Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Dec 22, 2013 16:54:27 GMT -5
It’s that time again. Yeah, Christmas. That shit Holiday stapled to the fraying end of another forgettable year to try and ‘help’ us remember who we ‘care’* about (*Read as “Those whom we don’t set on fire in fits of rage”). Drag out the mostly broken decorations, hang the old, dirt covered, stockings, and try to drift to a happier place where there are no bullshit traditions that attempt to lock you in a room with human beings you’ve been trying to avoid for the better part of a year. Awkward conversations will be had, you’ll remember how little you all shared in common, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be hammered before the night is through and you won’t remember telling them all to ‘go fuck themselves’ before urinating all over the Christmas Turkey. Yep, try to convince yourself you don’t hate the vapid and shallow act of gift giving and that these people are worth the forty or fifty dollars you shelled out to buy them over-priced perfume or toy that’ll be broken by the end of the month, because if you didn’t try to mask over the rampant depressing nature of this so-called-holiday, you might just shoot yourself.
The Jews had it lucky this year, they didn’t have to suffer through months of ‘pre-holiday celebrating’ and fake cheer before their Holiday came and went. Boom, first day is on thanksgiving, eight days later it’s over and they can go on with their sad lives. But us, those who have families (or friends who have the unnatural need to celebrate with friends) still faced forward to the impending doom that was the ‘holiday season’. It always started the day after Thanksgiving (or Eight O’clock Thanksgiving night to be exact, you impatient cock sucking vultures) with those dreadful Black Friday shopping sales; where mouth-breathers, housewives, and general assholes scrape and scratch at each other frantically to make sure they can get that little piece-of-shit Over-priced toy-of-the-week for thirty percent off. Why pay six hundred dollars for a regular I-phone when I could pay six hundred dollars for a golden I-phone marked twenty percent off (also, if you have a golden I-phone or one with a Gucci case, kill yourself, you don’t deserve my air).
Forget the fact that most of these workers would like to be home with their families on Thanksgiving night or that most of them are working nine to ten hour days to deal with your stupid, over-indulgent, pushy, greedy ass, it’s still a dumbass move to think you need to punch some OLD LADY in the face just so you can have the last copy of “Star Rapist 2: Fuck The Universe” for your little spoiled brat who is probably going to grow up without the concept of disciplines and boundaries and ends up turning into a serial killer who wears the skin of the prostitutes he murdered just so he can feel the warmth of another human body…yeah, that’s gonna be your fault.
Okay, forget the shopping, most of that is at least just for one day. How about that god-awful Christmas music, am I right? FUCK CHRISTMAS MUSIC! It is the cheesiest insincere bullshit that I have ever had the unfortunate displeasure of being raped in the ear by. I don’t care if its Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, or mother fucking Metallica, Christmas music is bullshit and we all know it, so stop playing it on all hours whenever I decide to turn my radio on. No, I will not have a ‘holly jolly Christmas’, jingle bells do not ‘rock’, and I’m glad it’ll be ‘Blue Christmas’ for Mr. Presley (not that he cares, he is dead after all). I’m not sure if you’ve ever listened to the lyrics of “Its Cold Outside” or whatever the fuck it’s called, but it’s basically about date rape! “Baby, its cold outside.” “I really have to go” “Just stay for a while” “Why are you locking the door?” “Does this smell like chloroform?” “What? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME”…Of course, I am paraphrasing, but you get the point.
It still blows my mind that people are still making Christmas music. You figure these fan-pandering play-on-the-lowest-common-denominator, use-the-same-four-chords, girl-you-are-the-only-one-for-me pop-idols make enough money that their record label wouldn’t have to resort to making them make a whole album of worthless re-hashed Christmas songs. Its 2013, there is no reason I need to be hearing new renditions of “The Little Drummer Boy” or “Jingle Bells” in the same year that Miley Cyrus is grinded up against that “I like to wear sun-glasses and lean against brick walls in my music videos” douche-canoe Robin “Potential Rapist” Thicke, because lets face it, music is dead anyways.
I know what you’re thinking “Benjamin, what about the Trans-Siberian Orchestra?” Fuck them. Sure, they’re all great musicians, but if they were worth anything as music writers, they wouldn’t have to tour the country playing the same Christmas songs with a bunch of flashing lights and other such bullshit for the last five or so years. Did Steve Vai, Jimi Hendrix, or Joe Satriani have to make Christmas albums? What, is that a resounding ‘no I hear? That’s because they are musical writers who have too much INTEGRITY to lower themselves to such degrading acts of crowd-pleasing. If you like that artist, buy THEIR music, don’t make them do the same shitty songs that have been covered endlessly since they were written forever ago.
Okay, if you like the music, that’s fine, everyone has their own tastes, but do we really need to keep seeing the same old Christmas specials they play every year despite my constant letters telling them not to? The only reason they keep them around is for the sake of ‘tradition’; a construct of the human mind developed to mask over the fact that chaos is the overwhelming force that will swallow up everything around us. “The Little Drummer Boy”, a heavy-handed show of sentimentality with an archaic need to push religion upon the viewer. I was happy when his sheep was run over! Should have taught him a thing or two, but NOOOO, it had to be brought back to health by the magical baby Jesus! Bah-humbug!
Frosty the Snowman? What tripe! Take a magician who can’t do even the simplest of magic tricks, now STEAL his hat (that’s right, that special promoted stealing), put it on a Snowman, and suddenly it comes to life? How in the name of fuck is that hat magical, but the magician isn’t?!? Now, the snowman goes marching around town, causing trouble, stirring shit up, making everything about him with a group of kids following him like little disciples. The magician just wanted his hat back, but those little brats just kept stealing it so they could have their annoying little snow friend. This is how I would have ended it. The little girl (whom the snowman kidnapped) and the snowman are hiding away in the greenhouse trying to escape the magician who is just looking to regain his property, the green house begins to melt the snowman as the heat becomes overwhelming. The girl and the snowman says their goodbyes to each other, the tears welling up in her eyes as she watches her newly required friend slowly turn to slush and water. Finally, giving his last breath of air, he slips away, facing permanent night as he is killed by humidity. The girl breaks down and begins to sob openly over the snow corpse at her feet. The magician walks in and witnesses the scene. He slowly walks up and looks down at the puddle, realizing the snowman is now no-more and that the little girl had to witness his passing. Unmoved by the scene of loss, the magician snatches his hat, leaving the little girl to cry over her dead friend. THE END! There, I think there is a major improvement.
How about Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer? Barring the scientific impossibilities of flying deer or that the weather Santa would have had to fly through would have been made worse by the glow of Rudolph’s red nose; let’s just focus on the story. So, Rudolph is the strange reindeer with the red glowing nose (the origin of which is only explained in an even shittier TV special with even more erroneous concepts) and his father’s instant reaction, as if having found out his son was gay or a professional wrestler, is to hide it, good going dad. Then, as he grows up, he is constantly mocked by his many compatriots who find his nose strange and alienating, probably installing a great deal of social anxiety to be uncovered years later in Rudolph’s often unmentioned therapy sessions. Okay, I understand it, ‘people will think you are different and make fun of you for it, but don’t let them stop you blah blah blah…”, but here is the thing, in the end, they only like him because the very thing they made fun of him for provided a sort of service. What kind of message is that sending to children? If people don’t like you, appease them by doing stuff for them to make them like you, because its more important to have friends then it is to find true happiness and acceptance. Okay, Benjamin Atreyu’s alternate ending number two: Christmas is at risk, the reindeer are worried that they won’t be able to make it through the weather and deliver the presents, and Santa turns towards Rudolph, asking him to help fly the sleigh with his glowing nose. Rudolph thinks for a moment, letting time pass in the slow ticking of the clock. He looks around the room, eying all the people who had mocked him for years, making him feel like an outsider in his own clan, then he turns to Santa and utters, in a soft whisper, “no,” before turning away and walking out the door to never be seen again.
