I hate authority. From cops to judges to teachers to politicians, I flat out refuse to partake in bootlicking of any form. This tongue will never caress the leather boot of daddy authority. Not one single saliva-soaked swipe in a blackened interrogation room. Ahem.
That’s why I was sickened to my very core upon discovering my mother—the woman who taught me to value my own independence above all else—licking the boots of the biggest tyrant of all time: Santa Claus.
Santa is worse than any villain I can even imagine! Santa Claus will deny granting children the basic necessities in life like a new skateboard, the iPhone 12 Pro, or Cyberpunk 2077, unless they “behave” and “conform” to whatever is trending this year. I always thought Mommy was an ally of the people. Someone who provides every essential toy I need for my survival. But this holiday season she has revealed herself to be just another bootlicker, defending Claus and enforcing his arbitrary rules.
Santa gets all the credit for granting boys and girls with all their little heart’s desires, but how does he do that? Fear tactics and constant surveillance. And I was shocked to discover my Mommy’s unwavering support for such behavior when she sat a little Eichmann on our fireplace. Sure, she calls it “elf on a shelf” but if he opens that fucking mouth he’s gonna end up a “snitch in a ditch.”
Only a true enemy of the public can turn a child’s joyous holiday into a lesson in conformity. Let alone the insidious act of brainwashing our own parents into carrying out his authoritarian commands. You better watch out. You better not cry. Santa Claus knows your deepest desires and has recruited your mother to keep you in line.
If Santa was really a jolly Yuletide philanthropist, he would readily share his wealth with the common man without the condition that they conform to his standards of silence and obedience. Both Santa and my mom know exactly how much I need a PS5 so of course they hold it over my head while demanding that I stop throwing apple slices at the McDonald’s cashiers. Public displays of rage are the only ways I know how to express myself, mom! Buy me french fries next time like a normal person.
To anyone reading this, keep watch over your moms. Next thing you know you’ll come downstairs and find them selling your old teeth to some fairies or letting a giant rabbit shit some discolored eggs all over your house. Moms are weird.