It's two weeks before Thanksgiving and you walk outside to find your neighbor's house covered in gold tinsel and blue snowflake-shaped lights. You could not feel any more Christmas spirit if a reindeer flew out of your ass.
The lights flash in a twenty foot pattern spelling "Merry Christmas" which fills you with so much seasonal cheer you feel like you might puke pine needles; then again that might be your ulcer.
You walk slowly toward the house, stuffed to the gills with white-hot joy over the coming celebration of the birth of the lord and savior, holding a red-hot match you'll use to light the fire of the holidays in the hearts of the neighborhood and any responding firefighters.
The blaring winter music coming from your neighbors window douses you in affection for the advent almost as thoroughly as you douse the giant inflatables in his front yard with 89 octane fuel. The wave of the plastic robotic Santa waving to you as you empty the gas can makes you so god damned happy you could spit on it, so you do.
The glow and heat of the rising flames warms your body as the holiday season, still half a month away, warms your soul.