Awhile back I got an email that I responded to at the time, but waited until now to post. Anne wrote:
Why do you hate Christmas so much? I bet something really bad happened sometime during your childhood at Christmas time. Anne
Well Anne, you're right. Something bad did happen during my childhood at Christmas time. And until now, everyone had the good grace not to mention it. Thanks, bitch.
Anyhow, it was a week before Christmas. I was seven, and I went with my little brother to the mall to see Santa. We had no pets and all we wanted for Christmas was a puppy. Santa smelled kind of like beer, but he told us that we were cute little boys, and that he would show us "Santa's sack" that was in his van that he said had puppies and candiy. Well, he showed us "Santa's sack" allright, but we didn't get a puppy or candy. That fucking pervert.
So we went home, thoroughly disturbed...and walked in to see our dad making out with the 67-year-old mailman under the mistletoe on our front porch. Well, we told our mom, who divorced "your father the butt-pirate" as she called him from then on and took us and moved to another state, so we didn't live anywhere near our friends anymore.
Well, she felt bad about ripping us away from our friends, so she bought us a puppy for Christmas. Only she forgot to put air holes in the box when she wrapped it. Worst Christmas present ever.