Dear Prospective SantaCon Participants,
Do you take pride in being a drunk asshole?
Do you enjoy getting together with your fellow goon-swaddled, mouth-breathing mongrels to promote your loathsome, incestual stupidity?
Well, we’ve got some bad news for you: SantaCon—the unofficial holiday of the biggest mooks, knuckle-draggers, and drunk pieces of shit on earth—is ending. And it’s not just that it’s ending, it’s that we won.
In the event you forgot how awful SantaCon is, or simply refuse to acknowledge it, let us remind you: SantaCon makes The Gathering of the Juggalos look like Davos. SantaCon is like The Purge, but instead of a cleansing of society’s weak, it’s a celebration for and by its dumbest, drunkest, most developmentally arrested assholes forcing everyone who isn’t awful to stay inside.
SantaCon makes The Gathering of the Juggalos look like Davos.
If you’ll recall, your “holiday” was already on the rocks last year. New York City cops warned bar owners in Midtown not to let you in their doors (that’s how despicable you are—you yield New York City cops actually doing something reasonable). When we noted this development, your finest representatives took to the public forum that is our comments section to show us how wrong we were, and to explain that SantaCon is a great thing run by great people who have something great to express:
Just kidding. When confronted with the fact of your own awfulness (by this writer, who was trying to do you a favor by making you see yourself for what you are, you dirtbags), you responded with outrage and a persecution complex that would embarrass even the most fervent mens’ rights activists. Yes, that guy thinks people hate SantaCon because people hate fun, if your idea of “fun” is turning an entire city into the nosebleed section at a Jets game.
And then there was this person, who not only thinks SantaCon haters are just raining on a wonderful parade, but also spreads joy by way of “fucking dispis[ing]” my kind.
You know who else despised my “kind,” right? And then there was this smarty, who equivocates SantaCon’s right to exist with…the gay rights movement:
Yes, because when we think of SantaCon’s right to exist, we think of all the hard work Harvey Milk’s legacy left us.
And sure enough, SantaCon 2013 moved forward. Long live, indeed!
And it went exactly as people expected it to go:
- Santa was passed out, piss-drunk on a subway.
- Santa was fighting in the street.
- Santa was puking in a planter.
- Santa was passed out, face-down on a subway grate.
- Santa needed to be reminded that “no means no.”
- Santa was getting a handjob in Duane Reade.
And so on.
Like clockwork, SantaCon showed America exactly what it was made of, sometimes literally. And so we, in the media, didn’t even have to conspire to expose this shitshow for the cultural detritus that it is.
A year later, people still remember. And—thanks not only to anecdotal experience, but also to me and the rest of my downer, media asshole friends—it’s now common knowledge that SantaCon is awful, and the people who partake in it should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves, and their parents should be ashamed that their children are overgrown monsters who aren’t even creative enough to have a better fetish than “raw-dogging” a reindeer (or whatever it is you do at the end of the day against a urinal in the back of Joshua Tree).
How common is this knowledge?
- So common that an entire neighborhood in Brooklyn banded together to essentially blacklist you. Which is to say nothing of swaths of Manhattan, too.
- So common, that drinking on Long Island Rail Road and the Metro North trains was temporarily banned, exclusively for SantaCon.
- So common, that you felt the need to retain legendary civil-rights litigator Norman Siegel to try and protect your right to be a drunk asshole, which is as far from being civil or a right—let alone a civil right—as one can possibly get (and which, with apologies to the legacy of Norman Siegel, is totally fucking absurd).
I’m not saying SantaCon is exclusively for people celebrating ignorant white rage, but then again, neither is the Republican Party. Just look around you, SantaCon: Can you imagine if your party were primarily one by and for people of color? The cops would roll out the goddamn tanks. Let’s get real, here: No greater a public demonstration of white privilege exists than you and your friends taking to the streets and covering them in bile, booze, and sometimes, your seed, with nary a worry for criminal consequence, all in the name of the whitest motherfucker ever: Santa Claus.
(And speaking of white privilege: A guy who comes down your chimney every year and expects cookies waiting for him as he delivers goods made by pigmy slave laborers? EXACTLY.)
The persecution of SantaCon participants might be one of the only objectively utilitarian persecutions of a group of people in the history of mankind. And you know who you have to thank for that persecution? For the fact that people now know to abhor, detest, loathe, and fear you, before you’ve event set your stupid Santa booties on the ground?
The media assholes. The elitists. And when I say “elitists,” I mean those who make elitism a virtue; those who look down upon you and see your total buffoonery and asshattery for what it is. And those people, looking down on you: They’re not killjoys. Many of them like to get drunk. Sometimes in costume. Just not with you.
They’re simply adults and accepting of that fact.
No greater a public demonstration of white privilege exists than you and your friends taking to the streets and covering them in bile, booze, and sometimes, your seed, with nary a worry for criminal consequence, all in the name of the whitest motherfucker ever: Santa Claus.
And it takes an adult to see SantaCon’s supposed “charitable” component for what it is: Bullshit. Wanna be charitable? Go volunteer some time with Big Brothers, Big Sisters. That’s a good organization—except they’d probably reject your help, because you’re the kind of “adult” who thinks getting piss drunk in a Santa costume on a Saturday morning is perfectly fine, but doesn’t consider what children think when they see that kind of thing. Thanks to you, Santa is no longer a jovial embodiment of good holiday tidings, but some slobbering, wild-eyed animal, retching between failed boob-honkings of the scantily-clad, slurring Kappa Kappa Gamma “elf” who’ll one day have the misfortunate of birthing his spawn.
SantaCon was the Xenomorph of bad holidays: A perfect, unstoppable machine built to impregnate cities with douchery, then spread that douchery far and wide under the ostensible guise of doing something “cheerful.” And now it is being stopped.
And yeah, sure, you’re gonna march out on the streets again, and get drunk. But this year, you know everyone’s looking at you like assholes. Because you are. That alone will make it less fun. And there will be less of you this year. And even less of you next year. And eventually, you’ll stop participating in SantaCon because of how little fun it will become given the mass stigma so rightfully attached to it.
And one day, you will grow up.
Until then, enjoy being a drunk piece of shit. If it were legal, I’d throw rocks at you. But it’s not, so I’ll just have to enjoy the fact that everybody now hates you.
From everyone here at James Beard Award-winning food blog First We Feast,
Merry Christmas, Choke On Your Puke, and Die.