I saw my first one today (9/6) and I made a mental note to never shop from the particular advertiser for this holiday season, or ANY holiday season until time immemorial.
That’s how much I appreciate their initiative.
When I am over everything, I keep telling the Domestic Despot, one of the changes I will make is No Christmas commercials until the day after Halloween. That will give all bloodsucking retailers enough time to bleed the average American household dry, leaving their coffers empty to face the next round of costs related to raising a child and trying to see light at the end of a tunnel instead of the one-hundred trains they are facing.
Here is a Christmas story from my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s! (Hey! If they can pollute our TV’s with Christmas commercials, I can print one of my Christmas stories):
“Holy shit! Somebody give me something strong to drink! Now!” he barked jokingly. A big mug of Gramma’s Egg Nog was handed to him. He drained half of the potent, frothy libation in one large gulp.
“Rough night, honey?” his wife asked.
“Actually, it was a beautiful night. No emergencies or anything out of the ordinary. Just a nice quiet, snowy winter night. That is until I started for home. I saw a little brown puppy in the middle of the street, so I pulled up alongside him. He looked cold, scared, and hungry. I called out Here little one! Here, boy! The puppy froze and then I detected the tiniest of movement from his little tail.”
“Atta boy. Where do you live,?” I asked. The little explosion of fur was now in full-blown body-wag as I eagerly approached. I scooped the little guy up and of course the attraction was immediate and mutual.”
“Sorry honey,” he winked at his wife. His eyes danced as he continued. “He looked undernourished and his basic necessities were obviously not being met. I saw he did have a small rusty ID tag which was mostly obscured by fur and the wide leather collar he wore. I knew the exact address, having visited that same neighborhood before. I walked up to the front porch, trying to avoid the many piles of refuse and garbage in the yard. With the puppy cradled in my left arm, I rang the doorbell with my right. I followed the ding-dong with three short raps on the door.”
“A little help here,” he laughed, tapping the side of his empty mug for emphasis. A refill ensued with just a sprinkle of nutmeg and cinnamon.
“I raised my hand again when the door opened,” he continued.
“Hello, I found this little fella here in the middle of Clayton Street, about three blocks from here. I thought I’d return him to his address listed on the tag,” I said.
“Who the fuck are you? Seriously? If you stole my dog, I’ll fuckin’ have you killed, asshole.”
I was looking into the face of pure ignorance and nothing I have ever seen before, or since, is as ugly or frightening.
“No, ma’am I am returning this animal.”
“Well if you think I am paying you a reward, forget it,” she drawled, her eyes squinting through cigarette smoke.
“I extended the puppy and the woman tenderly accepted it. Then she threw it down violently, the animal yowling and scampering away quickly. I flinched, fighting back the urge to hit this cruel individual. It was then I saw this wasn’t the only resident in need of attention. With the door wide-open I could see no fewer than fifteen dogs and at least that many cats walking around in different stages of starvation.”
Then the smell hit me.
“Just a sec,” she said, index finger pointing skyward. She pressed her cell phone to her ear. “Yes I can hear you. Yes I can talk. Just some Christmas freak trying to extort money from me. Yes the drugs were picked up. Billy got killed. Payday, boys.” She had a sick, crooked smile on her face as her cigarette ash fell to the soiled carpet.
Two children entered the room cautiously, a four-year old boy named Max was pulling along his three-year old sister Lucy. The two were naked and dirty, their ribs and hip bones exposed through the flesh.
They were dying.
I was crying inside. The children were more than filthy. I would guess they had never bathed in their lives.
“Hold on a sec,” she barked. ‘What do you two little shits want? You better get your asses to work making money, or cleaning up this shithole. Those are your choices. Now get the hell out of my face. Now!”
She continued her conversation as I rose to leave.
“What exactly IS my cut? What? Oh, I can definitely live with that. The kids? What about the kids? The little losers know where to eat, shit, sleep, and watch TV. I’ll leave a couple large jars of cheap peanut butter and a box of crackers on the counter. They’ll be OK for a week with that. The animals? Fuck ‘em. I don’t feed ‘em anyway. They eat what they steal at night when I let them out. I’ll just leave the doors open. Don’t have anything to steal anyway,” she laughed, lighting up another Kool.
“I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I turned and raised my hand in farewell, not needing a mental reminder to make some phone calls when I got home.”
“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” I said as I turned to leave.
“Yeah, yeah fuck off,” she said closing the door in my wake.
“I could not get back home to you fast enough. And here I am.”
“Here you are,” she smiled. They fixed their eyes on each other in a loving silence.
His wife spoke first.
“Tell you what,” she started, reaching for his belt. “Gulp down that nog, have one more behind it, and I’ll fill you a bowl of OG Kush. I will give you a nice Christmas foot rub, we’ll listen to some jams, and you can tell me about all the good people you have met.”
“I’m starting to believe there are NO good people. All people are shit. Evil to the core. They fuck up the planet, screw over each other, and worst of all, they poison their offspring with this same ignorance. Once the children are no longer the hope for the future, we are finished. I say fuck it all, it’s over.”
“You really are scaring me. Please don’t think like that. As fucked up as this world is, I have to believe that most people, on a daily basis, will do the right thing when given two choices. Besides, what about the kids? They can’t control their situations. It’s not their fault. You have to believe that. The day that you don’t, it truly is over.”
He rose to his feet, reaching for his true love.
“Mrs. Santa Claus, I love you truly.” The Christmas lights were reflecting off her round spectacle lenses.
“Mr. Santa Claus, right back at you,” she laughed as she kissed him deeply.