I hate tourists. And I hate christmas. And christmas tourism in NY is my ultimate bane.

I never spend christmas with family. I always volunteer to work, and try to avoid everything mirthful and festive. First of all I hate commercials, and commercialism in general. Secondly, I'm an atheist, and fucking christians can't control their holidays, they just railroad over you. Lastly, I can't stand fake double talking nice nice bullshit. And that's all you hear during the holiday blitzkreig. Tis the season to be jolly. Tis the season for you to cram it. All year long we hate each other, and for few days out of the year we break bread, and pretend that we have good will towards them. Bah humbug! Ebenezer had it right, fuck santa, fuck christmas, fuck all those fucking elves, fuck shiny wrapping paper, fuck bell ringers and caroling screamers, fuck the whole red and green mess.

About three years ago I was living in Hell's Kitchen in New York. And my two roomates (who were screwing each other physically and mentally) went back to the midwest to spend christmas with their families. They had an early flight, and were scrambling because they were running late. I covered my head with a pillow cause the pre-traveling christmas chatter was making me nauseous, and unable to sleep. They finally get it all together and slam the door behind them in a race-like fury.

Two hours later the phone rings. I screen the call still laying in bed. Cassandra (one of the screwing roomies) is in tears. "Oh my god, I forgot all the presents, Frank if your there please pick up, oh jesus I don't kn...." "Yeah?"

Well in their haste they forgot the bag of yummy tidbits for basically everyone. "You have to get the bag to me (tears), or I'm scum, (sob) please Frank, do whatever you have to, but get the bag here before christmas (cry, cry, emote, emote....)" So now its my responsibilty to get the presents shipped to them before the grand festival. Mind you its Monday and christmas is on Saturday. She hangs up, I go to sleep.

I wake up around two. Shit shower shave. Do a couple of bong hits. Eat some cold pizza. Walk my roomate's dog. And by four I'm out the door, bag over shoulder like good old st. nick, to make sure the miracle of christmas can live on in the hearts of feebs.

Mailbox Etc. is on 57th street. I live on 48th street. So I hike my burden over there. Now 57th is possibly the worst travesty NY has ever concocted. This is where the Hard Rock Cafe, Motown Cafe, Planet Hollywood, Fashion Cafe, If Your a Tool and Will Buy Into Anything Cheesy Cafe, etc. exist. Luckily the streets were not clamoring with the festering boil that is tourism at that moment. I get up to the shop door, and posted on it is a sign. Special Holiday hours - closed early - sorry for any inconvienience. Holiday hours closed early ?!? HOLIDAY HOURS CLOSED EARLY ?!! I nearly renacted the final scene from Do the Right Thing.

So the next day comes. And again I lug the sack of joy to Mailboxes Etc. Today, the beast of tourism is running amok. Where is my superhero to wipe away this grime. Let me get the logic. It's christmas, we are in New York, lets go to Planet Hollywood - the epitome of Gotham's cultural cornicopia. Stab. Strangle. Spindle. Now I'm dodging idiots to make it to my destination. The line out Mailboxes Etc. is halfway down the block. Resist temptation to make the streets run crimson. Two hours later, I'm face to face with a counter wench. Don't smile at me. Don't smile at me. Please what ever you do don't show your insipid wide gaping smile and musically ask how you can help me. "Welcom to Mailboxes Etc. (big fake Dollywood smile) how can we help you?" Fingers dig into counter. How much to get this to St.Louis tomorrow? $480. Um, Thursday? $360. Friday? $275. Saturday? That's christmas silly. Watch as my own cash disappears into the hungry register.

Broke and pissed all I want to do is get home and steam. Of course the assholes who have invaded my city are not cooperating. Dodging this one dodging that one. Eight fat waddlers, all in a row, blocking the entire sidewalk, gaping up at the buildings like turkeys drowning themselves in the rain. Try and get around them and a bolt sticking out of some scaffolding catches my coat and rips a vast chasm into it. I roar like a dragon top of my lungs - FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! And laser my vison on this pack of insipid beached whales. Some cop intervenes. "Whoa big man, how you doing?" Tears of rage welling up in my eyes. "I'm a New Yorker and I'm just trying to get home, and all these idiots won't let me through" We both knew that by the glare in our eyes that we hated this tourist miasma. Next thing I know, he motions me to follow him. He starts announcing for people to get out of the way there's a New Yorker comin through. Gets me far enough west, and tells me to take care. Only good part about this story.

My front door. I'm a quivering mess. Smoke joint. Smoke cigarette. Strip clothes. Hot steamy shower. Call my homies and hook up at our favorite dive. The amount of Stoli I drink could be measured in quarts.

The next day, my sleep is again disturbed by a phone call. Screen. "Um Frank, are you there? Tried to call you last night. Um. Ok. Well, just wondering if that package is on its way. Well, call me as soon as you hear this." Head goes back into my pillow.

Around four I wake up, shit shower shave. Suck on the bong. Dial up Cassandra's sister's house. The package is off it will be there by friday. It cost me $275 and I need the money now. "$275!!!?? Why'd you pay that. Fuck, I guess there goes my christmas bonus. What were thinking? You better have kept the receipt. My christmas bonus, damn why'd you pay that? You should have just forgotten about it." I explain that if she kept on with that line of questioning that I would probably lose all sanity and say the most horrid of things and how the next thing out of her mouth had better be how I'll get my money back. She told me where her ATM card was and the PIN. Took out $280, that five dollars was gonna be a tip dammit. And spent my whole christmas bar hopping and trying to sleep with whoever was up for it.

Christmas is for the mentally imbalanced. If your defending yourself right now, I rest my case.