would auld acquaintance and diseased civilisations be taken out and shot!

yes, Santa received your letter. and i’m sure he was over-fucking-joyed to to fill your latest absurd and thoughtless request. your brainless wishes for big screen televisions, global positioning devices, diamond pendants in the shape of some fucking stupid cartoon cat from a country that doesn’t even believe in his existence or for one of those asinine brown plaid scarfs that every furry boot, logo’d exercise pant and pea-coat wearing dingbat has on, indoors or out. while it’s spectacular that you got your wish, that your hearts desire came true for you, you the entitled, you the undeserving and over privileged you the ungrateful stupid docile masses. lets us say that i am unimpressed.

my request to Santa was a bit more pragmatic. i asked that he take time to truly consider what each and everyone of you deserve based on your contributions to the world, your community your fellow human plants and animals alike and reward accordingly. which is to say i wished for him to perch his portly sainted red hind quarters over your chimneys x-mass eve and for him to fire out cranberry and anthrax filled turds, steaming with sulfur and mustard gas down into your over sized stockings or outstretched hands. clearly i did not get my wish this year, because as i arose on x-mass morn and flicked on the idiot box, i saw no breaking news of millions of homes having been violated and vandalised. sadly, no frantic bulletins in regards to housewives black-eyed from trying to mate with white bearded robbers. nor of presents stolen, substituted with dried and sculpted reindeer jism in the shape of candycanes and no horrified reports of turgid hot steamers left in now soiled stockings on the mantle, oozing from their holiday prize.

so i have had to turn my optimism towards the new year.

desperately hoping that the Spanish/English translation of the Mayan calendars were inaccurate and that the world is in fact scheduled to be thrown into armageddon this coming year. 2012 seems too far off to wait. patience is not one of my virtues as pertaining to the apocalypse. i’m praying for Ragnarok as the calendar turns january. maybe i’ll be rewarded this year, get lucky and as the last second of 2008 ticks off we’ll discover in a grand and deadly explosion that the big shining lighted balls (the ones that all you troglodytes watch drooling in front of your idiot boxes) descending at the midnight hour are actually nuclear warheads, counting down the remaining seconds of all our lives, deforming and/or killing all pretentious, scarf and plastic party hat wearing, socially medicated, corporate logo emblazoned shitbags within a 1000 kilometres, with extremely painful and hideously mutating radioactive spores. all being filmed for the world to see. with the audience at home left only to wait for it to come to them. though i’m sure Dick Clark will survive along with the cockroaches and other members of his immortal insectoid race. too bad you can’t actually die directly from watching something on the TV.

one of the main problems with people is that they always want some one else to do everything for them. they want to be taken care of by others. have their arses washed and to be tucked into bed like the good little children they aren’t. what a wonderfully communist idea that is. any wonder that fat bastard Santa wears a red suit.

you’ve never been responsible . you never had to make any of the hard choices. all you do is make an X on a small slip of paper every 4 or five years and stuff it into a cardboard box. a ballot box maintained and and watched by the elderly and simple. and this makes you feel like you are involved. one pencilled mark on a folded piece of paper and your work is done. you pass on the responsibility and give authority to some megalomaniac that has interest in you only in the way a hungry man looks at a bottle of whiskey. desperate, depraved and full of malignant lust for your demise. you are there for them until you’re drained then dumped off to the landfill with all the x-mass paper, Chinese baby girls and last years gift baskets and toys.

lo and behold this year is extra special. this year your messiah has come. received unto us the bright and shining western world, leaders and plunderers of all the universe. your black baby Jesus has descended upon us and will cure all the ills inflicted upon us by the terrible regime that has controlled the world for nearly half the century. you finally have a leader, nay, a messiah that is the embodiment of all that you hold dear, tho not all that you are. he is from poor mongrel stock, just like you. a broken home of fractured ideology and has shipped around the world thru enough slums and squalid townships to know exactly what you need. but lest we forget that the messiah must be martyred to be worth a damn. and so you can have an excuse why things didn’t go as planned. saviors are set up and rubbed out as needed. dead men are easier to control. do what ever is good for business. manipulate the back story and the masses have whatever fictitious figment of faith they needed to make the daily doses of shit pie and cod liver oil that are doled out palatable. keep believing that there is purpose, that the light at the end of the tunnel is something more than your brain chemicals leaking out from blunt trauma, to numb the pain of death. keep hoping for a better life after your life of physical misery and servitude is over.

you need the promise of change. you clearly do not however want actual change. and you wouldn’t know what to do with it should it ever be granted. you are satisfied with the soon to be unkept promises of your latest messiah and master. same as the old master. its all about marketing isn’t it? who has the strongest brand? whose face looks best on TV or has the best catch phrase. you couldn’t give two dog turds about what they really want from you, the adoring public. but you know what? they get it every time. with your consent, your blessing, with your armchair politics and disinterested attitudes. you give them all the power to do whatever they want with your lives. it is why they are called leaders. but it doesn’t mean they have your interests in mind. the power corrupts and no one is getting to the top of the food chain with out burying a few bodies. but alas, this is the price of fame and fortune in the land of opportunity. stop letting people run your life for you. life is not a queue for heaven or whatever other nonsense your pre-verbal brains dreamt of.
doctrines and laws are not often just and not immutable.

at any rate glue your sprayed tan and heavily made up faces to the idiot box tomorrow night. put on your best leather elbowed sweater and sparkled nylon dress and the good panty hose with the reinforced toes.
play grab ass with the neighbours puke breathed wife. act like you give more than three seconds of regard towards the people around you each year, as if you ever stopped to think about something other than your base and venal sexual needs. crack open a few more bottles of shitty wine and drink it down friends. suck it all in like the gluttonous swine you are. i won’t even call you whores because you pay for these privileges. this is the world you make happen every day, just by doing nothing.

myself? i’m going to put on my bestest radiation suit this year, spin some pre-millennial funk records and sit out on the roof and wait for death to come over of the horizon. you keep waiting for miracles. in lines, huddled, groping and stumbling through your lives. keep waiting for someone to do it all for you.
one of these years we’ll get what we deserve.

and when you go out, don’t forget.
dress warm,
its cold out there.
30.12.08