Today, November 25, the day after Thanksgiving, "Black Friday" as it has been aptly named, I witnessed something horrendous: the depressing darkness that is five o'clock in the morning.

I woke up for a buddy in dire need of an Xbox One. This came much to my surprise given that the last video game console he purchased was a Playstation 2 a few years ago. Either way, I woke up at a bullshit time for him so he could purchase the system with a check GameStop would not accept. Mind you, this is after contemplating the purchase for twenty minutes.

I am pleased to announce that he did go back later to buy that Xbox with the help of his parents.

Welcome to the wonderful World of Materialism, friend.

Of course, like the good American citizen I am, five in the morning wasn't the first time I went out to buy things I don't really need. After having delectable Thanksgiving meals at our respective familial households, my girlfriend and I journeyed to the luscious Land of Wal-Mart, where the people are a-plenty and the parking spaces are not.

We came to accomplish one thing: get the deal on that $39 pressure cooker. Of course, that's not how Black Friday works. You go with the mindset of buying one thing that you kind of need, but end up coming home with a trunk full of useless crap you don't. That is how it works.

I splurge, mostly, spending a majority of the money I earn at whatever part-time job I have that year. This time, however, I held back. I bought a nice comforter for my bed and a flannel to prepare for the harsh Dayton weather. I believe I am now considered an amateur adult. I bought things I actually needed!

But, wow, is it exhausting.

I've been told I'm an old soul, preferring vinyl over HD-quality downloads, physical books to bright screens, and the early South Park episodes to their new intellectual, whole-season story arcs. Don't get me wrong; they are hilariously accurate, but I'd much rather watch "Prehistoric Ice Man" on VHS. Nevertheless, the final nail in the coffin: Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

It is a time for family to come together, fill out our sweatpants, and for me not to worry about what gift to give my brother-in-law. My mom gets up in the wee hours of the morning, when most of America is still asleep after an all-night binge, to prepare a meal fit for many kings.

Turkey, ham, several kinds of potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, three different casseroles, dinner rolls, pumpkin and sweet potato pie, holy shit, the works. My mouth waters at the thought of three week-old leftovers.

I hardly see my parents anymore, even less my brother and sisters. Every now and again, I come home from school to visit, but nothing brings us together quite like the holidays. We play cards, eat and repeat. Unfortunately, my grandma's legs don't work as well as they used to, so she can't make it up our front porch stairs. But, like any decent grandson would, I brought her leftovers and we watched Gunsmoke together. When I left for grandma's, my family was still there at our house, but they soon went after the bonus deal at Peebles.

I get it. The opportunity to save some cash by walking in a door doesn't happen every day. I was supposed to go, but I was still at grandma's. I just wish they wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.

When I got back, mom was home alone, putting the leftovers away at three o'clock. We started eating at one. This was not Thanksgiving. It was a diluted version of it.

My favorite holiday has been consumed by the consumer's need to have more things. Despite its name, Black Friday has taken over the Thursday before, making Thanksgiving less about gratitude and more about the gluttony for stuffing without the -ing.

I'm a hypocrite. I do the Black Friday thing, but I despise the idea of it. It's like watching House because you hate Hugh Laurie's character, but you love that goddamn show. It's the same concept, I think.

Look, the point is, I love watching people. When they all congregate in one, crowded place, it's a special and terrible thing all at once. On one hand, I don't like the fact that it takes time away from family, though it's their personal choice to indulge in the madness. On the other hand, they are preparing for the Christmas holiday. Though they may have punched some faces and broken a few ribs for that Hatchimal, I just imagine the glow on their kid's face when he/she rips off the wrapping. And that makes it okay.

I remember how amazing it was to open up a Furby on Christmas when I was young. Everyone deserves that one gift. And if that means taking a knee to the nads to give that to a kid, then you gotta take that swift knee to the nads.

I'm bitter that my holiday has been taken over by the zombie-like nature of our materialism, but I've come to accept and even participate in it. Nevertheless, I think the people who want to put "Christ back into Christmas" have a little more to complain about.