Christmas is supposed to be about caring.

Love.

Giving.

Family.

Laughter.

Instead we get…

anger, hostility, stress headaches, and kids handing you wish lists that look like a Wall Street portfolio.

“Here’s my top five, Dad.”

Cool.

Each one costs $400.

Son, at that price I’m not buying you a toy—I’m investing in you. Where’s your damn prospectus?

Meanwhile $500 doesn’t stretch like it did twenty years ago. Back then that was a solid Christmas.

Now? That’s like two LEGO sets and emotional damage.

We ask for a list.

We get a ransom note.

And the streets?

Packed with people you’ll never see again until next December.

They come out once a year like consumer-driven groundhogs:

buy shit, return shit, scream at cashiers, then vanish back into their caves.

Nobody’s shopping for joy.

They’re shopping for status.

Somewhere between Amazon carts and credit card debt, we forgot the point of Christmas.

It wasn’t supposed to be

“How much did you spend?”

It was supposed to be

“How much did you love?”

But here we are—

another year almost in the books,

broke, tired, and pretending this chaos is tradition.

Still…

we show up.

We wrap what we can.

We love who we have.

And we survive another round.

Because that’s the real miracle.

Stay Dirty.

Stay Humble.

And if all else fails—stay fed, because these kids ain’t cheap. 😈🎄