Merry Christmas, Mr. Trump, in Keeping with the Situation

Yep, tiny Christmas balls to go with his tiny hands.

This holiday season 2017 will be the very first in many a year that Americans will be free to wish each other a “Merry Christmas!”

Instead of the bland politically correct “Happy Holidays."   

I never realized we haven’t been able to wish each other “Merry Christmas” all along, but that’s what Donald Trump says and I take him at his word, even though it has never been good before.

So I set out to be the first to spread some newly liberated Christmas cheer.

“Merry Christmas, Debbie!” I exclaimed cheerfully. “I wish you a “Joyeux Noel!”

“Why, thank you, Perry, but … “

“But what, Debbie? We’re finally able to say these words right out loud without fear of liberal reprisals! Sing with me: ‘Joy to the world the Lord has come, Let Earth receive their…’”

“But aren't I kind of a strange person for you to exercise your new found freedom with?”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m your rabbi.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I got overexcited, Rabbi.  I’ll try it on someone else.”

I picked up the phone and punched in a number.

“Hello,” I said, “I’ve long been a great fan of yours and I wanted to wish you 'Merry Christmas!'

“You’re wishing me a 'Merry Christmas?'”

“Yes, indeed. This is the first year I’ve been able to wish anyone Merry Christmas in a long time.”

“I see.”

“C’mon, sing with me: “Good King Weseslas looked out on the feast of Steven …' Why aren’t you singing?"

“Because I’m Kareem Abdul Jabbar. I’m hanging up now, friend.”

Another fail!  But the way Trump talks about saying “Merry Christmas” it’s the most important event in our culture since he last changed the batteries in Melania.

Suddenly I had it! Somebody who would be thrilled to hear the words “Merry Christmas” once again.

I punched in another number on my phone.

“Hello, Santa?"   

“Yes, this is Claus.”

“I just wanted to wish you something I know you haven’t heard in many years.”

“What’s that?”

“Merry Christmas, Santa!  C’mon, sing with me “You better not cry, you better not pout ...”

 “OMG! Shut the fuck up!”

 

 “Shut up? But why?”

“That’s all I ever hear all year long:  

Merry Christmas, Santa! Merry Christmas, St. Nick! Merry Christmas, Kris Kringle!

"Merry Christmas, my ass!" 

"But President Trump said …"

“You’re going to listen to that moron? He’s so stupid he’s still sending me a list every year!”

“Well, instead of ‘Merry Christmas’ what would you like me to wish you, Santa?”

“Isn’t it obvious, dude?”

“Happy Holidays?”

“You got it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  

Trump for Santa Claus 2016

"Good Evening. I'm David Muir and this is my hair. Tonight on 20/20 I'm pleased to be interviewing the Republican Party front runner in the race for Santa Claus 2016, Mr. Donald Trump.

"Ho, ho, ho, David, that is some nice haircut!  Joy to the World, and let's get right down to praising the shit out of me!"

"Certainly, Mr. Trump.  Now as you and our viewers know, we've been electing Santa Clauses for the past 27 years ever since the original Santa died in a tragic accident trying to save grandma from getting run over by a reindeer."

"Yes, very tragic, but I prefer Santas who don't get run over."

"Mr. Trump, why do you want to run for Santa Claus?"

"Because we have the worst Santa Claus we've ever had in office in the North Pole! Talk about leading from behind, he hitches the reindeer behind the sleigh and goes backwards!"

"That's not true, Mr. Trump. Santa always manages to get all the toys delivered on time and on Christmas Eve.""

"Sure, David, but how is he on lumps of coal delivery? We're way over budget on lumps of coal and his management of The Naughty and Nice List has people who don't like me listed as "Nice!" 

"Okay, Mr. Trump. Now one of your controversial proposals is that if you are elected Santa Claus you will build a wall to keep all undocumented elves out of the North Pole. What will this accomplish?"

"The illegal elves that come to the North Pole are not the best. They are pimps, drug dealers, chewers of gum that four out of five dentists recommend they don't chew.  But, David, the wall that I build will include a great big beautiful door." 

"And elves who become legal go right through that door?"

"No, I go through that door. That what makes it beautiful!"

"Mr. Trump, it's been pointed out that you have no experience at being Santa Claus, unlike some of the other candidates who have at least dressed up as Santa Claus at parties and for children."

"You mean Governor Christie?  I heard he says to children 'What do you want for Christmas, little boy? Cake? I'll get it for you,' and he never comes back."

"How do you rate the other candidates for Santa Claus?"

"Rick Santorum - Good Guy!  Ted Cruz - Good Guy!  Vladimir Putin - Best Guy! If he's elected Santa Claus he's promised to give me the Ukraine for Christmas next year."  

"What about Ben Carson?"

"Ben Carson?   Go ahead and elect him Santa Claus if you want to turn every child under the age of 8 in America Jewish!"

"Mr. Trump, you've made some strong statements about your Democratic opponents. You criticized Hillary Clinton for going to the bathroom during a debate, calling it disgusting. Mr. Trump, is going to the bathroom disgusting?"

"It is if you're going over the side of the sleigh above Indiana."

"You've also been highly critical of Bernie Sanders."

"This bleeding heart curmudgeon wants to give everything to everybody.  Free healthcare, free education, free tickets to Judy Collins Look-a-Like Contests. There's no end to what he wants to give to people."

"So you don't think Mr. Sanders is qualified for this job?"

"Of course not.  Who does he think he is --- Santa Claus?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Visit from St. Deal-at-Last

'Twas the night before Christmas, 

When all through Senate & House,

Not a fiscal deal was stirring, political will like a mouse;

The stock market was hung up with worry & care,

In hopes that St. Deal-at-Last soon would be there.

The citizens were restless, unstrung in their beds,

While visions of dollars plummeting went askance in their heads;

And Boehner in his Norquist, and Obama in his tax increase cap,

Had just settled in for more long winded political crap.

When out on White House lawn there arose such a clatter,

 We sprang from our beds to see what was the matter.

Away to the window we all flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters, saw CNN's Dana Bash.

The television lights on the new-fallen snow,

Gave the luster of mid-day, I'm tellin' ya, bro.

And what to our wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature limo, all in red, the whole shmear!

And there behind the driver, so lively and surreal,

We all knew in a moment 

It Must be St. Deal!

More rapid than Eagles (not the team) his limo it came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called us by name;

"Now, Boehner!  Now, Cantor! 

Now, Pelosi, Chuck Schumer!

On, Harry Reid!  On McConnell!

 On, Mr. President! You too, sir!

To the Top of your Game! To the Top of the Hill!

Now dash away! Dash away! Show political will!"

"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

"When you meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky!"

So up to the House and the Senate we flew,

We lame political types and St. Deal-at-Last too.

And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the roof

The entrancing and dawning of some new great truth.

As we drew in our heads, and were turning around,

Down Congressional halls St. Deal-at-Last came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fake fur, from his head to his foot,

You'd never see him embellish a tweet with "woo-hoo" or "Woot!"

A bundle of pork he had flung on his back,

And he said "Choke on this,  there's a cliff to roll back!"

His eyes -- yes, quite wrinkled! His dimples, deep very!

Saying "Show me you're leaders, Mitch McConnell & Reid, Harry!

"I want this all wrapped up and tied with a bow,

I'm tired of your slinging it as deep as the snow!"

The stump of a pipe he held tight like a bit,

And the smoke it encircled, well, it seemed like good shit;

He had a broad-minded face and a cast-iron belly,

And he said "Just keep working, we can send out for deli!"

Not too clubby, no chump, brooks no folly, this elf,

And we looked away when we saw him, ashamed of ourselves.

A flash of his eye and a shrug of his head,

Soon gave us to know COMPROMISE was nothing to dread!

"Speak not partisan words, show integrity, great works.

And fill the nation's stocking; now get busy, you jerks!"

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

Said "Gotta go now, I'm on Charlie Rose."

He sprang to his limo, said "Keep to work 'til the whistle,"

And away he then sped, continuing to bristle.

But we heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to All,

You Douche Bags, 

Left and Right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The War On Christmas" - A Film by Ken Burns

It has been over six and one-half years since the War began and still there is no end in sight.  

It is a brutal war.  One that pits brother against brother, elf against gnome, reindeer against reindeer, and worst of all, Santa Claus vs. the Martians. 

It is that national cataclysm known as                               
                           The War On Christmas. 

[Opening Music]

Its origins seem obscure and even petty now.

