All I Want For Christmas is WAR

If you’re one of the few people who still gets their news the old-fashioned way (overly-friendly white people in suits talking at you from the TV), or even the ancient way (newspapers written by people angry that they’re too ugly to be on TV), you’re probably already sick of hearing about The War on Christmas once again. Granted, if you actually like hearing about The War on Christmas, then I am assuming you can’t actually read this because you’re too busy shitting in a hole somewhere wondering if you can use all of your teeth that have fallen out this year to make bullets to shoot at anyone that tries to take away your White Jesus or Chic-fil-A.

Yep, that's what I was picturing.

There’s one of you now.

“War” on Christmas ? Really? You bunch of hyperbolizing twats. The crazies just love to rally behind perceived persecution, as if somebody saying “Happy Holidays” to them as they trundle out of Wal-Mart with a year’s supply of butter substitute and a XXXXXL One Direction shirt is akin to a V2 rocket landing in a crowded London street during the Blitz. Somebody who requests that a huge sculpture of some dudes ogling a baby surrounded by barn animals be taken down from in front of a government building reminds people of the Battle of fucking Gallipoli. Who knows, maybe some year instead of some hooded terrorists uploading another horrific beheading video on YouTube we’ll get psychotic Santas lopping off the top of a Christmas tree.

Do this one next, guys.

Do this one next, guys.

Or maybe, if we’re lucky enough to get a real Christmas miracle, everybody will come together and do the best thing a group people can ever do in this crazy world of ours: shut the fuck up. Sadly, when it comes to this many idiots, that seems unlikely to happen. Idiots love a metaphorical war, because it lets them feel tough without having to actually do anything. Same reason no online gaming session would be complete without at least one shrieking racist with a headset. The best thing we can hope for is to find a much less annoying “war” for people to get frothingly mad at from the comfort of their Twitter page. Preferably something that even those of us who have never had two people with the same last name marry each other in their family tree can get behind hating. So, without further ado, here’s my list for the holidays. My WAR list.

"I got your Happy Holidays right fucking here, Fritz!"

“I got your Happy Holidays right fucking here, Fritz!”

Dudes in Capri Pants – With the winter months in full swing up here in the northeast (unless you’re reading this in Australia, in which case I say “Hello, upside-down people!”), it’s easy to forget that this unsightly menace stalks our land year round in warmer climates. And plagues us here plenty in the summer, no less. But we must never forget that some dudes are out there willing to strut about showing their ankles and lower calves because they truly believe that they don’t look like complete rutting jackasses.

This man should have the beard burned off his face.

This man should have the beard burned off his face.

How do we fight it? If you’re caught once, you get a warning. Twice and you get a fine of $100 for each half-inch of your skin we see, starting with your ankle on up. Third offense and you have your legs cut off from the edge of the capris down, so at least it looks like you’re wearing clothing like a human goddamn being as you shuffle around on your stumps.

People Who Put Group Photos in Their Online Dating Profiles – Let me ask you this: if you were out getting a drink at a bar and a voice behind you said “Hi, I find you attractive!” and turned around to see a group of people all standing together in a line, arm in arms and smiling at you, you’d probably freak the fuck out. I know I would, because I have and I was acquitted afterwards  by a sympathetic jury because that’s a stupid way to approach someone unless you’re recruiting for a cult or an orgy. So why the hell would you think it works any better over the internet? Bonus moron points if pick one where the other people in it are hotter than you.

You did not think this through.

You did not think this through.

How do we fight it? Start emailing these men and women as if you’re asking to go on a date with everyone in the group. Either they’ll get your sarcasm and wise the fuck up, or they wont and you’re on your way to group sex with a bunch of morons. Win-win.

Instagram – I couldn’t care less about pictures of your trendy food, your ugly baby, your own stupid face, or anything at all shot through a filter with cell phone. If somebody out there can convince me that people post other shit on Instagram than what I listed, I will happily call them a filthy liar until they starve to death.

EAT THE FUCKING SANDWICH BEFORE I SNAP YOUR ARMS OFF!

EAT THE FUCKING SANDWICH BEFORE I SNAP YOUR ARMS OFF!

How do we fight it? Anytime you wish to post something, it goes before an elected committee of established and celebrated photographers. If they find it wanting, your smartphone sends a powerful electric shock to your genitals.

