Christmas

Yesterday a friend of mine called around (by this time the book crisis had been averted, and I'd sent all the editors away with cakes and bacon), and said "Karl, do you know that it's Christmas soon?"
"Oh really", I said. "Christmas has become this tradition- it's boring. The same thing every year- gifts, food, people, getting drunk, family. It has become old hat. If one is going to do the same thing every year, one might as well commit suicide immediately. It's not conducive to creativity. You see these fat mummies and daddies giving their fat children these presents, and them opening them up with vigour and excitement. And what is inside these presents? Not a painting, like the Monet I received for my 5th Christmas. These children are being given hideous multi-coloured Hannah Cyrus and Montana Jonas cds! These toys and things with bells on them! They are disgusting. I loathe them. I loathe the fact that Christmas is the same every year, for a good majority of the world. And I loathe the fact that Christmas is a holiday- holidays are for people who work 9-5 days; they are a sort of concession for selling your soul to meaningless work. Even my telephone cleaners don't work 9-5- my telephone cleaners are masters of their craft, and at night they go ballroom dancing with kings and queens- princes and paupers (chic, of course) and so on. The janitors at Chanel have masters degrees in biochemistry- their cleaning is so incredibly scientific that a couple have been nominated for Nobel prizes ("is that what you call it? A No-bell prize?"). These are not 9-5 people. They are Tom Waits people, in a Tom Ford suit.

So you see, I see Christmas as a hideous festival of decadent and depraved boredom. It makes me want to vomit- and I would, if I had eaten something in the past 47 years. Instead, I will draw you a picture of a tramp vomiting. Do you understand my point?"