I do not dig certain Holidays.

The one’s you’re supposed to love.

Like, for instance, Christmas.

Why am I required to love Christmas?

You wanna know something? I fucking hate Christmas.

The Holly Jolly bullshit. Jingle bells jingling. Jingle jingle jingle…I’m not jingling a bell. Riding a sled. Slapping a Reindeer’s ass. I hate snow. More than I hate snow, I hate the fucking Christmas music everywhere you turn. Why do I gotta hear It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas every god damned minute for three weeks? Drag out Bing Crosby’s dead ass and impale his corpse on a pole. Or that hack Michael Buble. Why do I gotta listen to Mariah Carey crooning All I want for Christmas is you until I’m ready to strike a match on a fucking flame thrower? Light up the big tree they always stick in the center of the Mall. Cuz that’s where the demented old bastard child molester parolee Santa waits for the kids…kids lined up to plop on the sick fucker’s knee and whisper what they’d like for Christmas. Blast the old turd with my flame thrower. Curl him up like bacon. Maybe light up an Elf or two while I’m at it.

Sure, the dude they hire to play Santa for the kids is phony. That’s obvious. Even when I was a kid I knew better. I’m not gonna sit on this fucker’s knee. Old Bastard touching me places. “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas little boy. And what would you like for Christmas?” I’d like a flame thrower to light up your sick ass, that’s what I’d like.

Sicko Santa’s are bad enough. But even the nativity scenes are Bullshit. They don’t sell Christmas trees in the holy land. The Jews don’t celebrate Christmas. Only the rest of us saps celebrate Christmas.

Holly Jolly with Tommy Guns

Just another fun loving young couple!

I could have a holly jolly Christmas with the Barrow Gang. Decorate the tree at the gang’s roadhouse hideout. Wrap Gifts. Drink a little spiked eggnog. Oops! The law’s outside! They got us surrounded. We gotta shoot it out with state troopers. Grab hostages! Make a getaway in a hail of bullets. Cross the state line. Make it to another cheap roadhouse and get blasted on Moonshine. Holly Jolly! Uh oh. Another shoot out with cops. Another high speed getaway. But now it’s Christmas. We need some cash for gifts. Let’s pull a Christmas day bank robbery. But the bank’s closed. All the banks are closed! Nothing’s open on Christmas! Okay, so we rob a gas station. Make off with fifteen bucks. That’s a lot of dough in 1932. Oops! More cops on our tail. Shoot it out some more…yet another getaway…this is a Bonnie and Clyde Yuletide!!!

We don’t give. We steal…

To Hell with Noel. Use yer Browning Automatic Rifle!!!

I could have myself a Bonnie And Clyde Christmas

Spend my Christmas hiding out. I’m not on a wanted poster. Cops don’t give a shit about a old dude like me. I’m talking hide out from Christmas. That’s all. Hide from the Holly Jolly Bullshit. That’s the ticket! Lay low in my watery hole.

Well, I didn’t exactly hide out…

You can’t hide out from Christmas. It’s like trying to hide out from Trump. He’s everywhere you look. Everything you hear. You just gotta put up with him until he goes away. Christmas is just as bad. The only difference, Christmas is around for a couple two or three weeks once a year, then it goes away and you’re back to normal. You’re done thinking about Christmas. Trump, on the other hand, never goes away. Trump is day in day out forever and ever until God help us FATE steps in finally and puts an end to it.

No, I didn’t escape Christmas. I had Christmas Dinner at Joan’s Pad. My Trumpy girlfriend. I couldn’t talk my way out of it. It was not so bad. Actually, it was quite pleasant. The eating part. Not the Fox News part. Not the part where I’m listening to Trump Junkies rattle on like insane elves. Grilled to the gills with Trump radiation therapy. The dinner was not so bad because I went around the house and turned off all the TEE VEES…the dinner was pleasant because all the TV’s stood silent. Joan had her neighbor join us for Christmas Dinner. I think she’s a Liberal. I’m a Christmas-Hating Marxist. Trump makes us simpatico these days. Anyway, we did not talk politics. We had a nice dinner.

A pleasant meal. No Politics. Just food and wine and pleasant company.

No buzzards circled above!

Yet another Suck Ass Holiday Season draws to a close

Frankly, I don’t believe I have a problem. I may be abnormal. I don’t feel abnormal. Maybe I’m a little different. Am I the only one who hates Christmas? I don’t think so. I think Ebenezer Scrooge got a raw deal.

I’m not miserly like Scrooge Mc Duck, either. I just don’t see any reason why I gotta spend good money on people because of a so called Christian holiday that by the way supplanted a Pagan Holiday called Saturnalia. You got your Jesus Freaks back in the day stealing a holiday from these poor dead ass Pagans in order to wipe them out. That’s right. Best way to get rid of a pagan cult, get rid of their rituals and celebrations. Same with your Satanic Cult. You don’t see Hillary Clinton and her Deep State Disciples drinking the blood of sacrificed newborns in plain sight, do you? The Christians forced them underground. You can’t be a Law Abiding Pagan in Trump’s America. You gotta be a Christian. Say bye bye to Saturnalia!

No more shooting dice, the official practice during Saturnalia.

I’d much rather spend my holiday shooting dice than exchanging gifts. Shoot Dice. Or maybe attend a drunken sloppy pagan feast or two. Could be more fun than shopping for gifts.

New Year’s Eve

I’m hanging at Joan’s Pad for New Years Eve. She likes having me here. Sort of. I guess. Let me ask her.

I just asked her and she said, OF COURSE!

So I’m good. Long as I pay for shit. (Which adds up, BTW…)

I’m hanging here at Joan’s dining room table, typing, got my ear plugs on, listening to soothing tropical ocean sounds via Youtube, writing this blog post, while Joan sits in her dinette, watching Fox News. Meanwhile, another blast of winter rolls through outside…a week of rain they call Atmospheric Rivers. What we called RAIN and RAIN STORMS back in the day. Maybe this new term is apt because our current weather is more severe. I guess it is. Trumpy people don’t believe in Global Warming. They don’t like it when you say CLIMATE CHANGE. Okay, fine. Ignore the reality. Give the bad ass weather we’ve been having lately another name. Call it Holly Jolly Climate. How’s that? Well, all I know, I live on a boat and to me every storm is a pain in the ass. My fucking boat leaks like…like…like…like a leaky ass boat!

My boat’s deferred maintenance is a good reason to be hanging at Joan’s Pad. Here, behind insulated walls, you don’t even notice the weather. Unless of course I take off my headphones and bother to stare out the window or crack the sliding door. Living on a boat is a whole different world. THE REAL WORLD, you might say. Hard to avoid the weather when you’re knocking around at the dock.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for my boat. I love my boat. This is me feeling grateful. Showing a bit of gratitude. Because that’s the true spirit of Christmas. Giving thanks. And wishing only good luck and good cheer to your friends and neighbors. Problem is, the real thing and the true feeling is more often than not buried in Bullshit.

I do know this: living on my boat is right where I belong…and after a day or so hanging at Joan’s Pad I can’t wait to get back to my tub, leaks and all…

New Year’s Day

I know people who feel depressed when New Year’s day rolls around. Depressed because the joy of the holiday must come to an end. Do I actually know these people? Maybe I used to know them. Back when I was young and joyful. I’m still joyful. Just not Bullshit Joyful. I think there’s even a name for this kind of depression:

due to the abrupt shift from festive excitement and routine to post-holiday quiet, known as the “post-holiday blues,” stemming from changes in schedule, reduced stimulation, loneliness, family dynamics, grief, or the return to normal life……compliments of A.I.

That’s right. There’s people out there so buried in the Holly Jolly Bullshit they get depressed when it ends. They get the POST HOLIDAY BLUES. Wow….I almost feel sorry for these poor bastards.

What I feel on New Year’s day is relief. Relief that all the bullshit is over until next year, when, on the day after thanksgiving, the Holly Jolly Bullshit will start up all over again.

I guess I’m stuck with the recurring Holly Jolly crap until I croak…less violently, I hope, than Bonnie and Clyde.

Ambushed not on Christmas Day! Bonnie died with her man…

How’d that poem she wrote go?

“The Story Of Bonnie And Clyde“

Here’s the last stanza:

Some day they’ll go down together;
And they’ll bury them side by side;
To few it’ll be grief
To the law a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.

— Bonnie Parker 1934

No Holly Jolly… no meet me under the mistletoe…no sitting on Santa’s knee…

No Yuletide Bullshit for Bonnie and Clyde.

I’m kind of a sucker for a poet…

But I think I’m good on the Double Lotus…not robbing gas stations like Jellyroll…just bobbing at the dock and minding my own damned business.

Oh, and here’s the only Christmas Song I kinda sorta like: