Slay Bellz Ring: Surfin Santa’s Slaycation Getaway. Oct 27th. On an island off the coast of nowhere, meditating over mai tais:
Days we go, in between, many are they. The fog it crowds around as I think. Many moons have past since last Xmas. And I’m beginning to feel again the itch. The itch to murrrder. The itch to kill. I tried retreating to the North Pole. To take me away from the stench of the city. But every year I was pulled ever so back. Santa should stop drinking so much coffee. Maybe that’s why he gets so worked up. Or maybe it’s the sins of the world. Who can say. What he really needs is a relaxing vacation. It’s been 6 months since my last indulgence. I’ve taken hobbies, tried to keep busy. Take my mind off the thoughts of Xmas past. But my “present” always remains the same: MURDER. Old habits die hard and this is a tough one to kick. Filthy habit too now innit. And not just the mess. They say it gets easier as it goes but they lie. What do they know about it? One, maybe two? And those were probably accidents. Amateurs. They call me a jolly, generous ol’ soul but that’s not quite it. Gotta give to get somethin yea? I’ve given so much they’ve made a bloody holiday of it And a bloody holiday it always is after all. As if I can’t help myself. As if I need it.. I used to think it needed me but now I know better.. I’ll eat their cookies and drink their milk. But it pales in comparison to what I truly crave. Caffeine is all that can stimulate the smile, stifle the itch. There’s a reason I wear red.. Hiding in plain sight.. Conspicuous. Nothin like a murder to take the edge off. Nothin like killin to calm the nerves. I wish it weren’t so but it is.. I’m doing my best.. There aren’t a lot of support groups for this kinda thing. Soon as you go for help they turn on you quick. Products of the system those naughty sycophants. And so here i am. Enjoying the island breeze. Thinking peaceful thoughts in the off season. I support the 4 day work week but not for me per se. I know what the stress of the job can drive a man to. Mine is a 3 month work year and i feel exploited. Not that i don’t love my work, trust that i do. I’m my own boss and the benefits are to die for. There’s a rumor out there that I exploit the elves. Hot damn, them and me both just tryin to fly low and under the radar of it all. We’re cool. It’s tough work and there’s no one I respect more. Wish they and the dwarves could get on better though. Wish they could see that they;re all on the same team. It’s a worker owned and run operation in my shop. And that’s why we hit it so hard when the season’s on. When work is life the life is work. No one wants that. If they had it their way we’d be workin til we can’t no more and they pay for your funeral as if it’s the severance of a lifetime. We need time to enjoy the finer things in life. They can have the money. I’ll have my indulgences..As you see though, sometimes, therein lies my problem. You either get busy livin or killin… dyin! Damn! Got it in my bones as they’re wont to say. They get what they need and then some. Who are you to say that my skimmin off the bottom is a sin? Nothing but a soft aside! Spoken like a true addict I’m aware of it. Acceptance is the first step and boy do i know it. Forgive me father christmas for I have sinned. It’s been 6 months since my last confession of murder. I wish I could say getting it off my chest is a load off. It’s not like I’m without a conscience or something. Who do you think I am… a frickin’ monster?! Say what you want. Think what you will. I’m a nice guy. And not nice in that “touchy feely, fake ass, corporate, smile in your face, talk shit behind your back, stifled, suppressed, status quo keepin, smarmy” kind of way. (Be still my beating heart, lest i murder again, the ripest recipients in all the land, boy does santa have a gift in store for you, hold me back). No. I’m nice in the way people are meant to be nice.. And they twist my words to project their naughtiness. And that’s why I need a vacation. For real. To get away from all the twisting and the slime. Spin doctors the lot of them. To hell with them. “So I swim and i surf to purge myself the pain // Come October and I’m back at it again //Past is prologue and presents i make it rain // Tis the season of indulgence, another one down the drain.” And that, my friends, is what they call a relapse. A sin in thought is a sin in action after all. Poor innocent people on this beach, unwittingly partaking in this intrinsically pavlovian presence of mind. Presents of the holy spirit. A gift of the magi. Who are we to think we are the righteous? My mistakes are of my own making. Mine alone. When i meet my maker, Hell or Paradise will be my home. Rudolph guide my slay tonight…
