I hate Xmas. 
I sincerely mean that.
I… hate… Hate… HATE… Xmas!
The whole Xmas season which, btw, starts about 2 minutes after Halloween! 
I hate it. I despise it. I loathe it.
To be fair, not all aspects of Xmas are the subject of my undying hatred.
For instance, while religious Xmas carols in general turn my stomach and make me want to attack carolers with an ice pick, I don’t mind most secular ‘winter wonderland’ songs, like… well… ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’ or ‘Sleigh Ride’. I like the sentimental ‘coming together’ songs like ‘White Christmas’, or ‘I’ll be Home for Christmas.’ I like Nat King Cole singing ‘The Christmas Song.’ I enjoy listening to Karen Carpenter singing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and ‘Merry Christmas Darling’ and just about anything else without the J-Guy in it. I even like modern Xmas songs like Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ and I freely admit that I sing along with Carnie and Wendy Wilson every time I hear ‘Hey Santa!’ And even a big Grinch like me loves listening to Madonna’s version of “Santa Baby.”
But once you start schlepping in the baby born in a barn and the shepherds and the three wise guys, you lose me. Fast.
One of the many things that is at the root of my complete and utter abhorrence of the festive season is the constant, ceaseless pounding of it all. It’s relentless! And my animosity knows no bounds.
The tinsel and the ho ho ho and the mistletoe and the snowmen and the reindeer and the Salvation Army corner brass quartets and the Salvation Army guy ringing the brass bell and the street light decorations and the festoons and decking the halls with boughs of holly and the Xmas lights around the house and the heavenly host on high and the pet antlers and jingle bells and the Yule logs and the fruitcake and the gingerbread men and the ribbons and the boxes and the bags and the greeting cards and the Xmas trees and all the Xmas tree decorations and mini Xmas tree lights and the stars and angels on top of the Xmas tree and all the presents under the ferkakteh Xmas tree and Santa and Santa’s elves and Santa’s helpers and Santa’s workshop and letters to Santa and spray snow and folks dressed up like Eskimos and roast turkey and chestnut stuffing and cranberry dressing and angel hair and the TV Xmas specials and the TV Xmas commercials and the TV Xmas movies and the crowds and the vicious shoppers and the crowds of vicious shoppers and the Santa hats on everyone and the red coats with the white trim and the giant snowflakes hanging overhead everywhere and red and green hanging everywhere and sleigh bells and poinsettias and carols by the spinet and eggnog and spiced cider and big bowls of Xmas punch and Xmas pudding and Tiny Tim and the ghosts of Xmas past, present and future and Bob bloody Cratchit and poor old Ebenezer Scrooge (the only normal sane person in the bunch, if you ask me), and office Xmas parties and secret Santas and Xmas stockings and stocking stuffers and those Xmas brooches that light up and Xmas ties and Xmas earrings and Xmas sweaters and all the gung-ho Xmas enthusiasts trying to ‘cheer me up’ and ‘get me into the spirit’ and people who cover their houses with an obscene number of lights and Xmas displays on the front lawn that gets all over the local news and TV stations that broadcast a burning log in a fireplace (hardly ‘see the blazing Yule before us!’) and blue spruce pine trees and hot rum toddy and chestnuts roasting on an open fire and scented candles that smell like holly or pine trees and wrapping paper and one-horse open sleighs and doorbells that ring Xmas carols and maids a-milking and lords a-leaping and candle/pine cone table centre pieces and Xmas plates, mugs and napkins and Santa tchotchkes like salt and pepper shakers, aprons and oven mitts, and tiny little tots with their eyes all aglow and friends a-callin’ ‘yoo hoo’ and Mele Kalikimaka (the Hawaiian Xmas Song) and fat old guys in red suits crawling down chimneys and Good King Wenceslas looking out on the feast of Stephen and three french hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree and little choir boys singing ‘Adeste Fideles’ and the never-ending updates to the countdown to The Big Day (“Only X more shopping days until Xmas!!”) and Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and pine needles all over your nice clean carpet and here comes Santa Claus right down Santa Claus Lane and media ‘reports’ of Santa’s sleigh as it zips its way across the country and making a list and checking it twice and finding out who’s naughty and nice and the weather outside is frightful and the gold, frankincense and myrrh and Oh Holy Night and effen Cindy Lou Who who was no more than two and if I hear that stupid little drummer boy go parum-pum-pum-pum one more time, I’m sticking those drumsticks where the Star of Bethlehem don’t shine!
I don’t know how people can stand it, frankly, let alone LIKE it!
I totally identify with the Grinch. If I had to live near Whoville, I’d go nuts too.
It’s like the Wicked Witch of the West living next to Munchkinland! I mean, seriously, could you stand living next door to either of those towns and not want to carpet bomb the place? I know I would!
So, to all of you out there who take such delight in torturing me and those like me…
Scary Xmas to All… and to All a Good Fright!
 And don’t even start with the whole “Let’s keep the Christ in Christmas” schtick, ok? If I have to listen to The Little Drummer Boy every day of every week for two whole months without strangling a choirboy, you can put up with seeing the word ‘Xmas’ without believing there is a War On Xmas. Feel free to wash your eyeballs afterwards.
 Except, of course, for those shops and stores that start putting up Xmas decorations Halloween morning.