Imagine waking up on Christmas excited to spend your day with your big extended family. You've lovingly thought out all these wonderful gifts for them you're excited to see their faces, all the kids/grandkids are coming over excited to rip open their presents under the tree. Everyone is laughing, having funny, then the friends come over for a big meal. You sit around all playing games for a while before settling in to watch some Christmas movies together by the fire. All in all a good day, surrounded by people you love (and who love you).
Then you ACTUALLY wake up and realize you're a decrepit, disgusting old rapist pedophile who has no friends, no family, and lives in a shithole hovel. The only presents that have been left were from the roaches scuttling around everywhere, because even they don't give a fuck about you and so they don't hide. You get out of bed, sore of course because you're old as shit (which means no morning wood either because decades of drug abuse and antipsychotics have rendered it shrivelled, inept, and incapable), and realize you don't even have any pictures of anyone to pretend your with family, because you're so worthless not a single soul on the planet actually gives a fuck about you. You pick up the phone to call someone to wish them a Merry Christmas....but then remember there is no one. You're completely isolated because you're a dirty, unwanted pedophile. So you pop in some shitty, shrinkflated TV dinner and sit, alone, in a worn out chair in your living room. You try to watch TV while eating by yourself but every channel has smiling, happy people enjoying Christmas. So you shut it off and sit in the dark while eating your stale, burnt piece of cardboard. Eventually you just go back to bed, because what else is there to do? You lay their praying for the day to end, and instead of hearing Santa all you have is the sound of roaches scraping across the dirty carpet.
Then your phone rings. You realize it's still only 3pm. You answer it, so excited that someone, ANYONE, is calling to talk to you on Christmas. But it's only some Indian guy saying you have a virus. You play along because it's the first actual physical human interaction you've had in weeks beyond typing on a forum to people who hate you, but you hear a click because even an indian scammer realizes he has better things to do on Christmas than talk to you. So you put the phone down and lay back in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about where you could tie your belt too. And you should do it, Tom, because you're a worthless faggot.
