Ah, Christmas. Though it is by far the least tainted of all holidays, even it falls prey to the suffocating pressure of modern society.
As futile as it is, I try to keep something of the old ways. A dozen men and women gather upon benches strewn around a fire pit, every manner of food laid out for any and all to take their fill. Bottles of wine, beer, scotch, and a handful of other fermented fruit and grain product sit with the unwritten rule that, once open, they must be drunk to the last before the night is done. We brag, we boast, we tell the follies of our pasts. For a night, just a single night, we don't feel so small and meaningless. Sometimes a story is enough.
Wreaths and ornaments and clean carpets be damned. Such things are proof of how much of your life you are willing to cast into the abyss for, what? The chance to show up your fellow man or to defend yourself from percieved scorn, real or not? I spit upon such things. Even gift giving has degraded into a way to make yourself feel good at anothers expense, causing them guilt at not having gotten you a good enough present in return. Christmas dinner is less about food or company and more about showing off your fucking presentation. I spit upon all such things and wish they take their leperous excretions with them wherever such abominations go when they die.
Debate.
And bring me the fucking Krampus now, dammit.
No boom? No boom. No boom today. Boom tomorrow. There's always a boom tomorrow. ... What?! Look, somebody's got to have some damn perspective around here. Boom. Sooner or later. BOOM!
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actor_au wrote: Labrat's friends can't run away, as they are only the skins of the people he's drowned in his own semen, carefully stitched together and stuffed with cooking chocolate.
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