your false words shall not persuade me. All of your gifts and all of your goods shall be as nothing to me, which in fact, is exactly what they are. Nothing.

I am no longer of a mind to take any of your bullshit.

Perhaps now, you shall take a little of mine and we’ll see how well you like that, how much of yourself you see in my mirror.

For I am, as an individual, more than a match for all of you, as a group.

And I shall defeat you.

I shall defeat you by living righteously, all the year long. I shall defeat you by exposing lies, hypocrisy, and falsehood, all the year long. I shall defeat you by behaving fairly and worthily, all the year long. I shall defeat you by furthering and honoring those few true friends I know and love, all the year long.

Fuck you.

Fuck you jointly, fuck you severally, fuck you one and all.

Prepare to meet your doom.

I shall be serving it to you cold.

 

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