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y0lk #126: "Merry Fucking Christmas" - by meenk

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        Every day I watch them. Consume, waste, pollute. They shrug it off

with their shit eating grins, rationalizing their actions by occasionally

donating to a cause or recycling, as long as it doesn't interfere with their

important lives. This time of year is the worst. They wish merriment upon

eachother, then tear out eachother's eyes over the last blue <insert fad

action figure here> because junior would have a fit if he didn't have the

chance to posses, tire of, and break it. They stop off at the pseudo-santa

ringing a bell outside and give him a few coins, absolving any of the guilt

they may have felt after blinding the little old woman who was in the wrong

section and just trying to find a restroom. Then, because of the insane

parking lot traffic they are forced to hop the curb in the family minivan,

striking the poor pseudo-santa down rupturing his bloated, diseased liver.

Can't be late for Gram's pre-Christmas Eve dinner.



        Sometimes, for a kick, the very shopping day before Christmas, I like

to go to the mall. I walk around leisurely, earning rueful stares from

frantic shoppers as they push past. "Damned Jews, crowding our malls after

their holiday is over." That's right. I'm a Jew. I am THE Jew. I'm surprised

they don't recognize me. Every year these people maim eachother, wasting

their money on things no one wants, all in my name. I don't feel a shread of

guilt though. I wasn't the one who made Christmas the way it is. Shit, I

wasn't even born on December 25th. I was born on January 6th. Some guy

decided to make me two weeks older just so he and his Pagan wife could

celebrate on the same day.



        I always pause outside the Christmas village and watch the little

boys and girls hop up onto the lap of a stranger and tell him their deepest

desires. Oftentimes, a teenaged girl will rest her taut little ass on the man

and whisper to him. An attempt to make him blush provoked by a dare from her

friends. Sometimes the girl is wanton and she gets her Christmas wish. Santa

will take a break and disappear into a mall broom closet for 20 minutes,

emerging with rosier cheeks and a twinkle in his eye. The girl gets to tell

friends she lost it to Santa. It is a win-win situation.



        This, too, amuses me. See, people have dismissed Santa Claus as a

mythical figure, but he exsists. The real myths are the village in the north,

Mrs. Claus, the sleigh, eight tiny reindeer, and the elves. In fact, the real

spelling is Santa Claws, changed (probably by the same man who changed my

birthday) so the holiday season was not marred by legends of a clawed elf

going around eviscerating people. After all, it is a time of cheer, right? I

know this because I _am_ Santa Claws. I started this gig after I was

crucified. My dad, whom you may know by the name God, was tired of me

sulking around heaven. I still wanted to make people happy. Dad hooked me up

with a nice pad, somewhere in Europe. He told me for my birthday I would be

allowed to perform one minor miracle, anonymously, once a year. I would give

everyone their most desired material thing (within reason, of course). The

rest of the year I was allowed to travel and preach, taking on a disguise so

I didn't cause an uproar.



        For the first 40 or 50 years this was fulfilling, but after a while

people stopped appreciating it. One year, deciding I had enough of the

ingratitude, I donned the claws. I travelled around the world, disembowling

those displaying the least amount of gratitude and the most greed. Thousands

perished as I ripped through their soft flesh, causing their warm blood to

gush forth and their slippery guts to spill onto their shoes. I died for

these people, then granted them what they most desired, and they still wanted

more. It felt great to rip them apart and watch as they writhed in their

intestines, their life pouring out into a puddle around them. The next year I

stayed home, neither doling out gifts, nor killing (Dad went ballistic). Soon

after, my alias was altered. People didn't want to make the association

between my giving nature and the outcome of my rage. They were content to

stick to the tradition, purchasing and making gifts on their own.



        Now, I reside in Manhattan, watching humanity, becoming more and more

disgusted by it. I considered going on another killing spree, taking out the

worst of the worst, but death no longer has shock value. I guess I will have

to go through with this second coming crap. *sigh* Like it will matter

anyway. I would kill myself but I already know what is waiting on the other

side, and I had a hard enough time moving out of my parent's house the first

time.



        Oooh, Handy Snax<tm>. Mmmmmmmmmmm.





        (author's note: heohaoehaoh. I made christ apathetic. cool.)

