Merry Christmas, Kiss My Ass

If you want to find me on Christmas day and give me a piece of your mind, I’ll pretend to listen, whilst I down another shot of vodka. I’ll keep on drinking until the bar shuts me down and kicks me out. Because that’s what Christmas is really all about.

I bet you are looking for a message in all of this. I bet you are hoping that perhaps I’ll teach you a little life lesson. I bet you still hope for the best, when really, there’s nothing left to hope for.

Christmas is ruined and it’s all your fucking fault. It’s all her fucking fault, too. You’re both to blame here, I’m just pointing it out. So don’t you point the finger at me and tell me I’m the one who’s wrong. You look in the mirror at yourself and you tell me what you see.

Conformity. That’s what.

Merry Christmas? Pfft. Kiss my ass.