Fernando finds the stretch of time that encapsulates November through February displeasing. The dreary weather plays a part, to be sure, but most of his ire stems from the nonstop frenzy of commercialism and moronic fucking jewelry ads. He cannot grasp how Christmas-y things can be in full swing starting the day after Halloween (hell, some places have the Christmas aisles set up in mid-October already), and as a result the vaunted merriment of the season winds up facile and grating.
Fernando, already a cynical person, retaliates against things he dislikes by taking those things which people love and subverting them. So, when December rolls around and every other store blares schlock like “Rocking Round the Christmas Tree” or whatever lyrical vomit Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber or Taylor Swift have shat out this year, Fernando loads up a holiday album by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society. If there's one thing that accurately reflects the true nature of Christmas, it's the Cthulhu Mythos.
So it comes to pass that Fernando is rocking out to the absolutely splendid “Slay Ride” when one of his 30-something customers sneaks in to drop off a movie. “I didn't know you listened to Christmas music,” she says.
Fernando blinks at her. “I don't.”
She tilts her head, pressing her lips together as she pays a bit more attention to the lyrics. Then her eyes widen as the song gleefully goes on about the undead rising and consuming the flesh from bodies raw.
Fernando smiles. “See?”
“That's horrible! What is that?”
“Just a bit of Lovecraft-inspired joy to set the mood for this most festive of seasons.”
She gives him a queasy look, then nods and heads for the door.
“Merry solstice!” Fernando calls after her.
Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!
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