Our celebration of Christmas is totally fucked up. Tannenbaum, elves, reindeer, batshit crazy consumerism, cranberry sauce (both real and jellied), superfluous bell-ringing, five weeks of pop-culture soaked in saccarine and covered with tinsel, Ilex aquifolium, wassailing, way-too-much smiling and singing, adding lights to everything, using rare words like "spirit" and "merry", propagating the false existence of Santa to children everywhere — are you kidding me? What's the point of all this? It's just some dude's birthday.
I propose we go back to basics, namely, a cake with candles. If you want to don conical party hats, go bananas. But there's no need to prepare a twenty-four pound bird, or erect a tree in your living room, or play that fucking irritating Mariah Carey song. The Son of God would prefer something a bit more tasteful.
Oh, and if you're wondering what to get him, a gift certificate to the iTunes store will work swimmingly. But really, he's got everything he needs.
Happy birthday Jesus! You don't look a day over 30.
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