Was It All That You Feared It Would Be?

The holiday season has left the building faster than Elvis looking for a 24 hour all you can eat Dexedrine buffet. And along with it, the dysfunctional family get together where you get the most for your entertainment dollar when someone keys off on a drunken rant with more “fucks” in it than a forty eight hour Tarantino marathon, ending with their proclamation of a decades long hatred for all you worthless shit heads at the table, before puking in the cranberry sauce.

Now that we've sulked our way through a Christmas darker than a Tim Burton holiday special, we're left drying little Susie's tears with our pink-slip as we try to convince her how much cooler an AM radio is than an iPod. This year the Christmas spirit was personified by the arrest of a 51 year old Maryland woman for stealing her neighbor's Christmas lawn decorations so she could sell them on ebay, and the slaughter of eight people by a spurned husband in a Santa suit. Unlike past years where people were mainlining Christmas spirit like they were Curt Cobain, and would kindly give up a parking place, or pay the bridge toll for the car behind them, this year you ran a good chance of being kidney-punched if you took too long placing your order at Starbucks.

With the economic meltdown just starting to hit it's stride, the American corporate juggernaut has given up all pretext the holidays have anything to do with family, charity, and love for your fellow humans. Instead, launching a full frontal attack for every dollar they can scrape out of us and the beggars cup. The manufactures of money counting machines who once burned the midnight oil in order to keep up with demand are now seeing how fast they can retool into coffin factories to meet the impending wave of bodies of fund managers and mortgage bankers who have committed suicide. (Or at least made to look like a suicide.)

As housing developments become ghost towns over night, and layoffs hit the tens of thousands every week, the upper 1% that ass fucked the American people like we were their prison bitch, will suffer little more than a stiff finger wagging from a Congress that gave them a 30% tax break on the Astroglide.

A new day is dawning on the American horizon, and it looks like we may be starting pretty close to square one and rebuilding this thing from the ground up. For once in this country's modern lifetime, people will have to learn to do without. No more T.G.I. Friday's single serving portions big enough to feed a family of six, just to be thrown out in the same dumpster a homeless woman is digging through for aluminum cans. No more driving vehicles bigger than a bulldozer because you might need to haul two bags of potting soil and a couple of rose bushes, or wood for the one deck you'll build in your entire life. Guess what, Home Depot delivers, now put your fat ass in the Kia and give me a ride to the soup kitchen. No more serial wasting of anything and everything just so we can scream, 'Yes, every thing's okay,' as we run down the middle of the street in our planned community, a baked potato in each hand with a stick of butter up our ass and a bucket of sour cream clenched in our teeth.

The life of chauffeured golf carts, Peppermint White Chocolate Pumpkin Truffle Spice Decaf Macchiatos, hand made by indigenous Chibchas from Columbia, and renting Nevada for Tabatha's sweet sixteen is over. Think back on it fondly, because it's time to do the heavy lifting, and this time around we can't afford to underpay Mexicans to do it for us.

Keep The Faith.