Money Worries

Aye, it's driving me to drink too

Jesus, I'm coming over all bah humbug but, then again, what the frig did you expect? I am a kraken with a love of Christmas but a spiralling disgust of the consumerism that has draped itself all over it, like a balding string of tinsel that's been pissed on by a tramp.
I mean, did you read today about the bell-ends who fought - yes, fought - over the tat being flogged in the post-Thanksgiving sales in LA? In an act of 'competitive shopping' some lunatic used pepper spray to beat her fellow shoppers to whatever shit she thought she couldn't live without. How delightfully festive.
Problem is that this grasping spirit of shit is abso-frigging-lutely everywhere. Christmas has turned into some marathon spending session punctuated only by telling other shoppers to go fuck themselves when they make a grab for the last Yardley bath cubes on the shelf. 
This vileness doesn't end at 5pm on Crimbo Eve either. My kraken cave looks out over a valley which includes a small retail park. Blissfully empty on the big day itself - I picture families frolicking together under a festive tree - by 9am on Boxing Day it's fucking rammed with people who want to force their New Year debt to new heights. Oh, how I long to run through them with a gun.
Thing is, as I froth over this it's still November. Which means said frothing hasn't even gotten started yet thanks to there being a full 24 days of December for me to despair of the grasping bastards that surround me. So if there's one thing I wish for this Christmas it's a sackful of patience, grace and goodwill. But if Santa fucks that up, as he does most years, I'll make do with something lethal and sawn-off, OK?