The Holidays for me are…
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you, I’m gonna worry about Toby right now!
What the actual fuck do you want? Mister funny guy here, running around prodding all over the place! Well, tough luck here, buddy, you ain’t gonna gawk shit from me! Do you know why?
Because I’m sick! I am fucking sick! I’m sick of being sick! Like I am every, goddamn Holiday! These goddamn, stupid ass temperatures keep messing up my immune system. I pop vitamin C’s like they’re fucking Pez, and do they help relieve me of my suffering?
NO, THEY DO FUCKING NOT!
Santa, don’t listen to that stupid bitch Mariah. All I want for Christmas, is mercy. Show me mercy from illness and pain. My nose feels like a geyser of mucus, my throat a dry desert where slime occasionally crawl across its raspy surface.
I’m usually a very calm person but being sick is like being possessed by a demon. I lay in my bed, like that slut from The Exorcist, puking and screeching at my girlfriend for release from this torment. And also to order me some McNuggies. She teased me with a cross once, but then I sneezed a ball of pure, oozing hatred and bacterial muck onto the bed sheets and she politely withdrew them. Hopefully she doesn’t try to call a priest for fun, maybe she’ll suddenly combust into flames, who knows. You don’t fuck with my sickness, and you don’t fuck with me while sick.
I don’t even have the energy to yell at my cat anymore. Can you imagine the utter uselessness I feel? And that vindictive, little fucker knows it. I usually keep my bedroom door open so I can more easily access the kitchen, living room or whatever without having to always open the stupid door. But I also have a clear line of sight to my prized sofa that I bought and imported from Italy. Or as my cat likes to call it, the scratching post. I’ve fucking soaked that cat with gallons of water whenever my spidey senses alert me to her presence in the vicinity of it. But now, she preyed on my weakness, lavishing the moment she gets to put her filthy paws on it and rip the seams and fabric to shreds.
“You fucking whore, you better stop that!” I cough at her.
But she smells weakness and I reek of it. I don’t have it in me to hurl more insults at her, but with every scratch she performs, I feel a new gash etched in my very core. Just you wait until I get better, I’m gonna waterboard your ass, you fucking pussy!
I eat, shit, cough, sleep and watch Netflix. On repeat. For what feels like an eternity. Fuck the Holidays, fuck it all. I feel like a crippled, old person whenever my girlfriend drags me to do the Christmas shopping. She forces me to, puts me in a wheelchair with a blanket so I look like the fucking grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But if I see any kid commenting on it, oh boy, am I gonna give him a golden ticket straight to the emergency room. What, I’m too weak to do it!? They don’t call me Hot Wheels for nothing, I’ll fucking mow ‘em down!
So yeah, if you wanna know how much I like the Holidays, you can eat my fucking ass. The Holidays are an excuse for God to execute his untimely revenge on me for my existence. And that son of a bitch knows how to piss me off.
So fuck you.
Fuck the Holidays
And most importantly.
Fuck my cat, that raggedy whore.