Now, lets talk about that jolly fat man in red and white himself, old Saint Nick. I don’t think there were any Christmas special worse than his. Just a giant masturbatory show of how he needs us to love him in sort of way or form. How about that origin story of his; all of those kids sending their letters to Santa to answer the anachronisms they’ve seen in the Santa story are opened by a curious mail man (which is a federal crime, no matter who you are). Then he gives these kids a bullshit story about how Santa got all his magic and shit (filled with plenty of fan-fiction fanfare) and I would like to start with a real big problem I have with this story. Santa as a ginger…fucking really? No, I refuse to accept even the original Saint Nick was a Ginger. I don’t care if he was white or black, but fuck gingers, I’m not letting them get that. Also, whats with all this shit about ice wizards and Meisterburgers, it all sounds like gibberish to me, far too much work to explain to little kids the origins of a fat man who still drives a sleigh. Benjamin alternative ending number three: The mail man reads through all the letters, hearing the children’s important questions that they hope will shed light on this confusing world where flying fat men who break into houses to leave presents, the mail man turns to the camera, looking the children dead in the eye and says, “Well children, those are all really good questions and I have a simple answer that gives a great explanation…SANTA ISN’T REAL! Your parents are lying to you! They mark the presents ‘Santa’ to fool you and keep you naïve. He wears red and white, because that’s how he was portrayed by the Coca-cola company! That’s right, your Santa’s image is a creation of mass consumerism! MAGIC IS A LIE! NOTHING IS REAL!” Before he is arrested and carted away for breaking a federal law.
Do you see it yet, the lie that is Christmas? I’ve been dealing with this for years and after dealing with it for so long, I finally decided to get myself something for Christmas…or for an early Christmas as it would be, that’s why I’m made the Benjamin Atreyu Open Challenge Gauntlet Match, to give myself a challenge, the greatest present. Will there be a good chance I’ll crush all the competition? Sure, there always is, but it isn’t just a physical challenge, it’s also a mental one. I have no idea who will be coming out until they are already on their way. It’ll force me to adapt, to think of my feet, to readjust my plans, it’ll leave me at a disadvantage as opposed to those who know they’ll be facing me, most likely after I had faced several other competitors. This is what I want, this is what I need. Any gift that doesn’t force you to better yourself is just indulgent junk that will waste away just as you do. This year was a mess, 2013 will forever be a stigma on not only me, but on this company as well. It’s time to move into the future. 2014 will be the Year of Atreyu! No more waiting, no more drinking, no more self-doubt. It’s time that I started moving forward on my mission to dominate WCF with an iron fist with S-PAC ruling with me.
Eat your candy canes, sing your songs, open your presents, I don’t care. Be merry all you want, get weaker, get fatter, I want to see it happen. While you are enjoying your time with family and away from work, I’m going to get stronger, get focused, and becoming something even better than I already am. I will ascend from the ranks of competitor and I will become a conqueror. That will be my gift to WCF and wrestling as a whole, my best.
-Benjamin Atreyu
The Jews had it lucky this year, they didn’t have to suffer through months of ‘pre-holiday celebrating’ and fake cheer before their Holiday came and went. Boom, first day is on thanksgiving, eight days later it’s over and they can go on with their sad lives. But us, those who have families (or friends who have the unnatural need to celebrate with friends) still faced forward to the impending doom that was the ‘holiday season’. It always started the day after Thanksgiving (or Eight O’clock Thanksgiving night to be exact, you impatient cock sucking vultures) with those dreadful Black Friday shopping sales; where mouth-breathers, housewives, and general assholes scrape and scratch at each other frantically to make sure they can get that little piece-of-shit Over-priced toy-of-the-week for thirty percent off. Why pay six hundred dollars for a regular I-phone when I could pay six hundred dollars for a golden I-phone marked twenty percent off (also, if you have a golden I-phone or one with a Gucci case, kill yourself, you don’t deserve my air).
Forget the fact that most of these workers would like to be home with their families on Thanksgiving night or that most of them are working nine to ten hour days to deal with your stupid, over-indulgent, pushy, greedy ass, it’s still a dumbass move to think you need to punch some OLD LADY in the face just so you can have the last copy of “Star Rapist 2: Fuck The Universe” for your little spoiled brat who is probably going to grow up without the concept of disciplines and boundaries and ends up turning into a serial killer who wears the skin of the prostitutes he murdered just so he can feel the warmth of another human body…yeah, that’s gonna be your fault.
Okay, forget the shopping, most of that is at least just for one day. How about that god-awful Christmas music, am I right? FUCK CHRISTMAS MUSIC! It is the cheesiest insincere bullshit that I have ever had the unfortunate displeasure of being raped in the ear by. I don’t care if its Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, or mother fucking Metallica, Christmas music is bullshit and we all know it, so stop playing it on all hours whenever I decide to turn my radio on. No, I will not have a ‘holly jolly Christmas’, jingle bells do not ‘rock’, and I’m glad it’ll be ‘Blue Christmas’ for Mr. Presley (not that he cares, he is dead after all). I’m not sure if you’ve ever listened to the lyrics of “Its Cold Outside” or whatever the fuck it’s called, but it’s basically about date rape! “Baby, its cold outside.” “I really have to go” “Just stay for a while” “Why are you locking the door?” “Does this smell like chloroform?” “What? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME”…Of course, I am paraphrasing, but you get the point.
It still blows my mind that people are still making Christmas music. You figure these fan-pandering play-on-the-lowest-common-denominator, use-the-same-four-chords, girl-you-are-the-only-one-for-me pop-idols make enough money that their record label wouldn’t have to resort to making them make a whole album of worthless re-hashed Christmas songs. Its 2013, there is no reason I need to be hearing new renditions of “The Little Drummer Boy” or “Jingle Bells” in the same year that Miley Cyrus is grinded up against that “I like to wear sun-glasses and lean against brick walls in my music videos” douche-canoe Robin “Potential Rapist” Thicke, because lets face it, music is dead anyways.
I know what you’re thinking “Benjamin, what about the Trans-Siberian Orchestra?” Fuck them. Sure, they’re all great musicians, but if they were worth anything as music writers, they wouldn’t have to tour the country playing the same Christmas songs with a bunch of flashing lights and other such bullshit for the last five or so years. Did Steve Vai, Jimi Hendrix, or Joe Satriani have to make Christmas albums? What, is that a resounding ‘no I hear? That’s because they are musical writers who have too much INTEGRITY to lower themselves to such degrading acts of crowd-pleasing. If you like that artist, buy THEIR music, don’t make them do the same shitty songs that have been covered endlessly since they were written forever ago.
Okay, if you like the music, that’s fine, everyone has their own tastes, but do we really need to keep seeing the same old Christmas specials they play every year despite my constant letters telling them not to? The only reason they keep them around is for the sake of ‘tradition’; a construct of the human mind developed to mask over the fact that chaos is the overwhelming force that will swallow up everything around us. “The Little Drummer Boy”, a heavy-handed show of sentimentality with an archaic need to push religion upon the viewer. I was happy when his sheep was run over! Should have taught him a thing or two, but NOOOO, it had to be brought back to health by the magical baby Jesus! Bah-humbug!
Frosty the Snowman? What tripe! Take a magician who can’t do even the simplest of magic tricks, now STEAL his hat (that’s right, that special promoted stealing), put it on a Snowman, and suddenly it comes to life? How in the name of fuck is that hat magical, but the magician isn’t?!? Now, the snowman goes marching around town, causing trouble, stirring shit up, making everything about him with a group of kids following him like little disciples. The magician just wanted his hat back, but those little brats just kept stealing it so they could have their annoying little snow friend. This is how I would have ended it. The little girl (whom the snowman kidnapped) and the snowman are hiding away in the greenhouse trying to escape the magician who is just looking to regain his property, the green house begins to melt the snowman as the heat becomes overwhelming. The girl and the snowman says their goodbyes to each other, the tears welling up in her eyes as she watches her newly required friend slowly turn to slush and water. Finally, giving his last breath of air, he slips away, facing permanent night as he is killed by humidity. The girl breaks down and begins to sob openly over the snow corpse at her feet. The magician walks in and witnesses the scene. He slowly walks up and looks down at the puddle, realizing the snowman is now no-more and that the little girl had to witness his passing. Unmoved by the scene of loss, the magician snatches his hat, leaving the little girl to cry over her dead friend. THE END! There, I think there is a major improvement.
How about Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer? Barring the scientific impossibilities of flying deer or that the weather Santa would have had to fly through would have been made worse by the glow of Rudolph’s red nose; let’s just focus on the story. So, Rudolph is the strange reindeer with the red glowing nose (the origin of which is only explained in an even shittier TV special with even more erroneous concepts) and his father’s instant reaction, as if having found out his son was gay or a professional wrestler, is to hide it, good going dad. Then, as he grows up, he is constantly mocked by his many compatriots who find his nose strange and alienating, probably installing a great deal of social anxiety to be uncovered years later in Rudolph’s often unmentioned therapy sessions. Okay, I understand it, ‘people will think you are different and make fun of you for it, but don’t let them stop you blah blah blah…”, but here is the thing, in the end, they only like him because the very thing they made fun of him for provided a sort of service. What kind of message is that sending to children? If people don’t like you, appease them by doing stuff for them to make them like you, because its more important to have friends then it is to find true happiness and acceptance. Okay, Benjamin Atreyu’s alternate ending number two: Christmas is at risk, the reindeer are worried that they won’t be able to make it through the weather and deliver the presents, and Santa turns towards Rudolph, asking him to help fly the sleigh with his glowing nose. Rudolph thinks for a moment, letting time pass in the slow ticking of the clock. He looks around the room, eying all the people who had mocked him for years, making him feel like an outsider in his own clan, then he turns to Santa and utters, in a soft whisper, “no,” before turning away and walking out the door to never be seen again.
Now, lets talk about that jolly fat man in red and white himself, old Saint Nick. I don’t think there were any Christmas special worse than his. Just a giant masturbatory show of how he needs us to love him in sort of way or form. How about that origin story of his; all of those kids sending their letters to Santa to answer the anachronisms they’ve seen in the Santa story are opened by a curious mail man (which is a federal crime, no matter who you are). Then he gives these kids a bullshit story about how Santa got all his magic and shit (filled with plenty of fan-fiction fanfare) and I would like to start with a real big problem I have with this story. Santa as a ginger…fucking really? No, I refuse to accept even the original Saint Nick was a Ginger. I don’t care if he was white or black, but fuck gingers, I’m not letting them get that. Also, whats with all this shit about ice wizards and Meisterburgers, it all sounds like gibberish to me, far too much work to explain to little kids the origins of a fat man who still drives a sleigh. Benjamin alternative ending number three: The mail man reads through all the letters, hearing the children’s important questions that they hope will shed light on this confusing world where flying fat men who break into houses to leave presents, the mail man turns to the camera, looking the children dead in the eye and says, “Well children, those are all really good questions and I have a simple answer that gives a great explanation…SANTA ISN’T REAL! Your parents are lying to you! They mark the presents ‘Santa’ to fool you and keep you naïve. He wears red and white, because that’s how he was portrayed by the Coca-cola company! That’s right, your Santa’s image is a creation of mass consumerism! MAGIC IS A LIE! NOTHING IS REAL!” Before he is arrested and carted away for breaking a federal law.
Do you see it yet, the lie that is Christmas? I’ve been dealing with this for years and after dealing with it for so long, I finally decided to get myself something for Christmas…or for an early Christmas as it would be, that’s why I’m made the Benjamin Atreyu Open Challenge Gauntlet Match, to give myself a challenge, the greatest present. Will there be a good chance I’ll crush all the competition? Sure, there always is, but it isn’t just a physical challenge, it’s also a mental one. I have no idea who will be coming out until they are already on their way. It’ll force me to adapt, to think of my feet, to readjust my plans, it’ll leave me at a disadvantage as opposed to those who know they’ll be facing me, most likely after I had faced several other competitors. This is what I want, this is what I need. Any gift that doesn’t force you to better yourself is just indulgent junk that will waste away just as you do. This year was a mess, 2013 will forever be a stigma on not only me, but on this company as well. It’s time to move into the future. 2014 will be the Year of Atreyu! No more waiting, no more drinking, no more self-doubt. It’s time that I started moving forward on my mission to dominate WCF with an iron fist with S-PAC ruling with me.
Eat your candy canes, sing your songs, open your presents, I don’t care. Be merry all you want, get weaker, get fatter, I want to see it happen. While you are enjoying your time with family and away from work, I’m going to get stronger, get focused, and becoming something even better than I already am. I will ascend from the ranks of competitor and I will become a conqueror. That will be my gift to WCF and wrestling as a whole, my best.
-Benjamin Atreyu
