Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report

y0lk-126

eZine's profile picture
Published in 
Y0LK
 · 22 Aug 2019

  

--(y0lk)---------------------------------------------------------------------


y0lk #126: "Merry Fucking Christmas" - by meenk


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------





Every day I watch them. Consume, waste, pollute. They shrug it off


with their shit eating grins, rationalizing their actions by occasionally


donating to a cause or recycling, as long as it doesn't interfere with their


important lives. This time of year is the worst. They wish merriment upon


eachother, then tear out eachother's eyes over the last blue <insert fad


action figure here> because junior would have a fit if he didn't have the


chance to posses, tire of, and break it. They stop off at the pseudo-santa


ringing a bell outside and give him a few coins, absolving any of the guilt


they may have felt after blinding the little old woman who was in the wrong


section and just trying to find a restroom. Then, because of the insane


parking lot traffic they are forced to hop the curb in the family minivan,


striking the poor pseudo-santa down rupturing his bloated, diseased liver.


Can't be late for Gram's pre-Christmas Eve dinner.





Sometimes, for a kick, the very shopping day before Christmas, I like


to go to the mall. I walk around leisurely, earning rueful stares from


frantic shoppers as they push past. "Damned Jews, crowding our malls after


their holiday is over." That's right. I'm a Jew. I am THE Jew. I'm surprised


they don't recognize me. Every year these people maim eachother, wasting


their money on things no one wants, all in my name. I don't feel a shread of


guilt though. I wasn't the one who made Christmas the way it is. Shit, I


wasn't even born on December 25th. I was born on January 6th. Some guy


decided to make me two weeks older just so he and his Pagan wife could


celebrate on the same day.





I always pause outside the Christmas village and watch the little


boys and girls hop up onto the lap of a stranger and tell him their deepest


desires. Oftentimes, a teenaged girl will rest her taut little ass on the man


and whisper to him. An attempt to make him blush provoked by a dare from her


friends. Sometimes the girl is wanton and she gets her Christmas wish. Santa


will take a break and disappear into a mall broom closet for 20 minutes,


emerging with rosier cheeks and a twinkle in his eye. The girl gets to tell


friends she lost it to Santa. It is a win-win situation.





This, too, amuses me. See, people have dismissed Santa Claus as a


mythical figure, but he exsists. The real myths are the village in the north,


Mrs. Claus, the sleigh, eight tiny reindeer, and the elves. In fact, the real


spelling is Santa Claws, changed (probably by the same man who changed my


birthday) so the holiday season was not marred by legends of a clawed elf


going around eviscerating people. After all, it is a time of cheer, right? I


know this because I _am_ Santa Claws. I started this gig after I was


crucified. My dad, whom you may know by the name God, was tired of me


sulking around heaven. I still wanted to make people happy. Dad hooked me up


with a nice pad, somewhere in Europe. He told me for my birthday I would be


allowed to perform one minor miracle, anonymously, once a year. I would give


everyone their most desired material thing (within reason, of course). The


rest of the year I was allowed to travel and preach, taking on a disguise so


I didn't cause an uproar.





For the first 40 or 50 years this was fulfilling, but after a while


people stopped appreciating it. One year, deciding I had enough of the


ingratitude, I donned the claws. I travelled around the world, disembowling


those displaying the least amount of gratitude and the most greed. Thousands


perished as I ripped through their soft flesh, causing their warm blood to


gush forth and their slippery guts to spill onto their shoes. I died for


these people, then granted them what they most desired, and they still wanted


more. It felt great to rip them apart and watch as they writhed in their


intestines, their life pouring out into a puddle around them. The next year I


stayed home, neither doling out gifts, nor killing (Dad went ballistic). Soon


after, my alias was altered. People didn't want to make the association


between my giving nature and the outcome of my rage. They were content to


stick to the tradition, purchasing and making gifts on their own.





Now, I reside in Manhattan, watching humanity, becoming more and more


disgusted by it. I considered going on another killing spree, taking out the


worst of the worst, but death no longer has shock value. I guess I will have


to go through with this second coming crap. *sigh* Like it will matter


anyway. I would kill myself but I already know what is waiting on the other


side, and I had a hard enough time moving out of my parent's house the first


time.





Oooh, Handy Snax<tm>. Mmmmmmmmmmm.








(author's note: heohaoehaoh. I made christ apathetic. cool.)


← previous
next →
loading
sending ...
New to Neperos ? Sign Up for free
download Neperos from Google Play

Let's discover also

Recent Articles

Recent Comments

Neperos cookies
This website uses cookies to store your preferences and improve the service. Cookies authorization will allow me and / or my partners to process personal data such as browsing behaviour.

By pressing OK you agree to the Terms of Service and acknowledge the Privacy Policy

By pressing REJECT you will be able to continue to use Neperos (like read articles or write comments) but some important cookies will not be set. This may affect certain features and functions of the platform.
OK
REJECT