DBM's Christmas Survival Guide

In my family, Christmas isn’t a traditional Norman Rockwell norm. It’s a full on operation that takes a lot of mental and emotional preparation. And before we get started, this guide is all purpose, and holiday agnostic. If Christmas isn't your thing, that's totes fine. When it comes to this time of year, we are all fighting the same battle. If you’ve ever rehearsed conversations in the car before walking into any family event, particularly during the holidays, this is for you. If your stomach drops when you see the driveway full of cars, samesies.

We all prepare ourselves and pack that emotional baggage like a steamer trunk and drag it into enemy territory, freshly stamped with insecurities we didn’t even know were still active.

Christmas for me isn’t a season of joy, it’s a psychological endurance test built from unresolved childhood trauma, emotional debt, and one shared bathroom. Disguised as tradition, forced cheer, and alcohol that starts the moment you step through the door because someone “needs help with the ham.”

This is not about peace.

It’s about extraction.

People say Christmas is about “keeping the peace.” What they really mean is that you have to surrender yours so nobody else has to feel uncomfortable. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of nodding through the nonsense and apologizing for seeing through the insanity while biting my tongue.

So, here’s the deal...

You’re not walking in as a guest.

You’re walking into hostile territory.

But all is not lost. Pour the bourbon and fire up that blunt (they pair well). Or, maybe mushrooms are your thing. Even better, because once that shroom hits, Bigfoot will be posted up by the coats for emotional support.

Welcome to Deadbeat Monkey's guide to surviving Christmas. And for once, we’re not showing up to be polite. We’re showing up to complete the mission and leave with our dignity intact.

THE FRONT DOOR AMBUSH

You barely get through the door before Cousin Conspiracy, the one with the giant Don’t Tread on Me truck flag and matching trailer hitch testicles, blocks your entry to deliver Breaking News. Because according to "Truth" Social, immigrants are eating dogs and cats, and Taylor Swift is covering it up with LGBTQ weather balloons because apparently weather balloons are gay now.

Of course, he’s already downed half a case of Keystone, pork rinds stuck in his beard, wearing a tuxedo shirt because he’s a classy bitch. He says it like he just dropped frontline intel on his favorite “libtard,” when it’s really a Truth Social post from ProudPatriot1776, eagle avatar, zero media literacy.

If you’ve ever been hit with a “mic drop” before you’ve even taken your shoes off, here's the deal.

This isn’t a conversation. It’s a trap.

What do you do when the weakest twig on your family tree pins you at the front door and tries to drop a misinformation mic like he’s giving a TED Talk that you didn't ask to attend? 

Well, you stop being polite. Because we’ve all done the annual hostage routine.

Year after year you have nodded through nonsense so everyone else can keep pretending this is “family time” and not a group project in denial.

So you put put your cards on the on the table and go all in as you say:

“New Christmas tradition. Every time someone repeats a Facebook rumor or quotes some Truth Social rando, we read it out loud like it’s Scripture and fact-check it on the spot. If it’s true, congrats, you get to gloat. If it’s bullshit, you have to sit there while we watch it die in real time.”

Then you smile.

Maintain eye contact with every single person in that room.

And wait.

You’re allowed to disengage.

You don’t owe anybody a debate.

CALL THE BLUFF

After all that, you finally get your coat off and grab a place to perch in the living room as your sister sits on the couch, settles in with her coffee while Trinity Broadcasting Network sets the mood in the background and you know what's coming next. It's just a matter of time. Internally you start the countdown, because she's like clockwork, you can practically set your watch to this broad as she starts off with... “Jesus supports the leaders God put in charge.”

You: “Awesome. Who is this leader you speak of?” 

Pause a beat. Let it marinate and make her say it out loud (she won't). Let it become uncomfortable. Like they have for you, for years.

Because that’s the whole trick right?

They hide behind foggy church words so they don’t have to name the thing they’re defending.

So you make it plain. “Which leader? You mean the president? Donald Trump? Is that the one?”

Then you sharpen it.

“God put Donald Trump in charge? The same man who brags like decency is for losers. That one? The man you only see in a church when there’s a funeral so he can take a nap in the front row. That one?" 

"Okay. Cool."

"I mean, I don't know about you, but that's not what I’m seeing in my Bible. Are we reading the same handbook? New International Version, or the 2nd Amendment Edition signed by DJT?"

You demand a verse, not a vibe or pastor clip or Facebook meme with a lion in the background.

A verse. Any fucking verse. Because she sure as shit didn’t pull that from Scripture. She pulled it from a televangelist soundbite and called it theology. Because she's not quoting the Bible. She’s quoting Paula White. She's parroting Jesse Duplantis.

So you don’t argue politics. You don’t debate vibes, you demand receipts.

If they're gonna say it out loud, then they can back it up out loud.

THE TONE POLICE

This is the part where the fake moderate waddles in to protect the chaos. Not by correcting the lie, but correcting your attitude about the lie.

They’ll say:

“Can we not do this today?”

“Why are you being so negative?”

“It’s Christmas.”

Translation: Let the loudest lunatic run the room while you cover the emotional deductible.

But this is what you get when you have immediate family that voted for Donald Trump and made you the adult in the room. No, this aggression will absolutely not stand.

So, you turn on that 21,000 lumen spotlight on the well meaning "moderate".

Say it out loud, calm, like you’re ordering off a menu: “I’m not ruining Christmas. I’m just not gonna be the designated punching bag this year.”

Then stop talking. Silence makes them short-circuit.

If they push again, you smile like you’re enjoying yourself, because you are: “If we can say it out loud, we can fact-check it out loud.”

And if they still want to play referee for the wrong team. You say “We want peace? Cool. You can start by telling them to shut the fuck up too.” For once, you let them decide whether they want peace, or a free-for-all where everyone’s words get treated the same. Exit stage right.

And now your work is done and it's time for a well earned moment of Zen as you step outside to sneak a disapproving cigarette, pop another mushy, and chillout with Bigfoot in the backyard like this is the only normal part of the evening while the dancing Elvis Lawn Gnomes hang out in the background and high.

This time, you're not the "bad guy", you're just setting long overdue boundaries. Because if everyone else is determined to shit the bed on this holiday, you're not going down with them.

You're gonna have fun at their expense and it’s about damned time.

Mission Debrief

When you leave, don’t bring their chaos home with you.

Roll the window down, breathe, and let the silence feel like a reward and don't get pulled over while blissfully enjoying what is probably the best trip you've ever had in your life (emotional baggage not included).

Well, that's it that's all...

If you enjoyed this… please don’t tell anyone. I like to keep expectations low and disappointment on par with the emotional wreckage I just walked you through. Besides, people leave you alone when they think you peaked sometime before your uncle discovered Truth Social.

Deadbeat Monkey, Masterfully gifted. Emotionally damaged. Marginally employed. That’s the brand.

Send all hate mail and your holiday success stories to the following. We're all in this together

dbm@deadbeatmonkey.com

Broken Twitter: @deadbeatM0nkey

Insta: Deadbeat_Monkey

AA Meetings on Tuesdays. BYOB. Emotional baggage optional.