In a few days the real war on Christmas begins. That's when families start converging on the designated battle grounds and a year's worth of festering hostilities rage to the surface once more.
What says Christmas more than a dinner spoiled by drunken arguments, screaming accusations, blame laid thick and heavy over everything and anything that has been hashed over for decades but still makes a special appearance for this most sacred of all holidays?
There is no deeper meaning to Christmas than at least one, if not two or more people breaking into spontaneous tears of humiliation over being told they were too fat, too thin, too poor, too rich, too single, too married, too good at birth control, too bad at birth control, too slutty, not slutty enough.
It would not be the holiest day of the year without the cheap last minute presents bought to avoid the meltdown of the previous year when regifting led to the tree being set on fire, the Christmas goose shoved down grandpa's throat, the vat sized container of bubble bath held responsible for an outbreak of incurable hives.
Nothing says Christmas like daddy's new slutty girlfriend and mommy's new little boy toy humping in the hall closet while mommy and daddy rehash old issues until they scream for mercy.
Yes, this is such a special day that is made all the more special by the dog throwing up on the neighbor's brand new expensive coat, grandma giving lap dances after one too many eggnogs, and the children shoving Santa's ass up the chimney and threatening to kill every damn one of his elves if he ever comes back again.
And to top it all off, everyone is whispering that the reindeer seem to have developed an unhealthy attachment to weird uncle Bobby.