A regular scrooge

I’m not feeling Chrimmus this year. Blogs and articles I read go on about the secularization, consumerization, Christianization, paganization, or the whateverism of Chrimmus.

Some are calling for the holiday to be called Christ’s Mass again, while others are calling for a permanent change in the spelling to things like “Chrismas” or my own “Chrimmus.” Whatever.

What really got me were the decorations people had up even before Thanksgiving. I mean, can’t I give thanks for my good fortune over $20 green turkeys before I start thinking about the hundreds of dollars I’ll spend on soon-forgotten gifts for people I don’t see but once every several years? Honestly.

I hope I don’t sound bitter; it’s just that Chrimmus is dumb and tramatic. When I was a small child at the age of three, I was trampled in a mall stampede caused by a shortage of Sylvanian Families. My knee still hurts on rainy days. Really.

I think I’ll spend my Chrimmus writing Santa erotica--I mean, carefully crafted stories surrounding Santa and Mrs. Claus’s life together as the bringers of material possessions to boys and girls around the world. There’ll be lots of “character development.”