As I type this, fifteen in, it is the day after Thanksgiving, the 24th of November, "La Dia Del Muerto." It is 1:40 in the morn as I type this period. It is the Day of the Dead.
Sales, sales, sales. The zombies walk through the streets, they arrive at sparkling "malls" to hand over their greenbacks. It's a mob-mentality. I've heard and read of people getting into fistfights, in previous years, over Tickle-Me Elmo dolls. (Tickle him. He laughs.)
Is everybody a fucking lemming, I wonder. I wonder that, if someone in authority said that the sale would end in five minutes, would we witness a mash of women and men jostling and shoving to get their "Dear One's" present?
Do people actually do, as commercials have suggested, camp out in front of a store, waiting for the doors to open? And, if so, why? Money is one thing. Sure. But I have the feeling that a lot of the lemmings make a secondary holiday out of the "Day After Thanksgiving."
They wake early and do some pre-game stretches. Triceps for reaching and biceps for punching and hamstrings for scooting throughout the big-box stores. A five-AM high-protein breakfast is eaten and much java is guzzled. For....
For...what, exactly?
To shell greens out for the latest fad? To be one with the Crush of Mob? To get Sally a My Little Pony set? To get Bobby a G.I. Joe doll? Fuck it.
Do what I do. Get your loved one's something that they need. A box of noodles, say, or a shovel.
And for those of you with kids--or step-kids--out there? Don't give in to their fucking caterwaulings. Do what's right. Give them absolutely-fucking nothing if they whine and babble. Here's a "great" Christmas gift: Teach 'em that the world isn't always fun and gum-balls and cotton candy. Teach them that life sucks, sometimes, and teach them to deal with it.
Buy them, for Christmas, a package of Ramen noodles. Beef-flavored is the best.
I've allowed Ebenezer into my soul so the least I could do would be to let Mister Ebenezer sign his name to my words.
Bah! Signed,
Ebenezer Scrooge
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