Written by kmazz917
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Monday, 24 March 2014

The following is a cautionary tale for the ever more digital, unaware and irresponsibly horny among us.

It was December 25, for the heathens amongst you, this is the day us true believers celebrate the birth of our lord and savior by displaying a murdered sapling in our homes and drinking in proximity to people who share similar DNA.

This particular Christmas was particularly idyllic. My extended family and I were in my mother's home in Vermont a beautifully rustic slice of New England filled with dramatic seasons. The winters of this great state feature a pristine white landscape dotted with shades of evergreen, imposing snowy peaks, and heroin addiction. Peering outside the tall windows I gazed over the frozen, snow covered lake that sprawled dramatically out into the horizon. Inside I felt the sedative warmth of the roaring fire at my back. The air smelled of cinnamon pastries. Children ran and screamed underfoot as the adults laughed while sipping cocktails. The only thing missing, the one thing that would complete this picture of Christmas perfectitude were the merry sounds of holiday music lilting gently in the background. Who could have guessed such an innocuous privation would lead to my tragic downfall?

Noticing the absence of Christmas cheer in the air my dear grandmother alerted the family that this must be corrected. My dear mother sprang into action. She scanned the room and noticed that I was relaxing comfortably with a glass of scotch. Since I was "doing nothing important" she told me to rectify the situation. I tried to explain that I had no Christmas music or equipment to amplify it even if I did. She quickly reminded me of the Pandora app on my phone and that the portable Bluetooth speaker she bought my brother was "somewhere in the house."

I resentfully rose from my serenity to fulfill these matriarchal whims. Once I figured out how to pair the devices, I typed 'Christmas' into Pandora and retired back to my chair and full glass. Unfortunately several minutes later it was judged by narrow consensus (my dear grandmother) that the music was now "too loud for anyone to hear themselves think." Adjusting the volume from my phone I put the music at a proper thinking level.

Several glasses of amber liquid and cinnamon buns later I felt the heavy breakfast I had enjoyed earlier was ready to stage its grand exit. I had to drop a yule log. I decided the downstairs bathroom would be more appropriate for my call from nature as I expected it to be a rather long encounter and I did not want to be disturbed.

Once comfortably seated on my porcelain throne I did what most people do these days and began to swipe around on my phone to pass the time. After my bowels were sufficiently emptied I lingered a bit and caught a glimpse of my phone's recent internet history. It prominently featured a pornographic website and nature called back, but this time she wanted to talk about something else (sex).

I know all you judgey Judys out there are thinking, "You're sick! On Christmas, really?" Whatever, go fuck yourself. It had been a dark and cold winter and I hadn't had any privacy in days. Plus my little guy (not that little) was right there looking right at me with longing in his eye. I had a few drinks in me. You know what? I don't have to justify myself to you.

After browsing the selection I found a video that fit my tastes and mood. It featured a chick dressed up like an elf so I figured at least I was keeping with the holiday spirit. Once the movie started I proceeded to bring myself some Christmas cheer but began to wonder why I couldn't hear any sound. I know, it was greedy, but being a kid of the internet age I am somewhat desensitized to porn and I came to rely on those little grunts and moans to give me that final push over the finish line. Thinking it was the video's problem I turned the volume up as high as it would go but still nothing. Not considering the evil afoot, I decided "fuck it" and handled my business.

Still not aware of what had occurred I got myself together and began to climb the stairs and rejoin my loving family for the festivities. About halfway up the stairs I heard the bloodcurdling, menacingly jolly Christmas carols blaring from the Bluetooth speaker and the blood immediately drained from my head. That little demon speaker had proudly projected the soundtrack to my private movie viewing, probably at a volume that was so loud that it prevented some people (dear grandmother) from thinking. I was hesitant to finish my ascent. I considered running out the door, and pencil diving into a hole in the frozen lake.

Weighing my options I decided against hypothermic death and I begrudgingly rejoined my family. Everyone tried with futility to ignore the big, pink, throbbing elephant in the room. People desperately concocted contrived small talk. My uncle caught my glance briefly, blushing with a knowing smile that silently screamed "HAHA WHAT A DUMB DICK!" The women of my family actively avoided looking in my direction as if the sight of me would give them an eye infection. The only person who seemed at ease and downright amused by it all was my teenage cousin. The satisfaction in his gaze was salt and lemon juice in the festering wound that was once my pride; made all the worse by the freckled, soulless, ginger face from which it came.

Aside from the telepathic disdain my family mostly ignored me for the rest of the night. That was, until my grandfather approached me with a sheepishness similar to how my dad's friends used to ask me for weed when I was a teenager. He leaned in a little too close, awkwardly retrieved his phone from his pocket and asked unapologetically without a hint of jest, "I just got this, can you show me how to play videos on this thing?"

I'll leave you with a final meditation on our society and its relationship with technology. This progress we make in the digital age can bring us to new heights in knowledge, convenience and efficiency taking us places and doing things we never thought possible… and it can announce to your entire family when you're jerking off.

By Kaetan Mazza

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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