My Hatred Of Christmas Starts Earlier Every Year, My Love Of Monkeys Never Wanes.

Christmas carols are making me a shut-in. Sure I could blame my broken foot which is healing at the speed of molasses, my eternal hacking cough or the sub zero temperatures outside but I've dealt with worse. In 1985 I went to see a band at The Arts Club immediately after getting hit on the head with a bottle thrown from a speeding car, knocked unconscious, driven bleeding to the hospital by strangers and stitched and tetanus shotted up. Just last month I was hobbling around The Narrow on a cane doing Jager shots. I can make it through bloodshed, bar fights, bank robberies, break-ups, family dinners and most other uncomfortable situations with a generally positive attitude but something about the month immediately proceeding christmas makes me want to kill. This year I'm not buying anyone over the age of 12 presents and both Pollyanna and Mavis Stapler will be in town so if I can just avoid too many stores with canned holiday music the world should be safe from my wrath.