If you’re older than 12 and you still think Xmas is worth the effort, you have more of something than I have. Not sure what, but it probably isn’t brains. One big frozen shitsicle of a holiday, completely coopted from the pagans and morphed into a celebration of the unlikely hatching of an off-planet killjoy in some third-world shitbox. And by celebration, I am referring to the widespread random and impulsive purchasing of Chinese gimcracks and lead-painted shit that nobody, NOBODY, actually needs and that will all be slowly decomposing in a landfill before the next one of these useless holidays rolls around. (Unless the shit is plastic, which means it will be here forevah. And it’s pretty much all plastic.)

And the music? Since you asked… it all sucks. From the bubblegum notes of some bewigged has-been wishing me a “holly, jolly christmas,” whatever the fuck that is, to the obligatory holiday song that every band has to croak out at some point to make a few shekels and to ensure that at least one of their pointless compositions will still be played once a year in perpetuity while the rest of their entire body of work is justifiably forgotten. Fuck christmas music, with Perry Como’s severed penis.

But at least we can say, “Merry Christmas,” again, thanks to our illustrious dear leader. Apparently. Christmas lends itself to a special brand of grandstanding douchebaggery and the peach-colored fuckbubble in the White House is the current master of both of these genres. His own daughter doesn’t even celebrate Xmas, for fuck’s sake and lighting a menorah would easily turn into a three-alarm Aquanet fire if an open flame got anywhere near his hair helmet.

Yeah. Bring on Boxing Day.