Tis the Season

Tis the Season

I have unearthed a fresh nausea this stale December

Consumerist contrapuntal mandates boom out my Japanese television

Over satellite beams entwined with my aloof disassociation with J.C. 

Birthday plans shit out presents like depression-panacea vomit

Taxpayers and Jews unite in hammering that nail home

Spend, belch, consume, scarf, eructated flotsam for cartoon bubble

Thoughts swashing above my skull that entitlement mentality

Boiler plates are pressed about reasons and poinsettia sentimentality

Internet connection erections spunk PayPal religion

Stuffing stockings and wrapping bypassed sales taxes in shop-local conundrums

Pew-squatters defecate piles of be-prepared biscuits for foodie dog-lusters

With lamb-skin dog beds with better-dressed pups than African transients

Wandering to Kenya for Somali canteens staring at stars as babes get buried roadside

Thankful, so thankful for vaginal deity-exit, bush-hair pubes

Ripe by his maw as he wailed for this world in the aroma of mule and camel dung

Goats bleating in the desert frost of sandy-inns boarded up for techno-house parties

Sucking eggnog in Dyson-cyclone fellatio while the raves blur out the nova’s glare

Presents wrapped and re-wrapped to scramble contents of parking lot vomit

Scrap the SKU’s off the asphalt with a Pampered Chef spatula, Kitchen-Aid hand blender

Gucci, Prada faux-fur, cashmere hand-stitched by Indonesian daughters

Kindergarten prayer mats to Allah so Jesus can save us while Bangladesh eleven year old prostitutes down Oradexon steroids to resemble plump sugar plumb fairies

Fuck Christmas and birthdays, extravagant meanderings of squirming outside ways into this world.  Modern day Middle East still would have stoned her, execute the rapist and the raped, flush the child.  Afghani bastard-bearers imprisoned and forced to wed their rapists upon parole. 

The Liars, the Godless and the God-gluttons gorge pork-bellies in Yule-time to drift through another revolution of a planet around a sun to mark arbitrary fantastical memorials.  Point of a spear up a vagina to slice off the head, “What would we do to you if you tried to come again?”

I am nauseous for these regurgitating hay-bale locusts dripping with honey refusing to die scratching the roof of my mouth with their thoraxes.  Merry Santa all peppermint-dressed sodomizing elves bent over confessional booth kneelers.  Who is a saint?  Gray-beard trust, revenge and obstruct the view of this whole fucked up circus. 

Levitating reindeer and Christs teleporting past ovarian tubes with wizard mitosis for a slush-pond North Pole melting in all this phantom climate change Forgive me if I no longer believe in Santa either as a dupe-proposition, “If they’ll believe in red suit jingle-jolly philanthropists, what else will they believe?”

Interconnected we are all one, yet political action committees bribe babes with Fischer Price, Barbee, and Marvel mocking Chanukah pittances and agnostic flesh bags gawking at their empty stockings, chucking coal at merchant windows for Me-Too resentment

Adorn the tree in silver and gold, emblaze the lights in blinking acid ravings of blinking reindeer, top-hat snowmen and beer-belly G-Pa’s for a rebellion over pagans to find a friend in Christ.

What is the point again?  Taking a no-present pledge, I don’t want a damn possession. Instead of cookies, I am setting out a full plate for my neighbor.  Maybe God will finally eat this year.