I hate Christmas. It’s too early to be talking about Christmas, you say? Go to the mall right now, and you’ll see that the dark beast is already upon us. Every year, the holiday season gets worse. It drags on from Halloween to Dec. 25 with a non-stop assault of cheesy music and decorations.

I’m tired of it. We have turned this holiday into something so horrible and bloated that we can hardly recognize it as the religious festival it once was. Jesus is nowhere to be found, and we are left with an orgy of unbridled capitalism at its worst.

Everyone loves it because they’re supposed to love it. Well not me. Here are a few things, in no particular order, that anger me about Christmas:

Presents: Yeah, that’s right, presents. This is usually the “highlight” of the holiday for most people, but not when you’re four gifts deep and all you’ve gotten are neckties. Since when is that contraption a “gift?” Are handcuffs gifts? Besides, grandmas should realize that giving a necktie to a boy younger than 12 only means he’ll find some way to turn it into a noose for his younger brother.

Fruitcake: I don’t think I need to go on about that one.

Children: I swear the next time some brat starts bawling in line at Wal-Mart about how it’s not fair that Mommy won’t buy him the new Yu-Gi-Oh cards is getting shipped straight to Indonesia where he can make the toys himself for a penny a day.

Charity: Ever notice how all the food pantries in town fill up around Christmas and you can’t seem to get any time in to volunteer at the local nursing home?

For 364 days of the year, we hop over homeless people in the street and then, one day, we somehow find it in our kind hearts to donate an old can of Spaghettios. Hurray for us.

Family: Once a year we’re absolutely required to spend time with family in close quarters. The guy who invented eggnog said, “You know what would go good with this egg drink? Some liquor,” obviously had to tolerate some rural cousins. And if your grandma found out you sold that picture frame she gave you for your dorm for a case of Keystone Light, she would never, ever stop crying.

Music: Once again, only tolerable thanks to eggnog. Unless of course the song is, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”

Movies: The same holiday movies come out year after year. Some rich guy ends up learning the “true meaning of Christmas,” and there is a spontaneous song thrown in for good measure. If they wanted a touch of realism, they’d have him learn the true meaning of Christmas by giving himself a holiday bonus from all the money he saved by shipping his manufacturing labor overseas.

Yams: A small point of contention, but I mean c’mon, who eats yams other than on Christmas? Where do they come from? What’s wrong with a regular potato?

Decorations: This one doesn’t so much anger me as make me cringe. Every year is a contest to see who can throw the most gaudy crap into their front yard.

The only plus is that the plastic Santas do make good punching bags for your uncle’s inevitable holiday bender.

The “Spirit of Christmas:”

I’m not sure what exactly this refers to, but it angers me nonetheless. If it has anything to do with that feeling I get in the pit of my stomach listening to my great-aunt tell me about her colon surgery for the fourth time in 10 minutes, thanks, but no thanks.

Enough of this cheery Christmas “spirit” for me. Just pass me the eggnog and wake me up in time for the New Year’s party.