I’m confessing to Lord Santa here on why I didn’t deserve SHIT for Christmas this year. Just like a good, bad boy should.
Nearly every weekend, my wife loves taking these long walks with the dog. And when she invites me I try to come up with a legitimate excuse, like I’m tired, I’m doing the laundry, or the game is on. But it’s really just that I’m a lazy asshole when it comes to the dog. I enjoy sprinting with it in the backyard, and wrestling with it indoors. But to go on a long walk…? Leave me alone, bitch!
And to this sin you can also add that I put dry dishes on the rack because I didn’t know where they were supposed to go. Then I topped them off with a sprinkle of water to make them seem wet. Then when my wife comes back she ends up hand-drying and putting the dishes away.
I’m okay if Lord Santa knows what I’m browsing online. But the wife? Hell no! That leads to her asking questions like: “So THAT’S the type of freaky stuff you like?”
And I’m like, “No, hunny. It was a spam email that I accidentally opened.”
And she says, “It wasn’t just ONE spam email. You visited this site 58 times!”
“The Russians hacked me…?”
Them: “You’re invited to our house warming!”
Me: How about you stop moving every two years? I’m getting tired of these.
Them: “You’re invited to our baby shower!”
Me: So you’re asking me to celebrate an unborn, annoying noisemaker?
Them: “You’re invited to our themed party this Friday night!”
Me: Is the theme of your party ‘absolute horseshit?’ We are ADULTS! Friday night is naptime.
Them: “You’re invited to our Yankee swap!”
Me: I have a better idea: Let me use my $30 to buy something I actually like, instead of swapping it with something I am disappointed with.
Them: “You’re invited to our child’s bris!”
Me: Oh, I’d LOVE to willingly stare at a doctor chop off a piece of skin from your baby boy’s most sensitive and important area. What a “JOYOUS” occasion that will be, you absurd, disgusting, sick maniac! We’ll be right over!
When you think about it, an invitation to a weekend event doesn’t only ruin that one particular day, it ruins the entire week leading up to it because the entire time you’re thinking about how your weekend is ruined. So here’s my rule: I’m accepting invitations to 12 events per year. That’s one week per month of my life absolutely ruined, while 75% of my weeks I can be my miserable happy self with nothing to do but fart on the couch.
Just like the United Nations, this Christmas is pretty anti-Semitic. I’ve been a Jew for 33 years and not once received a gift.
Is it the wreath on the entrance that fools Santa? If I put that up does he drop the presents in? And what if the fireplace is burning when he throws them in there? Do I get a refund? Would Jesus flip out if I put the money from the refund toward my Rabbi’s fund? He’s always begging me for donations because the temple is falling apart. Meanwhile he’s driving a new Mercedes every spring.
As one of my nicest colleagues recently said, we are weak millennials that live in a trophy society — a notion that many baby boomers and grandparents have similarly barked. And can you really blame them when millennial mothers don’t let their kids leave or enter the house before using hand sanitizer? They’re all wimps!
Discipline has disappeared. When children are loud in a supermarket, a movie theater, or airplane, the only thing we’re allowed to do is ask them to be quiet. Literal slaps on their wrists will end you up in jail, or worse: a viral video and social media hell.
Every child is told they can be anything in life—an artist, a musician, an athlete, an actor, the President… Professions in which only the best and toughest flourish. But when our children fail–even the 20-year-old children–we tell them “you did a great job,” and, “It’s the effort that counts.”
No it isn’t. Get a damn job, pay rent, stop trying to “be somebody,” and stop leeching off your parents until you’re 30.
What happened to the old school way of brute truth. When I was a fat piece of crap in my early twenties my dad DID NOT politely say, “Hey son, maaaaaaybe you should try going to the gym…?”
He gave it to me straight, “ARIEL. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR!”
Two years later I’m the fittest person in the family. Which is, in a family full of men who are less than five-foot-seven, NOT THAT impressive. But that’s not the point. The point is to GET TOUGH.
Millennial weakness infects the Christmas spirit every year. Parents tell their kids: If you’re GOOD this year, then Santa will bring you presents. But they forget to tell them the other half of the rule: If you’re bad, then you get NOTHING!
When is the last time you heard of a child being so bad that they didn’t get presents? Never! And that’s bullshit because I did the math here, and 90% of kids absolutely, and without a doubt, suck!
FACT: I met 10 kids in the last year, and only ONE of them did NOT suck. Therefore, only 10% of kids should get presents.
Far be it from me to tell you how to raise a child because I am one that’s 33-years-old, but just because a kid is alive doesn’t mean he deserves presents during the holidays.
When a mother tells her horrible son, “We’re giving you presents this year, only if you promise to be a good boy next year,” the only lesson she’s teaching him is how to be a good con artist.
That screaming, scheming kid goes back to his room the next day and thinks to himself, “Holy shit, I was a piece of shit all year, and still got presents! And all I had to do was lie and say I’ll be good from now on!”
Lord Santa would not approve of any of my mischievous acts this year. And scores of boys and men out there weren’t ‘good’ this year, either. We don’t deserve gifts. We deserve to suffer the consequences. But if you’re one of those parents who MUST get their child a gift, even if they were an asshole, then how about you get them a shitty gift?
If they wrote down on their Christmas list that they wanted a certain video game, then get them that video game but for a different system.
“I’m sorry, little Johnny. Looks like mommy bought the wrong video game. Maybe next year you don’t kick the teacher in the shin and you’ll get the right one!”
Out of this entire blog of bullshit, there’s one idea I think parents should take seriously: Make your kid write down all the bad things they did this year. Have them keep that list for the following year so they remember what to work on.
I wrote mine down in this blog. I’m already off to a good start this coming year.