In the latter part of the Twentieth Century, rampant secularism was gaining strength in America. Christmas Parties became Holiday Parties,  Nativity Scenes morphed into Petting Zoos, and Department Store Santas began giving way to Department Store Richard Dawkins'.  Gradually the secularists were joined by disgruntled off-key carolers, reindeer haters, and chubby chasers rejected by Santa.

This Union, as it was called, demanded that there be just seven days of Christmas with only one Calling Bird, two French Hens, and no Lords-a-Leaping whatsoever. Frantic negotiations followed but failed over the verifiability of Maids-a-Milking.  

On February 14, 2012,  an overtired and jittery elf assigned to protect a shipment of lumps of coal for Santa's Naughty List threw a holiday wrapped Hershey's Kiss at a Union soldier. The soldier was badly chocolated.  The first shot of the war had been fired.

In the beginning the Union had the best of the fighting.  In the Battle of Candy Cane Crossing,  the Union's General Scrooge smashed through a line of Christmas Trees commanded by General Giggly Pointy Ears, resulting in the loss of over 47 candy canes, 28 holly wreaths, and six gingerbread men.   

The fighting was fierce, as Union Private Lance Mesnick of Walden Massachusetts recorded that day in his journal:

"Everywhere you looked there were chestnuts roasting on an open fire! Suddenly I felt a sharp pain and whirling around I caught Jack Frost nipping at my nose! That's the last nose he'll ever nip ..."

Journal of Lance Mesnick,  April 15, 2007

By day's end,  not a creature was stirring --- not even a mouse --- at Candy Cane Crossing.

Christmas fought valiantly back.  A force of seasoned elves under the flamboyant General Stonewall Sniggle de Goop surprised Union troops in a dense fog at Gumdrop Hill. How did Christmas forces maneuver through the fog? Private Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer later wrote to his wife:

"Oh, Sarah!  My heart is full and my hindquarters tingling!  This one very foggy eve Santa came to say 'Rudolf with your nose so bright, won't you guide our carnage tonight?' Dearest Sarah, I long to have my hooves around you! Love Eternally, Rudolf."

                                                  Letter of  Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer to Sarah Weintraub  Reindeer, August 14, 2007

Just eleven days after the Battle of Gumdrop Hill, Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer contracted hoof and mouth disease and Santa shot him.

The war was to continue on for six long years without decisive victory. Mistakes were made by both sides, such as Union General Grinch's decision to invade the North Pole.   Implementing a scorched ice policy,  Christmas forces decimated the Union troops which were wholly ill-equipped for the frigid temperatures and constant painful Nutcracker night raids.

Sensing the advantage, Christmas fired a deadly barrage of fruitcakes at Union forces at Mistletoe Pass, but the Union countered them with an Anti-Fruitcake Shield. All of us should have such a device.  

“Will there ever be an end with honor to this fight? Will a wise and just leader emerge as did once before during an earlier great American struggle? Will we ever get presents again?

Oh, Rachel, who the hell knows?”

— Letter of Union Private Lance Mesnick to his wife Rachel, December 15, 2016.

                                                                                [Closing Music]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freedom Fighter or Terrorist, You Decide

Oh Christmas Tree, Dead Christmas Tree!

We'll never forget 'ye, soldier ...

I've  just never known what to make of those people who leave Christmas lights up and blazing outside their homes until deep into January. Are they still feeling joyous on January 27th or simply slothfully procrastinating the inevitable? 

Frankly I know little of the ethos of the outdoor Christmas light.  When my children were young, we did celebrate secular Christmas (i.e. jolly bearded old fat guy, si; serious bearded young skinny guy, non!),  but I had a strict rule about lights outside the house. 

While the inside of the house could be lit like the Vegas Strip, the outside had to be as dark as a small town in North Dakota after 8 P.M.  I realize this was somewhat hypocritical, but flashing red and green lights and dancing candy canes in front of my house at holiday time was to me the equivalent of installing a ten foot high neon sign proclaiming:

HERE LIVES THE WORST JEW IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!!!

Still,  I do understand the melancholy nature of the annual take down and/or disposing of seasonal decorations.  Every year I sadly espy the multiple discarded Christmas trees lining the sidewalks in front of homes all throughout my neighborhood, lying there like so many dead and dying soldiers from a nearby raging battle. Yesterday I paused to pick one up and comfort it in last moments: 

"What happened, Christmas Tree?  Oh, God, you're hurt bad."

"Yes, it was so sudden, unexpected ....."

"Cigarette, Christmas Tree?"

