We've all seen those commercials, those posters so 'accurately' depicting a loving family of Christians spending time together at the family table icing their cookies and talking of nothing other than (presumably) how to reincarnate Hitler. Notice how Jews do not make Christmas cookies. Back to our poster family; Daddy isn't drunk (he's even at the table), Brother isn't wankin' it shifty-eyed under the embroidered table cloth, Sis hasn't hit the rag yet, and Mommy isn't contemplating the mistakes in her life (a process that comes due time around Christmas anyway). Yep, Christmas cookies just seem to be Jesus himself molded into a tiny edible beacons of holiness. You'd be mistaken.
They are, in fact, embodying Hitler.
In this circumstance though, it is much more socially acceptable because the world likes anything it can eat! Shit, why do you think food and water are so popular? This isn't rocket science Barney Rubble. Now that I've knocked some applicable sense into your head we can continue.
So you're sitting up in bed (on the couch, on the curb, you know, whatever) mindlessly shooting heroin to keep yourself awake for the night-task ahead of you. You hear a faint cry in the distance, it's your kid. It's ok, ignore it! Once your mental barricade wears thin you may notice that your child (tears streaming down its horrid face) is regretting to inform you that there's a certain last minute affair you must tend to in order to fulfill their Christmas wishes. They are not refering to the hundreds of dollars worth of pool chemicals you bought them at Walmart as a holiday present.
Look at you now, despite all of your efforts to prove that you love your kid (or your girlfriend's kid) by tirelessly shopping for gifts, you find yourself blinded by the white tiles of the grocery store on a weary Christmas eve. "Flour, eggs, milk, sugar." If only it were that simple. Following is a list of obliquely and ridiculously shaped cookie cutters that could probably be home-made by bending a clothes hanger. "I better score tonight with that bitch," you may think to yourself as an overpriced array of groceries rear their ugly heads. Don't worry disparaged boyfriend desperately "going through the motions", Santa will know you love him.
You come home, the kid's asleep and your wife/girlfriend left and willingly flung the responsibility of their bastard child heavily at you. It's gonna be a long night Christmas cookies. It's Chritmas Eve and you simply cannot call a lawyer at this hour. All you know to do is get to baking those crazy-ass sweets before you have to get up at midnight and eat them yourself when you're laying down presents under a twig.
There are only two types of Christmas cookies (homemade, none of that store bought shit).
What yours will probably look like.
and What yours may look like when you're (Santa) done with it.
See? It's a cycle. Isn't Christmas magical?