First of all, I like St. Nick. At least I think I do. It’s tough work plodding through hagiography, but he seems all right. So, you know, no hard feelings Nicholas–this really isn’t about you.
(Oh, and I apologize for the bad puns. What can I say? Groucho Marx is my Sanity Claus.)
I’m just gearing up for the annual, “We’re so oppressed because the clerk at Walmart selling me my $800 plasma TV said, ‘Happy Holidays’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas!’ Doesn’t he understand the real reason for the season?!”
Hey, where's the 'reason for the season'? (He's in the action figure section.)
Apparently, the little baby born out of wedlock next to donkey poop who proclaimed the end of oppression really meant the end of high prices. So, we better remember to re-insert Jesus back into a narrative created in the 4th century, via imperial diligence, that continues to endorse the liturgy of a religious empire that does not question greed, violence and consumption–only those ungrateful enough not to conflate it with their favorite ready-made messiah (imago homo). Because, you know, anything less would be atheism.
Speaking of which, “I’ll take the atheism for $299, please.” (Originally, it was $399, but thank God for the good and holy day that is Black Friday.)
Okay, I can’t help it, one more pun: How did the illegal lamb (get it?! get it?!) say Merry Christmas?
Fleece Navidad.
Ahh . . .