There is only one week left until Christmas, which essentially means there is only one week left for guys the world over to brave the elements and head out into the modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah that constitutes the local shopping mall.
Maybe it's because the older I get, the more I find myself turning into my dad (that sound you just heard was my girlfriend breaking up with me), but with each passing year I find myself filled with more and more disdain for the entire pecuniary-commercial-complex that Christmas has become. I mean, can't we all just get together with our families to get uproariously drunk while singing Christmas carols the way baby Jesus intended?
I don't know. Maybe I'm just bitter about the fact that I hate venturing into malls more than Michael Richards hates the invention of the camera phone.
Don't get me wrong: I still love Christmas. I always have. And when the day comes that I have a few rugrats of my own running around, I'm sure this time of year will take on an entirely new and special meaning. But you have to admit, there are times when all of the stress leading up to the night of the 24th feels a little like this: