by John Fox - Vol 5 Issue 60

Once again the ritualistic, seasonal, corporate flogging of our pocket books has begun in full force. This is the time of year when marketing divisions roll up their sleeves, get in the ring and fucking brawl for our hard earned dollars. Everyone from high-end executives and part-time receptionists to office workers and crack-head temps throw themselves directly into the middle of a two month long battle royale that begins the second they sober up from Halloween to the day after Christmas. They would rather die than see my money be spent somewhere else.

It’s been a while since I’ve actually celebrated Christmas or Thanksgiving. Last year, I was in the ICU unit of a Chicago Hospital coming to terms with a nasty disease for Thanksgiving. Christmas was spent at a movie theatre from the second they opened to the last showing, eating popcorn and downing cup after cup of diet soda.

Pretty tame stuff compared to what I had been accustomed to growing up. Drunk members of my family fist fighting in the back yard and throwing each other over fences, getting lost in the woods behind my grandma’s house after dark with my cousins and having police and search dogs come out to find us, spoiled asshole cousins breaking their new, expensive toys over their knees and throwing fits. All fun times I’d much rather forget.

The last time I actually celebrated Christmas was my first one in Chicago in 2005. I was forced to by the dumb bitch I was dating and her wealthy, over-bearing parents. The ground was pitch white with fresh snow and I was stuck in a large, million dollar cabin with a bunch of imbeciles, senior citizens, rich people and my insane friend, Jenny, who was visiting from Seattle.

Jessica (dumb bitch) pretty much refused to leave for days on end and I was forced to stay because we were out in the middle of nowhere in freezing temperatures and I was without a car. Jen got picked up by a friend of ours, ditching me with a bunch of people who had fully bought into the “plastic,” high-end, corporate lifestyle. I was disgusted and wanted out.

The only good thing that came out of this experience was the fact that for the first time ever, I was asked to make up a wish list before getting everything that I’d written down a month later. Even the really expensive crap that I would never actually consider using like top shelf cologne, $300 bath robes and towels, IKEA gift cards and shit like that came into my possession from people that I’d never even knew existed before that day.

Fake, plastic love.

I still think about the time when my drunken friends and I dragged down that thirty-foot tree with the winch from his truck and how the cops couldn’t find us. I’ll cheer on anyone who anonymously fire bombs any major, corporate department store and pump my fist every single time I hear anything negative about the most depressing holiday of the year.

Haven’t people really figured out that it is actually a lot more thoughtful to make your gifts for people rather than to just buy them? How about doing something like inviting someone off the street into your home for Christmas dinner? I guarantee that person would appreciate that simple gesture a lot more than the people you’ve spent all sorts of money on store bought gifts for. It really doesn’t require much thought to purchase something for someone and nobody should feel guilty if they don’t.

This year, I’m going to continue my Christmas boycott. I was thinking that I would wander around town and pay homeless people to fight with each other for entertainment. Either that or go to the movies all day like I did last year.
Bah Humbug!