Go back to hell! (Via)
If you live in an American city, it's always the worst day of the holiday season. Worse than the day you crowd into an airport for your flight home with the rest of humanity. Worse than visiting your grandmother at her nursing home on Christmas morning and she doesn't remember who you are. Worse than the way you feel waking up on New Year's Day.
You go out for what you assume will be a normal December Saturday of shopping and errands in the city. When suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a flash of red. Then another. Then you hear the unmistakable sound of two men in their early twenties wordlessly howling. You look for a way out, a back alley escape, an open manhole to dive into, but it's too late. The red felt army is all around you. You're drowning in a sea of drunk dudes desperately trying to drag their frat life into adulthood, and drunk girls trying their best to look like the Christmas pageant number from Mean Girls. Santacon is upon you. Christmas is ruined forever.
But not this year!!! At least, not in New York.
Looks like we've all been good little boys and girls and we all believed enough to make the real Santa come through and give us the gift we want more than anything in the world. The gift of an official letter from NYPD's Midtown North Precinct, distributed to all the worst bars in New York City, urging them to not let hordes of drunken, screaming douchebags dressed up as Saint Nick into their establishments this year. Christmas miracles. They're real.