Old Holiday Chestnuts

Merry Christian Cultural Incursion darlings. It's December, the month where everyone is a Christian, whether they want to be or not. It warms the heart and turns the stomach.

You know, we have to put up with a lot of crap from the superstitious and the religiously deluded about how "America is a CHRISTIAN Country!" even though any 8th grader who has read the Bill of Rights knows that this is a secular country, forbidden by the constitution from establishing any religion as "America's Religion." This gets particularly heated whenever the Religious Wrong are trying to justify legislating their delusions into our laws, such as during the ongoing anti-gay marriage battle, or the grossly offensive appointing of that walking-piece-of-shit Reverend Rick Warren to do the invocation at the inauguration next month. (Strictly speaking, this being a secular country and all, there really shouldn't be an invocation at all at an Official National Government event like an inauguration.)

I got into an argument with a religious moron at Disneyland, of all places, when visiting The Magic Queendom with Little Dougie at Thanksgiving. This idiot, after blessing the Moron Church, I mean the Mormon Church (Though what else would you call believers in "The Angel Moroni"? I mean, how upfront could he be?), for "Saving us from Gay Marriage," trotted out the tired and mistaken "This is a Christian Country" idiocy, and then added "We came here for Religious Freedom" (Apparently he was a 300 year old Puritan.), without noticing that legislating his particular religious delusions into our laws is the very essence of destroying Religious Freedom.


He babbled on about how Our Founding Fathers were all Christians, which is not true. Here's Thomas Jefferson on Christianity: "The day will come when the mystical generation of Jesus, by the Supreme Being as his father, will be classified with the fable of the generation of Minerva in the brain of Jupiter." Notice how this pretty much denies any meaning to Christmas. Merry Christmas, Tommy. Here's another Jefferson quote: "I ... do not find in our particular superstition (Christianity) one redeeming feature." Now there's a devout Christian.


The founding principles of America were taken from Common Sense by Thomas Paine. Here's a quote from Thomas Paine: "The Christian system of religion is an outrage on common sense." Paine also wrote: "The study of theology, as it stands in Christian churches, is the study of nothing; it is founded on nothing; it rests on nothing; it proceeds by no authorities; it has no data; it can demonstrate nothing." Paine was not only not a Christian, he was, in fact, an atheist. Sense? Yes. Common? No. Rare sense. Too rare.


Let's take another particularly beloved American Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin. Here's something Ben had to say on the subject of Christianity: "I have found Christian dogma unintelligible. Early in life I absented myself from Christian assemblies." Not exactly something you'd expect to hear from, oh, say The Nazi Pope. Next time someone tells you this is a Christian Country, tell them what a surprise that would be to those famous non-Christians Tom Jefferson, Tom Paine, and Ben Franklin.


For the record, George Washington was a Christian, but that doesn't make America a Christian country.


But we do still have Religious Freedom in this country, despite the best efforts of the Religious Wrong and Georgie Bush Jr. to remake this nation into a Theocracy, including the freedom to be a Muslim, a Jew, a Hindu, a Mormon, a Buddhist, an Atheist, or even a Christian Scientist, while still being just as American as Thomas Jefferson, though you Christian Science dumbells really need to get your kids proper medical care. Religious Freedom does not include the right to kill your kids in the name of Mary Baker Eddy. And you all get to celebrate Christmas or any other religious festival all you like.


Here's Little Dougie, his mom, and his sister Gretchen, in 1955, celebrating Christmas the way it should be.


Here he's awash in gifts. These days, it's all I can do just to get him to wash. By the way, are you perhaps wondering what the perfect gift is in this holiday season? Well here's what Hunky Santa, The Gay Claus, recommends.

And it's inexpensive. You can get "New or Used" copies from Amazon for embarrassingly low prices. That is important this year as we try to have a nice holiday in our ravaged economy. Someone stole America's prosperity over the last 8 years, through sheer stupidity, applied Reganomics (Same thing really), and rampant, unchecked greed. Who could it be? Who did such a terrible thing? Why, most of the Whos down in Whoville can barely afford to buy their children shoes to throw at the President.

Disneyland may seem like an odd place for a Religious Freedom and American Equality argument to break out. A mother nearby clucked at me: "There are children here. They don't need to hear this."

I'm afraid my snapped reply was, "Oh? Are they too young to learn that America is supposed to be all about Equal Rights for Everyone?"

But Disneyland was getting kinda weird on the subject itself. We went on the newly-revamped It's a Small World boat ride. Normally riding It's a Small World ranks right above waterboarding as an aquatic form of torture, what with that endlessly repeated, monotonous song. Back when they had ticket books, the E Ticket said right on it: "Subjecting an unwilling person to riding It's a Small World is a violation of The Geneva Conventions." But at the moment, it has been done up for the holidays, and instead of The Sherman Brothers' musical horror, they are playing a variety of secular Christmas songs - all different ones, not just Jingle Bells played over and over.

But here's the weird thing. It's a Small World is supposed to be all about how people are all the same despite our cultural and geographic differences. However, with the "Holiday Overlay," we suddenly have no cultural differences at all beyond costumes. The "Children of the World" even all have the same face! We currently get to see that we're all Christians!!! Because, as we cruise through the ride, we see that EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD CELEBRATES CHRISTMAS!

There they are in Saudi Arabia, celebrating Christmas! No pesky Muslims in the Arab countries on this ride! There they are celebrating Christmas in India, in China, in Japan, all over Africa! I don't know how the Muslim woman seated behind me in the boat resisted standing up and yelling, "This is very offensive!" through her bhurka. They might as well have been singing:

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christ- ian World!

But if the Christers were bound to be happy to see all those other belief systems wiped out of existence by singing doll robots, over at The Haunted Mansion they were probably shrieking in horror and clamping their hands over their kids' ears and eyes, because the vastly-more-entertaining holiday overlay on that attraction was all themed to the charming Tim Burton animated musical The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Jack Skellington and the denizens of Halloweentown run rampant all over Christmas there, this Holy Christian day being defiled and mocked by witches, wizards, devils, mad scientists, and demons from hell, and it's all a big laugh. It's delightfully sacrilegious. I loved it.


The only thing more obnoxious about the Christmas Season than the way Christianity forces itself on everyone all month, and accuses you of "Waging War on Christmas" if you insist on resisting their cultural Fascism, is what it does to television. When you're 111 like me, you don't always feel like going out on the town every evening, and TV is essential. Without TV, I'd be so desperate for entertainment, I might even be forced to resort to - gasp! - reading! God help me! And what is on TV this week? Well, some of our beloved, and less-than-beloved, regular shows, but all in repeats. And what else is on besides shows you saw two weeks ago?

The billionth repeat of of Charlie Brown's Christmas. Darlings, Charlie Brown in on Social Security. He's almost 70. How The Grinch Stole Christmas, not the unbearable Jim Carrey horror movie (Though that is on, if you know any children you really hate!), but the delightful animated version starring my ex-husband Boris Karloff. Darlings, Boris has been dead for 40 years. The show still airs every December! Also on, the hundred billionth repeat of Frank Crapra's It's a Maudlin Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. That picture was shot 100 years ago. For everyone in that movie these days, It's a Wonderful Death, because they are all dead, and if I ever have to sit through that movie again, I'll kill myself too. If an angel had ever shown Crapra what Life would have been like if he'd never been born, he'd have seen that no one ever made this movie, and the world was full of a lot fewer bored people every Christmas.

What else is on? Repeats of all the Christmas shows that have been on every single year since the manger in Bethlehem. (If we pretend for a moment that the Christmas Fable is actually true, and is not what it so obviously actually is, a myth. Hint: Virgins don't get pregnant. Believe me, I tried that one on my mother a century ago and, unlike the Reverend Rick Warren and his ilk, she wasn't stupid enough to fall for it.) Frosty the Red-Nosed Reindeer (Had a nip or two have you Frosty? Me too.), The Little Bummer Boy, Rudolph the Big-Dicked Pornstar, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, and of course, 8000 different versions of A Christmas Carol. Much as I love Charlie Dickens (And I might add, he adored me!), how many times can I see that same exact story? Who is your favorite Scrooge? Alastair Sim? Albert Finney? George C. Scott? (George, here's a note that obviously your director was afraid to give you: Scrooge is supposed to be English. You might have at least thought about trying an English accent.) Patrick Stewart? Mr. Magoo? Scrooge McDuck?

What was that, darlings? You don't remember Rudolph the Big-Dicked Porn Star? How could you forget him? Well, let me catch you up.

You know Arpad and Mattox, Russo and Ryker,

Six guys all named Chad, Stefano and Stryker,
But do you recall?

The hunkiest porn stud of all?

Rudolph, the big-dicked porn star,

Had a very shiny ass.

And if you ever saw it,

You would say it's smooth as glass.

All of the other porn stars,

Used to laugh at his behind.

They never let poor Rudolph,

Come and play and fuck them blind.

Then one horny Christmas Eve,

Chi Chi came to say,

"Rudolph with your dick so hot,

Won't you do my money shot?"

Then all the porn stars loved him,

And they shouted out with glee,

"Rudolph, the big-dicked porn star,

You'll go down on him and me."

Doesn't it bring a tear to your eyes? I know it makes me moist. Anyway, if the TV networks can put on nothing but Christmas reruns, why not me too? So here are two of my favorite holiday entries, both posted before.


First off, my favorite holiday song, perhaps because I wrote it. Enjoy:

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas,

Everywhere you go.

Thanksgiving was yesterday,
And now the streets look so gay,

Your eyes will blur,

And you'll get vertigo.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Gets worse after dark.

I really do hate to grouse,

But, my God, my neighbor's house,

Looks like Disney's park.

Horrible tinsel.

And way too much chintz'll

Make everyone wish they were dead.

By far the worst folly,

Are trees looking jolly,

When all of their leaves have been shed.

And I will grant, a-

-nother Santa,

Fills me up with dread.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Please gouge out my eyes.

You'll soon see a Yule log,

Blazing at the synagogue.

An elf robot?

My brain lobotomize.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Soon my brain will split!

I hate to sound so gruff,

But I've already had enough,

of this Yule,

Bullshit.

Remember Mel Gibson's drunken, Jew-baiting arrest two Decembers back? I did when I wrote, under my non-de-plume, this instant Christmas classic. Again, enjoy my present to you.

The Passion of the Elf
by Inclement Clarke Morehead


'Twas the night before Christmas, all through Morehead Heights
Not a creature was stirring, 'cept deep in my tights;
My pantyhose hung by the chimney with Nair,
In hopes that Huge Jackman soon would be there;
The vodka was nestled all snug in my head,
While visions of sugar-tits made my legs spread;
Like me in my turban, the brave with no head,
Had just gone to sleep, or perhaps we were dead.
When outside my skull there arose such a clatter,
I fell out of bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I crawled like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my hash.
Then mooning my breasts from my new-fallen pants,
Gave the luster of porn to my sagging implants.
When what to my blurry red eye there appears,
But some really big gay, and eight quite tiny queers,
And a little old driver, so drunken and glib, son,
I knew in a moment it must be Mel Gibson.
More rapid than virgins, his coursers they came,
And he humped them, and shouted, and cursed them by name;
"Now, Flasher! Pole Dancer! Fag Prancer, you Vixen!
On Slutty! On Trampy! On Scrotum and Nixon!
To the top of her porch! To the top of her house!
Now dash away! Dash away! Tear off her blouse!"
As dry heaves that before the wild hurricane barf,
I can’t get these stains off my lovely headscarf.
Up to my house-top they flew just like Krypto,
With the drunken old fool who made Apocalypto.
And then, in a flash, I heard on my ceiling,
The horrible sound of my juices congealing.
When I stuck out my butt, to show my endzone,
Down my chimney Mel Gibson came hard, with a groan.
He was painted bright blue, and was covered with gore,
And he smiled and he laughed and he called me a whore;
A bundle of buttplugs was flung on his back.
He was stinking of gin, my aphrodisiac.
His eyes -- how they watered! His dimples -- how sexy!
I don’t know why he gives the Jews apoplexy.
His wet drooling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as yellow as snow;
The stump of a leg he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face, narrow mind, and round belly,
That shook when he raved, like petroleum jelly.
He was skinny and drunk, a right smelly old elf,
I got damp when I smelt him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his knob,
And his purple-eyed warrior started to throb.
He spoke not a word, but just started to jerk,
And soon stained my poster of Young Captain Kirk.
Then shoving his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a prod, up my chimney he rose;
He soon gave his team a quite mean disemboweling,
And then filmed their deaths, as they all lay there howling.
Last I heard him exclaim the incredible news,
"Happy Christmas to all. Now go kill some Jews."

So darlings, I'm your Auntie Christ, keeping the Christ out of Christmas. On behalf of myself, Little Dougie, the Headless Indian Brave, Eduardo my gardner's son, and everyone here at Morehead Heights, I'm wishing a very happy holiday to all of you little people sitting out there, in the dark, watching me, and touching yourselves.

Cheers darlings.