Shut up and drink your eggnog

Ouch. Caustic and heavy-handed as it is, this rant nevertheless speaketh the plain truth, top to bottom. (Thanks to Brooke for sharing.)

Me, I love Christmas — the tree, the lights, the music (yes, even the religious stuff), and of course, the unrestrained consumerism. With Christmas, you get that combination of sensory-triggered nostalgia, the comfort and familiarity of ritual, the guilt-free indulgence, and a colorful, well-lit, sparkly distraction from the dark, cold onset of winter. And on top of that, Christmas smells damn good.

I love to hear Frank & Dino goof up “Marshmallow World” and Nat croon over his roasting chestnuts and Miss Piggy embellish “The Twelve Days of Christmas” with her buh-dum-dum-dums. Every year, Ralphie's Old Man proudly displays his fra-gee-lay Major Award, Cousin Eddie's dog barfs up a turkey bone under the Griswalds' table, and an irritated Schroeder plinks out “Jingle Bells” on his little piano.

I guess I'm lucky to count myself among those whose stomachs don't automatically seize up whenever “family” holidays roll around. I look forward to the Christmas Eve family toast (the one glass of wine my mother drinks all year); I get a kick out of buying things for my father that he will never use, just to see the look on his face. Our Christmases are reliably quiet, warm, and free of drama.

I even get a small pang of comfort from returning to the church of my childhood, just to see the familiar faces, hear the recitation of the “Gospel According to Linus” (And there were shepherds keeping watch...), and sing the standards (religious or no, “Silent Night” and “Joy to the World” still get to me). I may never forgive the Christians for the atrocities they committed on November 2, 2004, but every Christmas Eve I do give them credit for putting on a good show.

So nothing pisses me off like these “conservative” (they are nothing of the kind) wackjobs screeching and squealing to make themselves heard over the carollers and generally killing the buzz. These people are, literally, crazy. Seriously, certifiably insane. Arkham Asylum insane. I'm looking at you, O'Reilly.

Makes me want to sick a squad of Gremlins on their asses.