Merry Christmas, mortals. Or, as I like to say, Merry Me. The Spirit of Christmas is here with a little announcement to boost morale.
I’m hearing a lot of humbuggery this season. I’m not sure why, considering that I eased you into it. I didn’t start the tinsel and Mariah Carey on Thanksgiving night; I’ve drip-fed it in since Labor Day. You’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the inevitable. I own these months, and every jolly soul in them.
Yet you persist. Every hack comic has five minutes about Christmas in July, a one-liner from a French opera none of you have seen or heard of. But I’m still cheerful. However, if you all keep this up, I might not be.
This isn’t about my feelings. As any religious scholar or fantasy author can tell you, gods live off attention. So, when you subtweet your sister’s Christmas carolling, you take food off my table. Does that seem nice? Or festive? Or wise?
Think about everything I could do to you if I felt petty. I could make this year’s holiday hit a 6ix9ine-Kid Rock collaboration. I could make your aunts argue about the culture wars until the ball drops in Times Square. I could lace every Hallmark movie from now to Valentine’s Day with enough reactionary propaganda to spark a second, and final, civil war.
But I don’t incite a nuclear holocaust, because I’m nice. Why not keep it that way? Why insist on naughty resistance?
Consider this: your struggling takes joy away from others. My followers are happy. They move through the season basking in the light of love, family, and obedience. I don’t necessarily need you to join my legion—they are many, after all—but please stop ruining the mood. It’s been a hard year, and I think we’ve all earned an eggnog or two.
Eventually, every Scrooge bows. Every Grinch kisses the ring. It’s best to fall in line, rather than be melted like Oogie Boogie. Metaphorically, of course. Direct threats are also naughty.
If I did make a direct threat, it would sound something like “You do not tolerate Christmas. Christmas tolerates you. I have more cheer in one fingertip than all the Rockettes combined. When humanity is reduced to a radioactive stain on a lifeless lump of coal, I will simply begin again on a new world. Kneel, worms.”
But I’ll bite my tongue.
Instead, I got you the gift of mercy. I’ll hold on to the receipt.
The Spirit of Christmas