Dear Father Christmas,
My name is Liam and I am a 22 year old man from Rathdrum, Co.Wicklow. I have been a very good man in 2013 as I have not gotten sick after red wine, haven't said bold things to girls and haven't visited the doctor all year. I have sought to be pious in all of my actions, indeed, I have been a very good man. This year I gave a fiver to my mate Mark so he could purchase noodles for his dinner, I have been a tireless activist for white supremacy and have created several oil paintings of panda bears in aid of SARS prevention research. I am very well aware of your busy schedule, Fr. Christmas, and so I won't waste any more of your time on frivolous self-endorsement and I will cut right to the chase. Here are a list of things I would like to receive as restitution for my year's good deeds and all-around good guyery. If you can give Clive Martin a job at Vice magazine, surely you can grant me the following:
1. The EyeHateGod album that's supposed to have been out since forever.
I'm not sure if you are familiar with the works of EyeHateGod, Fr. Christmas, but I have been a fan since I was old enough to be angry at absolutely everyone and everything under the sun. We were teased with the release of their single "New Orleans Is The New Vietnam", a track which has set a high bar for the rest of the album to follow, but it's been a full year and yet there is still no album. I request that you get in contact with the band and ask them to hurry it up because absolutely everything else at the moment sounds like a boat load of horse shit and only a new EyeHateGod release can remedy the pain of having to endure a year's worth of minimalist techno and acoustic guitar songs about summertime. Also, I'm not sure if you have any jurisdiction in the afterlife, but if you could tell Joey LaCaze "Thanks for everything" for me, that would also be much appreciated.
2. A bottle of Buckfast that doesn't make you try to reach out to complete strangers.
For the longest time, I've suffered from this most vile of Buckfast's side-effects and I simply cannot go another bottle knowing that I'll probably try to befriend another frightening Dublin skinhead with facial tattoos. I am a firm believer in "Dutch courage", but the effects of Buckfast on the human mind take this concept to entirely heinous new level. I would like to, for once, enjoy this spectacular beverage without worrying that I might try to start a Gospel band with one of the toilet attendants in Fibber Magees.
3. A gun, so I can make the bullies go away.
You've been arming American children for the last number of decades and it doesn't seem fair that we Irish have been exempt from such gifts. I've been trying to reason with the nightclub poodlemen for years now, tried to learn their ways and patterns, tried to integrate with them, but this has all been for naught. I now realize that the only way I'll be able to go to a nightclub without having the absolute piss ripped out of me by a gang of popped-collar, pop-culture victims is by arming myself with the Lawgiver from Judge Dredd. If I can roll around in and rub myself with the blood and cerebral tissue of just one Le Coq Sportif with a faux hawk, it would make my life.
4. The end of "found-footage" horror movies.
Please, it's gone too far. Cannibal Holocaust was great, Blair Witch was great, Rec was great, but please, no more. No one loves to see teenagers being gutted as much as I do, but please, this lazy "found-footage" style of filming has to end now. Oh, you're being gnawed on by a horde of the undead, yet you still keep the camera rolling? I like my boneheaded horror, but the idea that someone would basically try to take a selfie with their murderous pursuant is absolutely appalling. I've spent many nights watching that prick from Most Haunted having a seizure while talking to the ghost of a Victorian milkmaid, so I know when a concept has become tired and irritating.
5. The entire box set of every series of The Big Bang Theory.
So I can break them.
6. A ticket to a Shining gig.
Don't get me wrong, Shining are a great band and I'd definitely enjoy them in a live setting. However, the reason I'd like a ticket to go see them is so, when that throbbing dickhead Kvarforth starts handing out razor blades to the audience, I can hand him a meat cleaver so he can just end it all, then and there. "Oh, look, I'm Kvarforth, I have to fake my own death and self-harm in public so people will pay me the attention that I deserve. I'm so sad. Look at how sad my eyeliner makes me look. Don't I look sad? This hat definitely doesn't make me look like a pirate captain's suicidal cabin boy. Don't I look sad though? Here, let me show you how I transform my sadness into art by cutting myself with razor blades. Look, look at my blood, it's everywhere. I'm super into darkness. Look at this professionally constructed photograph of me covered in naked supermodels. How depressing is that? My life is terrible and so is your's. Please buy a t-shirt at my gig, I'm saving up to buy some New Rocks and a pair of baggies with the long chain attached to the pocket".
Fuck you, man.
7. A floor-cleaning robot slave.
You have elves, right? You know the pulsating gratification boner of being able to hand out orders and punishments as you see fit. You're a man at the top of the food chain and you swing that bad boy around like a gold club. I, for once in my life, would like to know that power. I want to be able to order someone or something around like one of Dick Dastardly's henchmen. I want that feel. If you can provide me with one of those little robot people that goes "zoom" and cleans your floor for you, I would at least be given a taste of superiority. I want to feel like a coked-up Japanese salaryman in a strip club on a Friday night. Feed me degradation and robot tears. Clean that floor, you lifeless, subordinate bitch.
8. The ability to command forest creatures.
I'm talking Animals of Farthing Wood shit right here. I don't have any kind of violent agenda in mind, I'm not trying to assemble an army of grey squirrels to fight my battles for me, I just want to be able to help. Had I been present, Badger would have never died as he did. I could have led this motley crew of furry adventurers to their destination without any of the death and sadness they had to endure. Were I in charge, rather than Fox, these creatures would have been safe. I can assure you that because, as an avid black metal listener, I feel a particular closeness to the forest that the average metal fan does not. Badger would still be alive. His blood is on your hands, Fox, not mine.
9. A house boat and an alligator friend.
Maybe I've been watching too much Miami Vice, but this just seems like the absolute pinnacle of masculinity. The boat represents Sonny Crockett's freedom, he can go anywhere and do anything he pleases, he's a wild man and has shaken off the restraints of society. His boat is his home and his home is nowhere. The alligator represents his fighting spirit. Though he will travel, live and love, there will always be that rage inside of him. Those thick jaws of seething hunger, the only thing in his life that he is not the master of.
Maybe I'm just really, really gay for Sonny Crockett, though. I think that could be it.
10. Peace, love and joy to the world.
Except not really. Happiness is an illusion and we are all merely the pawns of pawns of a vast, never-ending evil that lurks behind cosmic veils and partakes in the music of our own self-destruction. We are toys and the emotions we feel are trivial in the greater scheme of things. One day, when our dark masters rise from the depths, we will all become one in our suffering. No, not suffering, listless servitude. We are the worker ants and we will work as we are told. An age of darkness beckons and it is as inescapable as our own destructive, sadistic desires...
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
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