Happy Holidays You Bastards.

Ah I remember that classic Blink182 album from my secondary school days. It was them wasn't it?

Christmas has sold out. And it sold out a long time ago. Just like how Bon Jovi sold out and did that disgusting emotionally charged album with sappy slow versions of their classic rock songs also known as "This Left Feels Right". Just like how Jack Black, one of the great vulgar comedy icons of our time sold out and acted in the bullshit chickflick "I'm a stupid blonde yank, and she's a ditsy pomme, lets randomly change places and sleep with each others boyfriends" I mean "The Holiday". Before I infringe several more copyrights, I think I should explain myself a little better, given that the last two examples would only be understood by myself and Kyle "The Man" Ganapathy, Chief Executive Officer of Kyle's Kickass Films.

Christmas is a booming business, far beyond it being a celebration of the birth of my man J.C. Its meaning today is much greater than anything like that. It offers a wonderful opportunity for people to waste money on obligatory trinkets and other useless paraphanaelia. For the poor souls who didn't have the opportunity to piss away their hard earned cash at the other meaningful celebrations of Valentines Day, Father's Day, Mother's Day, Curry Puff Day, Speak Good Singlish Day, Gay Pride Day and various other anniversaries and birthdays, fret not, for there's always Christmas.

The jewellery companies come out in full force, occupying all the floor space normally taken up by mindless kiddy shows and stupid dances that nobody watches. Each with wonderful warm fuzzy messages of how their pieces of shit you can wear will make your family life perfect with everybody loving you. If I owned one of those joints, I'd at least have some honest advertizing. "Kurt's Gold Covered Fecal Matter: Buy This For Your Wife, or she'll make you feel guilty for the rest of the year!" Once that good natured approach fails, I'll of course proceed to using abusive violence with the catchphrase "Buy my shit or I'll break your legs."
How on Earth can brand names like SooKee, LeeHwa and Taka ever hope to compete with Tiffany's and Cartier? They sound like a place I'll go to when I feel like eating some leaves floating around in hot water, I mean Chinese Noodles.

Every place that sells anything that can be passed off as a gift gets swamped by an orgy of Singaporeans at their inconsiderate best. I'll park my car in a carpark to have lunch and I'll come back 10 minutes later to see that someone has plonked his vehicle right in front of mine. Assuming I, like him, am counting down the "shopping days" left till Christmas and would be having an extended stay in the carpark as well. What a ridiculous concept. But that sums up what Christmas means to everybody today.

It is a lose-lose situation. If you get nothing, then you will be declared a stingy old sod for not having the consideration to honour the friendship with a useless (or edible) memento. You are instantly cast among the ranks of Hitler and Satan for not following what the bible has said. "But Kurt, you're wrong, you must give gifts in remembrance of our lord who blah blah blah... just like the three wise men." You stupid sons of bitches, if you were Christ then sure, I'd give you some gold and stuff. That you ain't you terrorists.

If you do decide to bite the bullet and buy something, you are still going to get your ass handed to you, for everybody's favourite pastime is comparison. Whatever you give will be compared to what you gave the last time, what the person gave to you, what other people gave to the person, as well as what you gave to other people and in accordance to your gross monthly income. Common lines include:
"Wah last year he gave me earrings, got two diamonds. This year, a ring only... with only one diamond! I think he no love me anymore... how ah?"
"See this Kurt? I gave him one of my kidneys this year, and all he gave me were chocolates? Ungrateful bastard."
"Sigh.. Kurt and his cheap perfumes again... Oh what's this from Jackson? Oh oh OMGOMGOMG!!! 100 dollar TopShop Voucher!! I'm going to marry him and have his children."
"Puki, you mean he gave you a Mercedes? He only got me a Japanese tin can with 4 wheels. I think its called Lexus or whatever.. eeeh ang moh cars so much better one."
"You know ah, that bastard, every month earn 3.5k, but he can dare to buy me this low end Rolex."

Many of the romantics among us harbour hopes that the "festive season" will rekindle their hopes of finding love. And not the, "Mummy and Daddy, thanks for everything!" sort of Love. It's the "I've noticed you around, I find you very attractive, would you go to bed with me?" sort of Love. And many movies perpetuate this myth, giving hope to the hopeless, which I think is far more cruel that letting them die in peace. Hard luck you fuckers, it ain't snowing.

In this cataclysm of commercialisation and other topics covered in A Level GP, we tend to forget the true meaning of Christmas.
MINDLESS DRUNKEN PISS UPS. There's something for everybody. The fabulously wealthy (such as Gordon) can drink Moet & Chandon until the collected bubbles make his intestines implode, and for the poor guttersnipes like myself, the hardware store offers an eclectic range of kerosene and paint thinner. More than anything else, Chrismas is an opportunity for everyday people like you and me, to wear a pair of underpants on our heads and sing a bunch of songs, all to the tune of the Mexican Hat Dance.

I am almost certain that my man J.C wouldn't have wanted his birthday to be about people exchanging mandatory gifts with other people they only see once every other year. Neither would he have wanted sombre gatherings of people holding candles and singing songs that you've heard so many times that you want to hang yourself everytime you hear them, as well as poisoning and setting yourself on fire prior to that to quicken the formalities. He would have wanted us to have a bitchin' time, doing just the fuck what we wanted to do. Not what we should do, not what we must do. What we WANT to do. Sadly, we will forever misunderstand it.

Before you type into my taggeboarde "Haha hey Kurt don't be so negative la! Its not all that bad." (And please don't, because I will hunt you down and kill you.) I have one last thing to say to try and appease your restless spirits. There is one thing that you can do to beat all this nonsense. Of all the chocolates and clothes and little novelties that have already lost their entertainment value, that I received, what meant the most was a simple letter. It could have been attached to a piece of charcoal and it would have had the same effect. A simple letter written in unfancy text on a small rectangle of paper. The words leapt out like nothing else had. And that is the best thing that you can give to someone. A piece of yourself. Now don't reach for that knife, I've already received enough fingers in the mail this month. Some words on a page, or a picture of a moment in time. That is what lets the gift's receiver know that they have a place in you life, and that you have hopes that they hold you there just the same. No need for fancy splurges on cliched gifts that are more than likely to disappoint. Instead of the sleazefest of having to wrestle with people on Orchard Road, do something yourself.

Alright, now that I have successfully sold out too, allow me to present to you my latest waste of time. It'll at least give you some idea of what to give to someone. I don't recommend doing the same, because my brain has been dissolved by glue fumes, but hey, if it helps you to get some action and a bit of the old in-out in-out, then you're welcome to steal it. Oh wait, I just realised that it seems kind of pointless, but instead of the "The End" the final product had someone's name on it. Identities are strictly confidential (for my long term benefit of course). But to you who have received it, this one's for you. Now you know what it took.
I do apologize for being somewhat self indulgent, but what the hell.



Oh and on a side note, if you had an issue with absolutely anything that I've said here, just bite your lip because I assure you that you are sorely mistaken. And if you do decide to make something of it, don't regret, because when you come crawling back next time, it will be too late, because I will be a God.

Kurt (...and all I want for Christmas is... Money! Sweet sweet money! Green gold!)