Who invented the Civic Holiday? And why the hell did they invent it?

Facts are facts. The intent of any and all Civic Holidays is to not work. Occassionally, citizens will make a lemming-like pilgrimage to a nearby park or memorial. Weather be damned, they travel like wayward refugees in a ceaseless migration toward the utter oblivion of "public celebration". Children are terrorized as seemingly normal people, undoubtedly in underwear designed for the opposite sex, parade about in a variety of costumes whose soul design purpose is to firmly imbed haunting nightmares of 7 foot tall catepillers in the minds of heretofore sleepless toddlers.

We are left unentertained by talentless dregs who, with the help of inexplicably lax "freedom of expression" laws, have bullied their way onto makeshift stages, driven with the all consuming urge to sing the old standards in ways to torment the deaf, let alone the hearing. Strangely built individuals leap about afflicted with some reoccurring palsy, in clear violation of THE LAWS OF SPANDEX and certainly some public decency legislation, in their own interpretative tribute to a fish out of water. These behaviours seem to be an attempt to ignore treatment for psycosis with some holistic exorcising of their personal demons.

Various shifty looking food vendors sling hashes of questionable ethnic lineage. Without a doubt the contents would confuse a nuclear waste disposal expert. Children who are overpowered by the results of a mixture of sugar and grease that would kill a triathlete in his or her tracks, turn the colour of wallpaper paste and spew a technicolour rainbow of life shortening food stuffs. Beer bellied men, with racing stripes of sunburn down their stomachs from open shirts, waddle to and fro, hands clutching buns soaked in melted animal fat and lightly painted with condiments, apparently looking for a place to grasp their chest, stiffen their left arm, and drop dead.

Well intentioned citizens periodically break into waves of applause, alledgedly in appreciation of performances on a stage to far away to see or hear. Local dignitaries puff out their chest like pigeons in mating season, looking to a public devoid of acknowledge for the bloodsucking civil sevant, hoping for some morsel of endorsement in trade for tireless work approving the "paint the fire hydrants like dalmations bill". And the dalmations, possibly the stupidest warm blooded creature alive, struggle to mate with random fire hydrants, while intermittently leaving gifts of fresh excrement in strategic foot paths.

Random clusters of people, huddled in small groups like countries in the crumbling Soviet Block, talk amongst themselves. And a elite few of these groups, laugh unhaltingly as champions of the people save the day with unceasing commentaries on the state of human kind around them. Oh, for a few more of these precious gems to seed the populace.

But now, Gentle Reader, the merriment must end. Return to your jobs and careers and drudgery with one comforting thought. At least you got the day off work.

NightSlayer