"What are you, crazy?  I'm made of wood,  idiot!"

"Oh, that's right!  And I don't have any cigarettes, anyway."

"It was so strange.  One moment, I was all adorned with decorations and lights, people were sliding presents under me,  and children were gathered around me singing: 

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree   

How lovely are your branches

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree ... "

"Yes, Christmas Tree?"

"The next minute, it was 'Herby, get that disgusting mangy thing  the hell out of here, it's dropping  needles all over the goddamn carpet!'"

"Christmas Tree, can I write to anybody for you?  Notify anyone? Give a special locket to someone?"

"You can get your foot off my stem."

"You know, Christmas Tree,  the Jewish people respect your kind.  We even have a special holiday for trees called Tu Bishvat."

"Does that mean that if the Jewish people had a tree like me they wouldn't toss me out  like I was so much rubbish or even less than rubbish, like the original cast album of Mamma Mia?"

"No, we'd still do it. We'd just feel guilty about it." 

It was then that I decided to knock on the door of one of the several homes in my neighborhood that still had outdoor Christmas lights all aglow like a tiny tot's eyes and find out what was truly going on with the residents within.

I knocked. 

Would a fashionably dressed man and woman in their mid-thirties answer the door and graciously bid me enter?  Would they offer me champagne, wish me a belated Joyeux Noel, and usher me into their den where a  glorious and fully lit and decorated Christmas Tree yet held sway, captivating and illuminating the minds and hearts of all who would enter?

The door opened.  A short bald fat guy in a T-shirt stood in front of me.

"Help you, Mac?"

From off in the distance, I heard a woman's voice shouting "Herby, I told you to get that disgusting mangy thing the hell out of here, it's dropping needles all over the goddamn carpet!'"

At long last, I had my answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks, Big Guy! II

                                   Yep! I'm counting these!

                                            Again!

                                                

It’s that time of year once again that many of us stop to consider how much we have to give thanks for.

And I’m no exception.

And considering how miserable I am, I also stop to give thanks as to how much incredibly more miserable I would have been without how much I have to give thanks for.

I am thankful:

 1.   That the comic strip Blondie is still running  in the Philadelphia Inquirer, because Blondie is the only comic strip character I had  masturbation fantasies about when I was eight and still do at 61.   

 2.   That  All the World's a Stage.  Although why did I get such a crummy bit part?

    3.   That although I am of an age when I can no longer be cute,  I believe I will be able to pull together at least a couple of good years of impish.

 4.   For the Gift of Laughter. Although most of the time when I get it anymore I think I've been regifted.

 5.   That I do not have a chin cleft like Kirk Douglas or Tom Brady because fetching though they are,  how the hell do you ever clean them out?!

 6.  That surprisingly enough, I have already pretty much gotten over Regis Philbin. 

 7. For the Jewish people, without whom I would be Swiss.

8. For each and every one of my Twitter Tweeps, because they're far less annoying to deal with than real people.

 9.  That Spiders never joined the Axis Powers.

10.  That the mirror in my attic which is getting old instead of me has never asked me if it could have "work" done.

 11.  For the Philadelphia Phillies, who enable me to experience that disappointment so sorely lacking in all other areas of my life. 

 12.  That they made that  second "happy" ending to The Invasion of the Body Snatchers because I have enough personality problems as is without turning into a giant seed pod.

 13. That I am not Robin, the Boy Wonder because imagine all that time and effort and keeping in tremendous shape and sucking up to Batman and  trying to do homework while the Joker is attempting to kill you and still  --- not a lick of college credit?!!

14.That I am not one of Santa's elves,  because those ears and this nose would be a bit much!   

15.That as much a disaster as my life is or ever has been,  I have never once walked into a room and seen Ernest Borgnine standing there. 

16.For Newt Gingrich, without whom people would think that I  have a goofy looking head and body.

17.That women about whom I fantasize whom I actually know personally do not possess ESP and  powerful weapons.  

 18.That my cup runneth over.  I've got to remember to turneth off my cup whenever I leaveth the apartment!

 19.For schadenfreude, wherever and whenever I can squeeze what little of it I can.  

  20. That I am not being stalked by a robot assassin from the future.   Though frankly I'd be kind of proud that my kid is going to lead the rebellion to save humanity!

