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Yes, it’s the Christmas season. It’s the goddamned
Christmas season. It’s the one time of year
where everyone parrots that “Peace on Earth, good
will toward men” crap while blasting away with a
MAC-10 at the zombies at the shopping mall. Best
of all, it’s the time where embittered journalists
either complain that everyone’s forgotten The Reason
for the Season (namely, to engage in drunken debauchery
in the name of Saturn, Kali, or Quetzacoatl), or
kvetch about the pointlessness of the whole holiday.
In the former case, the whining is because nobody
invited said journalist to the really good parties
because s/he wanders around with a mouth tighter
than a chicken’s rectum; in the latter, it’s because
said journalist won’t get what s/he really wanted,
because most people don’t think of a case of Scotch
and a good buggering as a suitable Christmas present.
It
must be said, however, that while the holiday season
causes at least twice as many suicides as it prevents
(especially upon the discovery of plans to let Aunt
Edna, the relative who smells of cheese, stay with
you until Groundhog’s Day), it is possible to have
fun during the Christmas season. All that’s required
is a modest budget, a bullshit meter with a hair
trigger, and a loathing of hypocrisy as wide as
a bus.
The
first and easiest way to mess with the minds of
your fellows is to go straight for the kids. Ever
tire of the parents who feel compelled to take their
children into toy stores at Christmas, and then
tell them “No” over and over again until the kid
starts crying? Just follow a few of these parents
around, and then purchase a toy that the kid particularly
wanted and wait near the exit. As the family starts
to pass by, make a point of giving the child that
toy and then leaving: this not only drives the parents
berserk, because they can’t really forbid a gift
given with the best of intentions, but it teaches
the kid that some strangers can be trusted. Either
way, that family will never be the same.
We
all have stories of parking lot madness at the mall.
Yes, nobody really wants to park waaaaaay out in
the boonies and then hike to the mall entrance via
ski or dogsled, but the number of twits who feel
that they’re obligated to wait for someone to vacate
a space keeps growing every year. The ones that
merely block a whole lane, with the blinker signifying
that that space is THEIRS, are bad enough, but the
obnoxious yuppies who start honking if the subject
of their displeasure should hesitate are a pimple
on the arse of humanity. Seeing as how these are
the same slobs who cut to the front of lines inside
because “I’m in a hurry”, a judicious dollop of
justice is in order.
The
perfect implementation of this stunt requires a
parking space as close as possible to a mall entrance,
preferably on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and
a working car. Should you feel the urge to shop
at a mall in that terrible period between the fourth
Friday of November and December 24, please indulge
yourself, or just simply go wandering around. The
idea is to come back to the car periodically, to
drop off packages or just to stretch your legs,
and get inside. In a crowded situation, a long line
immediately forms as idiots jockey for that space,
so pull out a newspaper or a book and start reading.
Every once in a while, look back at the ever-growing
crowd and return to the paper. Should any yuppie
start honking, imploring you to bestir thy ass so
they can divest themselves of their ill-gotten gains,
simply get out of the car, lock it up, and go back
inside the mall, in full sight of the honker. The
general facial expressions range from incredulity
to rage (the more high-scale the mall, the greater
the rage), but they’re all absolutely priceless.
Repeat as necessary, or until the frustration of
fighting holiday crowds overtakes the satisfaction
of teaching yuppies that they can’t have everything
they want.
If
torturing business majors is too easy, a great way
to relieve stress and appear on television is to
watch for the inevitable news story about some religious
group complaining because the local government won’t
let them set up a nativity scene on public property.
Make a point of supporting their position in public
. . . and then demand equal access for non-Christian
religions. Generally, even the most fanatical Baptist
will start shrieking “separation of church and state”
if equal time for religion means having to share
space with Wiccans, no matter how valid a case the
Wiccans have, and a dedicated prankster could have
real fun with supporting the rights of members of
the Esoteric Order of Dagon to display their faith
on public land. After staring at a 20-foot effigy
of Nyarlathotep the Crawling Chaos hanging over
the Baby Jesus, most fanatics will go out of their
way to keep public areas secular areas.
And
then there’s the subject of parties. Most Christmas
parties are insanely dull affairs, with everyone
slumping around, sipping eggnog, and trying to fondle
each other’s spouses under the mistletoe. Offer
an alternative for those deathly sick of Christmas
carols and sleigh rides. Stock up on unorthodox
chow and invite the neighbors and relatives over
for a night of deranged videos. I usually find that
serving barbecue and ribs during a screening of
“Dawn of the Dead” works wonders for banishing the
last of the Christmas spirit. Whatever runs, from
“Naked Lunch” to “Meet the Feebles”, the movies
and food will have the desired effect of causing
people to care for each other because they want
to, and not because of familial or religious guilt
trips. Besides, it keeps minds off the idea of renting
an anti-aircraft gun, putting it in the back yard
or on the roof, and waiting for the first glimmer
of Rudolph’s shiny nose.
Any
way you want to look at it, Christmas can be a bear,
or it can be a blast. The trick to getting through
the season is to keep remembering that Easter is
just around the corner, when we all commemorate
the day Christ rose from His grave, looked down
at His shadow, and realized that He had to wait
six more weeks until spring.
Copyright
© 1999 Paul T. Riddell All Rights Reserved
Paul
T. Riddell is a Michigan-born, Texas-raised essayist
currently residing in a fortified ranch on the slopes
of Mount Briscoe overlooking downtown Dallas. For
more abuse, please feel free to visit “The Healing
Power of Obnoxiousness” at http://www.hpoo.com.
Is
Western society’s fascination with “Christian” holidays
becoming simply an opportunity for secularised “celebrations”?
Should a history of Christianity really dictate
what newer generations choose to celebrate? Discuss
Here
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