An Open Letter To Motherfucking Humbugs

I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you’re feeling pretty stressed out. You’re probably reading this and tracking some motherfucking holiday packages via UPS in another tab, drinking some cold-ass coffee, and hating life right now.
‘I hate the holidays’, you’ll tell your coworkers over some stale, store-bought cookies in the break room. You’ll probably spend some time fantasizing about missing your flight home and instead spending the weekend toward the bottom of a bottle of middle-shelf gin and watching Die Hard, wrapped in last year’s unfortunate Snuggie. I get it, man. I do.

But let me tell you something. The holidays? They’re fucking AWESOME. And you need to pull your head out of your ass and look around, because you’re missing out. Here’s why:

Lights and decorations and shit. Have you looked at these things lately? Not from the top of a rickety ladder you borrowed from the in-laws, clutching a staple gun and freezing your ass off. Go pile your annoying kids in the car, drive through the fucking Tim Horton’s and get yourself a peppermint hot cocoa, and drive through some big-ass festive neighborhoods. Appreciate the work that went into that shit. I don’t care if you have to pretend it’s Laser Floyd, take a minute and really look around. Your kids will probably like this, too.

Christmas carols. Bing Crosby is the man. I don’t care who you are, his rendition of White Christmas will have you shitting candy canes. Almost every version of Carol of the Bells is fucking metal, even sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. And don’t even get me started on Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. All that tree needed was a little love! Shit.

Presents. No, you greedy asshole – buying other people presents. Thoughtful presents. Sure, it’s great getting that brand-new fancy Betamax player or a swell pair of tropical-printed Jams, but the look on a kid’s face when they open up the lead-encrusted plastic cartoon gewgaw they so desperately coveted? Oh, it’ll melt your damn heart. Yes, even yours. Put down the clearance travel mug and try harder. Do it for love. Or, do it to one-up cocky old Aunt Maureen. I don’t care, but they will.

It’s a Wonderful Life. Hope you’ve got a full box of tissues, loser! This one never fails. Zuzu’s petals! Shit, I’m tearing up. I’m ok, I’m ok.

Hot motherfucking cocoa. I’m drinking one now, bitches, and it’s good.

Remember, if you’ve given this whole thing an honest try and you’re still grinchier than a Gosselin on a camping trip, there’s always New Year’s Eve. Take two Xanax, two bottles of champagne, one regrettable hookup, and a walk of shame, and call me in the morning.
There’s always next year.