Saturday, December 13, 2014

Have a Politically Correct Christmas

The following is a repost from last year.  Which was a repost from the year before that.  Which was a repost fro...good grief, how long have I been doing this?  Well, anyway, I wrote it several years ago.  I did update it a little bit (for those of you who may have read it last year and the year before that and the...well, you get the picture).  See if you can find where).
"I trip on one of these dogs, I'm suing the batcrap out of somebody.
Liposuction ain't gonna pay for itself, ya know.
Plus, I'm on that effin' Obamacare now.
And why am I walking around in my long johns?"

Have a Holly Jolly, Politically Correct Christmas Holiday
C. Clement Moore (?)

With apologies to Major Henry Livingston, Jr.:*

Twas the Night Before December 25th

‘Twas the night before December 25th, when all through the place of residence (be it house, teepee, shopping cart, or refrigerator carton).
Not a creature was stirring, not even a sentient life form known as a rodent (which has every right to live wherever it chooses).
The government-issued condoms were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that a federal official soon would be there.

The children of the multi-diverse family unit were nestled by Family Services all snug in their beds,
while visions of non-dairy, non-sugar, non-peanut, non-caffeine, non-fat, non-transfats, non-threatening tofu plums danced “With the Stars” in their heads.
And my life partner in a hyperbaric chamber and I in my neoprene bubble
had drifted to sleep, with nary any trouble.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed (which I selfishly bought at IKEA while millions slept on grates), to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I feared that I’d spy
A Weiner, a Biden, a Rush Limbaugh guy.

The moon, on the Miley Cyrus breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a “little people” sleigh and eight height-challenged reindeer.

With a stature-limited seasoned-citizen driver, so lively and quick,
I knew it must be that Person of Androgynous Reknown, Nikita, Nick...
or some other such prick.
More rapid than endangered eagles, her/his coursers they came
and she/he whistled and shouted and called them by name (though not as subservients; rather as equals in the mutual exchange of commerce).

“Now Twerker! Now Holder!
Elton, you Prancer and Jesse!
Ebola! Al Sharpton!
Obama, Pelosi!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, but only if you’re physically able and don’t feel threatened by it all!”

As dry leaves before the hurricane fly,
which plugs up the levees because Bush wants you to die,
so to the subsidized housing the hoofed business partners
with a sleigh full of capitalist loot stolen from me and from you!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, I turned and I saw
Nikita/Nick and her/his attorney-at-law.

She/he was dressed in synthetic fur, from her/his head to her/his foot,
and her/his clothes were all tarnished with the tracings of soot on her/his tush,
a carcinogen and by-product of the evil exploitation of majestic trees by Bush.
A bundle of toys she/he had tossed in a sack
and I KNEW I was liable if she/he busted her/his back!

But, there was no worry, I had not a care!
Oh, crap, what did you say?
She/he had Obamacare!?

Her/his eyes--how they twinkled!  Her/his dimples, how merry!
Her/his cheeks like BOTOX balloons, her/his nose like a cherry!
It was obvious with him/her I should not be alone
this creepy, suspicious Chris Christie clone.
Her/his droll little mouth was drawn up no, not in a frown
from some anonymous, “tsk-tsking” government clown.
The stump of a pipe she/he had just for effect
as she/he showed me her/his nicotine patch on her/his neck.
She/he had a broad face and a little round belly
that shook when she/he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

(NOTE: the American Medical Association strongly urges a lifestyle which eliminates the existence of “little round bellies”, as they may lead to diabetes, high blood pressure, tourettes, heart attack, an “unfresh” feeling, stroke, erectile dysfunction, skin rashes, halitosis, driving heavy equipment while drowsy, and rickets.)

She/he was chubby and plump (see NOTE above), a right jolly old fairy/troll/forest nymph/dwarf/Michael Moore/multi-diverse personage of varying-yet valuable-ethnic persuasion/wood sprite/Oprah/elf,
and I laughed when I saw her/him, in spite of myself (although, to avoid being sued, I said I was laughing “with”, not “at”, her/him).
A wink of her/his eye and a twist of her/his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

She/he spoke not a word, but went straight to her/his work
and filled all the condoms, when allowed by her/his attorney-the aforementioned jerk.
The gifts, she/he explained, were crafted by midgets
Err...”little people” those over-sensitive fidgets.
To insult them, she/he knew, will just make them sour
When, after New Years, they return back to work
at McDonalds for $15.00 an hour.

And laying her/his finger on the side (not in) of her/his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney/window/teepee smoke hole she/he rose.
She/he sprang to her/his sleigh, to her/his team gave a whistle,
and they mutually agreed in committee to fly as equals away like the down of a thistle.
But, I heard her/him exclaim, ‘ere she/he drove out of sight.

“Happy Non-Sectarian Day-of-Observance-Which-Has-Nothing-To-Do-With-An-Established-Creed-Or-Dogma-of-Faith-Because-That-Would-Be-a-Heinous-Violation-of-the-Sanctity-of-the-Separation-of-Church-and-State-Because-What-About-the-Children-Dammit-You-Racist-Bastards!? and to all a mutually-satisfying (as agreed upon in writing. In triplicate. By the ACLU.) night!”    

    *Evidently, Clement Clark Moore is the 19th century equivalent of the New York Times’ Jayson Blair**.  A classic since its 1823 appearance in the Troy Sentinel, ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas’ (as it was alternately known) was claimed by Moore as his own in 1837, conveniently after Livingston had passed away.  In fact, Moore, who wasn’t known by any other poem, incorporated the work into one of his own books,Poemsin 1844!  So, the next time you’re tempted to fret and bemoan our lack of journalistic scruples, just remember Moore’s response when asked if he had, indeed, written this most-famous of Yuletide poems:  “Uh, yeah, whatever.”
    Or, so I’ve read on the Internet.  Because, after all, if it’s there, it must be true! 
**Like I said, this is a repost, so the inclusion of Jayson Blair may leave you scratching your head.  Mr. Blair was pinched several years ago for being a plagiarist.  plagiarist, of course, is someone who tries to pawn off someone else’s work as his own without giving credit to the actual author.  You know, a lot like Joe Biden.  There, how ‘bout that?  Timely and funny.

***I’m not so sure this is very timely anymore.  But, I managed to include a “twerking” and "Ebola" reference.  You’re welcome.
"Seriously?  Nobody's gonna get that Biden reference, dumbass.
You really oughta write new stuff already."


  1. Selfish sot, dare to sleep on a bed purchased with hard-earned money.
    The elves work at McDonald's in the off season? I wondered where he stored them.
    Thanks for the repost!

    1. Where do you think the "special sauce" comes from?

  2. haha still fun as ever though. If the pc nuts had their way it would change, maybe without the little added notes though, not sure rickets is a top priority

  3. A very inventive interpretation of an old Penwasser classic.

    1. An "old Penwasser classic."
      Sounds like me.
      Not sure about the classic part, though.

  4. Replies
    1. Whew!
      So it's new to you?
      Something different on your lap.
      Instead of warmed-over crap.

  5. I was going to ask if the Miley Cyrus reference was new this yeae, but I think you alluded to that at the bottom.

    1. Miley...bottom.
      I saw what you did there.
      Nicely done.

  6. All Joe Biden wants for Christmas is for you stop making fun of him.

    Too bad Santa isn't real.

    I will say, it seems most Vice Presidents get some of the goofiest people. Almost like top party officials go to the nominee and say "we need you to pick this guy so he can retire already".

    1. How many vice-presidents do we remember?
      Even those who KNEW how to spell 'potato'?

  7. The scariest part?

    I know where the changes are.


    1. Yikes.
      We've been together a while.
      Never fear, I wrote something new for next week sometime.

  8. Love it!!! always good stuff around this place!

    1. Thanks!
      Sometimes the news just drops topics right in my lap.

  9. Thanks for making laugh seems to be the day for blogs making me laugh which results in children looking at me like I am strange or something but what the hell these children of mine should know by now that I laugh like a China woman well that is what I have been told not that my children have seen a China woman laugh

    1. I honestly think we could all use more laughter. The world is a frightening place.

  10. Your reposts are like wine, Al. They get better over time. You too. Congratulations on your publication! I'm proud of you, and I'll be honored to place an order. The cover's great too. xo

    1. Thank you. I have to admit, I was pretty pleased with the cover.
      But, some wine becomes vinegar.
      I hope that's not the case here.