The Reason for the Season

The few people who know me and still read this latest blog know that I have real problems with Xmas.  Today, I saw them in Harris-Teeter, one step short of overt violence as they pushed and shoved their way down the aisles, requisitioning the larder each would need to produce the perfect sumptious Christmas that their cold-blooded villainy deserved.

The perennially disappointed made our way through Food Lion, making eye contact, smiling at least, if not offering season’s greeting and navigating the parking lot politely, as opposed to the Escalade demo derby going on at H-T, Whole Foods and Fresh Market.

I’m with the Wife and the cats tonight.  We’ll hang out tomorrow and she’ll visit with her set of narcissists Sunday, while I ignore mine for a change.

My family never visits or calls.  Any contact is dependent upon me.  They always seem glad to see me, but it gets old.  Pop’s gone and so it’s just mom and my brother.  He has a couple of kids, but they didn’t have the benefit of good parents.  It is what it is.

My position on people in general and Christians in particular hardened with the Tea Party, as evidenced by the fascist NCGOP legislature’s failure this week to repeal HB2.  My recent experience with authoritarians on the left has pretty much made me a misanthrope who makes exceptions where needed.

Frankly, the druid celebration of the shortest day makes more sense than the birth of a 2000 year old rock star.  I’m not a big fan of permanent war, so I have problems with people who subjugate those abroad and in their cities every day of the year save one for a God who has long ago judged them apostates.

So, celebrate Christmas, you privileged, entitled hypocrites with your perfect lives.  I prefer to stare into the abyss and contemplate your inevitable demise.  In these moments, if I remember the past at all, it is people like Kyle Petty upon whom I reflect, deficient in every aspect, but lauded because his parents had money and fame.  Or the Pretty Pink Ribbons who glide through life, perpetuating their unique tender mercies on the rest of us, devoid of humanity and decency.

I inhabit the cold, dark abyss and while cats are nice, I prefer it to the company of most people I have known.  I hang out with the wife because I like and respect her and there’s not much wrong with her that’s not wrong with all women.  I think therapists call that depersonalizing.  I tend to do a lot of dehumanizing in the interest of shaming and mockery, and I have a low tolerance for low quality people.

We stopped trying to meet new people, as almost everyone turns out to be a lunatic, alcoholic or dope fiend.  George, our feral grey, is a Russophile like me, but I don’t bother anyone else with my strange convictions.  I eschew the neighbors, especially those who don’t take care of their yards.  Shortly after I was able to walk, I have pushed a lawn mower in summer and a rake in winter.  I was getting up leaves in Liberty, yesterday, and the neighbor said, “That’s a big ass yard.”

As a result, I have the physique of a linebacker.  Unfortunately, my body also ignores insulin, but modern meds and BCBS render that manageable.  My tortured mind functions well enough to hold down a job and pursue my unfailing curiosity, often sending me into madness.

Speaking of which, I am not at all surprised Trump has sold us out to the neoliberals and Christofascists, and unconcerned so long as he pursues peace with Russia.  If Orange Jesus can manage to kill the neocon cancer, I will be more than pleased.  It’s obvious they’re going to put the stick about monetarily with the Chinese.  Otherwise, we’re all gonna watch Europe devolve into chaos from liberal insanity.  It remains to be seen if any right wing parties can put the brakes on oblivion.

Meanwhile, I’ve a front row seat to the future in the guise of the fascist GOP NC Legislature.  The only people I hate worse than conservatives are liberals, for at least the former have the courage of their convictions.  This week, the Legislature met in special session, putatively to repel HB2, which they deliciously failed to do.  This and the Trump victory have propelled conservatives into the vicious blood sport of baiting liberals, thus turning them into bitbulls who harry Ivanka Trump.

It is thoroughly pathetic that a stonewall of corporate media can only come up with Russians as an excuse for their loss.  The death of Hegemon is moribund, devoid of imagination and desperate for relevance, just like the recent campaign.  It seems we’ve not delved the depths of their depravity, but victory brings the opportunity to command and leaves little time to consider the defeated further.

So now we come to the utter subjugation of the considerate by those of action.  The former essentially followed the money away from labor, peace, education and moral authority.  It is left to those of us not consumed with authoritarianism to plead with the right to take up the tenets of socialism without the attendant promise of fascism.

So Merry Christmas, assholes.  I despise most of you and demand no less.

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