The torture. It began around November 15th, like it always does. You set up your crappy Christmas lights that flash in sync to the chintzy fucking greeting card Christmas music that you blare at 100 dB. I'm fine if you want to annoy the fuck out of passersby, but by the time your tinny holiday tunes make it 4 fucking houses away and meander unwelcome into my front living room, they sound like demented carnival songs. And I'm no Scrooge, but your "holiday spirit" really fucks me off when I'm in the middle of a good movie, and I have Jingle-Fucking-Bells ruining the moment in the background. Just turn it down, seriously, or somebody's going to turn it off.
Prescott's Bane of Christmas
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