'Tis The Season To Buy a Rifle
I love Christmas.
I love the music, and the ornaments, and the children. Oh how I love the children. With their sticky little faces and their petulant screams, 'MINE MINE MINE'.
Yeah. They're great.
But you know what's even better? Their retarded parents. Parents so numb and broke and sad about their sad little pathetic lives that they wander around, in front of me, and don't realize I'm about to saw their heads off with a rusty blade.
It's like they woke up and decided to go chat with all of their fucking friends and relatives in the middle of fucking target.
'Oh, here's an empty aisle, why don't I set up camp!!'
'Oh look at me, I'm the center of my own fucking universe and since I'm completely self involved I'm going to walk agonizingly slow down the central aisle whiled TEXTING! Because that's how much of a fucktard I am!'
'Hey Jeana, oh my GAWD, can you believe she wore that to the X Mas Party (I'm so cool I abbreviate in real life) what a sluh uh ut! Aw NO! We shouldn't move to the side of the aisle, or I don't know, GO THE FUCK HOME TO HAVE THIS MORONIC CONVERSATION BECAUSE GOD DAMN IT, WE'RE BEAUTIFUL AND PEOPLE LOVE US.'
I want to take all of these peoples children into a beautifully decorated room and show them a movie where Santa dies.