Skateboarders Over 21 – You’re a grownup and Tony Hawk hasn’t been cool in a decade. Knock it the fuck off.

Somebody just earned fifty bucks.

Ha!

How do we fight it? Federal bounty for each person who can legally drink, and therefore do other fun adult activities, you remove from a skateboard. By any means necessary.

The Never-Ending Call of Duty Series – This has officially become the Brett Favre of video game franchises. Let it go, guys. Allow us to remember you fondly, not as a tired, repetitive sack of boring, overpriced crap that send people pictures of it’s penis to our collective disappointment and shame.

I think I lost the metaphor there.

I think I lost the metaphor there.

How do we fight it? No internet for a month! Now go to your room.

Facebook Vegans –  I have no problem with veganism as a practice. I think it’s absurd, and I’d rather be shot into the sun than give up meat, but hey, if that’s your thing, good for you. But Facebook Vegans, as I call them, are the fucking worst. You know, the people who seem to have no other purpose in life but to post endless grotesque and furious articles and tirades all over social media about how much that poor little chicken suffered to make your fajita wrap. And you know they think they’re making a difference, because they’re all too far up their own asses smelling their quinoa-flavored farts with glee to notice that the dozens of supportive comments they get are always from other fart-smellers who already agreed with them in the first place.

Ron Swanson demonstrating the proper way to dispose of vegan bacon.

Ron Swanson demonstrating the proper way to dispose of vegan bacon.

How do we fight it? Every time you annoy somebody on social media with your veganism, you must eat a sandwich with meat in it at gunpoint. If you actually have the gall to do it in person, you are ground into meat to be used in the aforementioned sandwiches.

Anyone in Capri Pants – You look ridiculous. Guys and gals. No matter how amazing your ass, great your legs, or stunning the rest of your body/face combo is, in these things make you look like a medieval village idiot who can’t afford full pants from the trouser monger, but doesn’t care because you’re too busy yelling in gibberish and waving your genitals at sheep.

Yes, ma'am, your breast are fantastic. But your pants are still terrible.

Yes, ma’am, your breast are fantastic. But your pants are still incorrect.

How do we fight it? Same punishment system goes for the ladies as for the dudes. Otherwise it would be sexist, and that’s uncool, bro. I can’t believe you’d even think that shit. For shame.

Grammar Douchebags – Listen, I roll my beautiful, soulful eyes whenever a “there” replaces a “their” or someone asks “what the whether is like outside.” We all should. These are silly mistakes that people make. They deserve some mild derisive laughter and rib-nudging, and then we all move on with our lives. If you’re the kind of person that takes this as a colossal slight to everything you stand for and love and the sole indicator of someone being a soulless, mindless monster, calm the fuck dow. If you’re going to hulk out every time somebody writes “your” instead of “you’re,” you’ll die of a rage-aneurysm the first time your child asks you to grade their “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” essay.

"Waaaah! Somebody forgot to include a comma on a facebook post! Waaah!"

“Waaaah! Somebody forgot to include a comma on a facebook post! Waaah!”

How do we fight it? Make these people have children so they die of rage-aneurysms.

Idiots – Everybody listed above, and then most of the rest of you.

Pictured: Idiots

I hate you all.

How do we fight it? I have the perfect solution to this one. Everybody sends in a dollar to a fund to combat idiocy all over the world. Then, when we’ve reached our financial goal, I use that money to buy an island somewhere and never deal with any of you fucking idiots ever again. The End.

Notice, I didn’t include the things we here at BroCast have already, in the interest of preserving a pure and bro-tastic way of life, declared war on: hipsters, Citibike, sex offenders, the Westboro Baptist Church, reality television, the Taliban, anything having to do with “sexy” vampires, and Eric’s tie collection.

Just because he hasn't worn it on the show yet doesn't mean it's not in his wardrobe.

Just because he hasn’t worn it on the show yet doesn’t mean it’s not in his wardrobe.

Oh, and Happy Holidays. Come at me, bro.

Consider this my formal declaration of war, idiots.

Consider this my formal declaration of war, idiots.

About Paul

By reading this blog, you legally forfeit your right to cry, eat tofu, or watch movies where people kiss in the rain and sh*t!
This entry was posted in Assholes, Celebration, Hatred, Kill Yourself, Lists, O Brave New World..., Paul is Grumpy, Rage. Bookmark the permalink.

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