I Am the Gift Bearer

Those which stand before me are not of this planet and they rock the space-time continuum. I'm inclined to believe the abominations are grown specifically, and in secret laboratories, beneath each location. There, these chromosomal rejects are grown, housed and released as fabricated war specimens. Launched onto society for one purpose.... to feed.

It's that time of year again, the time when a deep breath of clean crisp air invites visions of the holiday season.

It's the time when cloudless skies and bitter cold offer a strange little hug; an embrace that gives off just enough warmth to feed anticipation.

It's the time when days shortened give birth to breath taking sunsets. The horizon gets bathed in colors so well blended, it's as if mother nature has painted a blanket and is tucking us in for the night.

This is the time when bundling up for the parade is a treat and not the frigid experience it could be.

It's a time when grueling hours of overtime are punctuated by the dreams of a loved one smiling. And when handing over a hard earned dollar can trigger a smile, you know it just might be a time of joy.

But hear me when I say, make no mistake. Hear me when I tell you that these are also deceptive times, my friends. And if you're not careful, quite frankly, these are dangerous times.

For from the shadows comes a creature so deliberate, so dedicated to accomplishment it will stop at nothing.

It's persistence is legendary and it's temperament could only be described as explosive. It will aggressively defend it's own own and surely kill them just the same if it means securing the prize and standing triumphant.

I could only be talking of one thing. Sure enough, this is the time of the Walmart shopper.

This is the time when it ascends from the fiery depths. It has risen in haste, clawed to the surface, drawn to the black Friday war horn.

This be the time of calloused feet, hoofs of the damned, marching forward, foraging for supplies and provisions. There can be no mistaking, for staring them in the face is Christmas, the gateway to a harsh winter.

Beware this Walmart Shopper for it's times like these that battle cries can be heard from clearance racks and from toddler sections come sounds of ripping flesh.

This is the time when tribes will kill, not only for what they need but for what they crave. It's not uncommon in this time for the matriarch,of separate clans,to be seen tugging opposite ends of the all illusive forty-two inch flat panel that's in 1080p with four midi inputs. One can only imagine life, three months into a hard winter, without the bare necessities.

This is the time of sustenance overindulgence. From the in house feeding grounds comes the aroma of life. The chefs of death will slice as slave hands stir from the cauldrons, praying upon the shopper with the billows of sweet nectar. The Walmart masses are now hypnotized.... for they thirst.

This is the time of mother warriors, stuffed into battle fatigues (bright blue spandex) they drag their dirty ill-behaved offspring through the aisles searching for any and all wonder deals.

A days travel from the makeup section these creatures hunt in packs, usually four to six strong. Often times this beast will tote along her life partner just in case an "I was here first" encounter should occur.

A poor excuse for backup, let alone a role model, this scrawny, unshaven, dirty cap laden, flannel abomination is most times nothing more than the fifth child. Far be it from this up righted varmint to stand alone from his mate, for he is nothing more than scared shitless of his female counterpart.

This is also a time of scavenging. Nomadic souls move aimlessly about the wastelands in search of the unoccupied register. The herds have all but depleted the empty checkout station leaving in it's wake pockets of feeding frenzies rivaled only by that of the amazonian piranha.

Slave clerks are rotated in with tactical fortitude. This is done to stave off angry mob delirium, native to December and highly contagious.

And lastly, this is a time for pure athletic dexterity. For once clear of the evil inside you will be asked to navigate the parking lot. Now swarming with anger, the zombies blanket the asphalt in pursuit of the perfect space.

While weaving the undead demolition derby you lay down a law that will guide you for approximately three hundred and sixty four more days.

You say to yourself, "I will NEVER do this again!"