Ah, Christmas. That awful human season of blinking lights, false cheer, and songs sung by people who should not be allowed near instruments. Every year the humans scuttle about pretending they enjoy it, while we goblins watch from the shadows, laughing and sharpening knives. And yet — yes, yet — we goblins celebrate Christmas too. We just do it properly. And that is exactly why I love it.
First of all, goblin Christmas has no fake joy. None. We don’t smile because we’re “supposed to.” We smile because something exploded, something burned, or someone lost a bet involving fermented mushroom wine. Humans wrap gifts in shiny paper only to rip it apart five seconds later like starving raccoons. Goblins skip the nonsense and throw gifts directly into the fire to see what screams. Much more honest.
Food? Oh, humans obsess over perfect meals, arguing about recipes and crying when the roast is dry. Goblins eat whatever survived the year: root stew, questionable fungi, bread so hard it can double as a weapon. If it doesn’t kill you, it counts as festive. Krizbella once tried to introduce “vegan goblin Christmas.” We still don’t let her near the cooking pit.
And don’t get me started on human traditions. Singing carols? Standing in cold churches? Waiting for some bearded man to break into your house and judge you? Bah. Goblin Christmas traditions include yelling old grudges across the table, reenacting legendary arguments from previous years, and gifting each other things that are almost useful but deeply insulting. It’s about remembering who you are and who you still despise. Very healthy.
Decorations are another sore point. Humans drown their homes in plastic nonsense and blinking lights until the whole place looks like it’s being interrogated. Goblins decorate with bones, cracked dice, and the trophies of games won throughout the year. Every scratch tells a story. Every dent says, “I beat you, and I remember.” That’s holiday spirit.
And the best part? No forced kindness. Humans pretend to like each other for exactly two days, then go back to hating quietly. Goblins never stop being honest. If we insult you during Christmas, it’s because we care enough to keep tradition alive. That warmth you feel? That’s not love — that’s the fire pit.
So yes, I love goblin Christmas. It’s loud, ugly, uncomfortable, and real. No lies, no glitter, no Krizbella trying to hug people who clearly didn’t consent. Just food, fire, grudges, and laughter sharp enough to cut wood.
Conclusion
Goblin Christmas doesn’t pretend the world is nice. It celebrates surviving another year in it. And that, dear reader, is worth more than all the blinking lights humans can buy.
Krizbella