 21.  For the sun in the morning and the moon at night because were it any other which way, I'd probably be in Antarctica and freezing my ass off!   

and

22. For my own very  special private  place where no one else ever goes!   My blog.

 

       And so, for all these wonderful blessings, I hereby tender

My most tender and juicy

Thanks,
Big Guy!

Here’s hoping you have similar reasons to give thanks during this festive season, and that you don’t

royally screw them all up in 2012.

Happy Holidays, Everybody!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Yes, Virginia, There is a Hubert

Various Sketches by Dr. Humber

There are all kind of conspiracy theorists nowadays, from those espousing alien visitations and the legitimacy of Bigfoot and Nessie to those asserting that Lorne Michaels keeps SNL on the air by eating the brains of NBC executives. No such theorist, however, is more strident and in-your-face than Professor Neil Humber of the University of Havertown PA.  

Professor Humber, who tweets as @flophouseflip, is a brilliant socio-economist and deep thinker whose ground-breaking socio-economic models and theorems have served to prove conclusively that socio-economic models and theorems are boring. After years of  intense study,  Dr. Humber has come to believe that a massive fraud has been perpetrated  on the people of the United States, and in fact, on the peoples of the world. 

"They don't want you to know!" Dr. Humber exclaimed,  his fist pounding upon the table, when we met last week.  "They continue to propagate the ages-old myth that parents provide toys and gifts to children at Christmas time! As if all parents from Baltimore to Botswana could make an objective, unbiased determination as to which of their children are naughty or nice and then implement annual Yuletide gift-giving accordingly and do it all in one night!" 

"Only one highly competent and dedicated entrepreneur could successfully accomplish this task," asserts Dr. Humber, "obviously working with a crack team of professionals he has himself vetted, assembled, and trained to perfection." 

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Mr. Hubert "Santa" Claus!

Professor Humber posits the existence of a rotund, jolly, and white-bearded gentleman who every year on Christmas Eve delivers toys to good little boys and girls, rides in a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, and is originally from New Jersey.  The author of 17 books on the subject, including  His Name is Hubert! and Your Parents are Fucking Liars, Professor Humber  is the leading proponent of the so-called Single Gifter Theory. 

I asked Professor Humber how he came to believe so fervently in the existence of a Mr. Hubert Claus and the plot to cover him up. 

"In conjunction with parental malaise and incompetence, modern methods of manufacture and distribution are simply nowhere near effective enough for the Parental Multi-Gifter Model to be feasible," he told me.  "Hell, you can't even get anybody to come to the phone at a Toys R US any more!"

Parents foster the duplicity, Professor Humber contends, in order to have something guilt-invoking to hold over their children. "Clean your room, Jimmy," "do your homework, Sarah," "don't run off and marry that uber-tatooed grifter, Sylvester," go down a lot better with "don't forget, I'm the one who gave you the 12-speed bicycle at Christmas!" than "if you want some marbles, write to Hubert!"

As proof that the U.S. government is complicit in the cover-up, Professor Humber points to the alleged downing in 1947 of a "red-nosed reindeer" at Roswell New Mexico and the mysterious appearance in a Cherry Hill NJ shopping mall in 2006 of a cheerful and avuncular fat guy asking children what they wanted for Christmas who was swiftly escorted away by government agents. 

"What do you envision this Mr. Claus to look like?" I asked Professor Humber.

"His eyes sort of twinkle," he answered thoughtfully.  "Not only that, his dimples are merry, his cheeks are like roses, and his nose like a cherry. He's sort of like an older Zach Galifianakis, but less stoned-out."   

But then why doesn't Mr. Claus simply come forward and take credit for his prodigious efforts?

"I believe that he is a humble man," replied Dr. Humber, "who wishes only to speak not a word, go straight to his work, fill everyone's stockings, and then turn with a jerk. I'm not exactly sure who that jerk is, but I'm thinking Mr. Claus may sometimes hang out with former Vice-Presidential candidate John Edwards or Charlie Sheen."

Professor Humber will be speaking tonight at the Unitarian Church in Center City Philadelphia, and a small but enthusiastic crowd is expected to attend.  Most other people will claim to be busily Christmas shopping, but Dr. Humber says that the majority of them will be out drinking with co-workers, engaging in sexual encounters with random strangers, or watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on television.

So what do you think about the existence or non-existence of the elusive Mr. Claus?

Oh, and if you're reading this, Brandon, clean up your goddamn room! 
Remember who got you that X-Box last Christmas.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~