Home > fuck > Ghost of Christmas past

Ghost of Christmas past

March 22nd, 2018 Leave a comment Go to comments

Well, well. You look a little surprised to see me standing at your door. Thought I was dead, did you? Thought you had seen the last of my ilk for a year, and that I’d just shuffle off the mortal coil like a good soldier, huh? No such luck, pal. That’s right. The Christmas tree is back.

You certainly seem a lot more nervous than during our last encounter, when you were busy manhandling me into a dumpster. It was nothing but cursing at me for having the gall to have such a rigid truck that failed to fit into the receptacle perfectly and for getting dead pine needles all over your car, as if I was the one who had neglected the weekly watering. Yes, you had a more confident mug on you that day. Now you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Or a talking tree.

To be clear, I’m both, though only you can hear or see me. That’s your honor as my killer. Oh, I’m sure you’ll protest that it wasn’t you who first chopped me down, and therefore you should be blameless. But I grew up on a Christmas tree farm, and after a few years of observing what happens in the autumn, it was obvious to all of us we would be next sooner or later. I’m a tree. I understand my role. That pimply-faced teen that cut me from my roots isn’t the one who kept me barely alive for weeks while humiliating me with clownish decorations, then chucked me out into the cold as if it meant nothing. That was you.

So this is my revenge. I’m going to park myself in the same place you put me a few months ago and haunt you. Those football games you love to watch in your underwear? I’ll be watching too, though this time I can ask questions about how the game works and openly question how you could be dumb enough to root for the Cincinnati Bengals. Same goes for any television you watch, really. I can be quite loud if I choose to. I’ve been working on my screaming while I’ve been in purgatory. I’m sure your family won’t think you’ve gone crazy at all while you yell at the wall to shut up and leave you alone.

What’s that? No, converting to Judaism won’t change anything. Just because you’re now swearing you’ll never do anything to harm a tree again does not make up for what’s already happened. You’re stuck with me, you bastard. And…what? Yes, a druid would be better, but you’re still not off the hook. And why I should I believe you’ve changed at all? That fern in the corner looks like it hasn’t been watered since when I was still here at New Year’s!

So no, I’m not going to leave anytime soon. How could I? I’m coniferous! Ha! Okay, let’s get into the living room now so you can explain to me how basketball works.

Categories: fuck
  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.