From the Cape of Good Hope to the Newfoundland islands,
The sands of Iran to the Panama isthmus;
From Outback Australia to Inverness Highlands
It’s time to take arms in the War Against Christmas!
My weapons are mistletoe, Christmas trees, holly,
A yule-log, and caroling out in the snow;
Sleigh-rides and snowball-fights, eggnog and Jolly
Old Santa Claus, laughing his loud “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
We’ll make them forget all the Truth of the season—
The sacrifice planned by a god up above—
And have them believing some bastardized reason
Like giving, or kindness, or caring or love!
I’ll cruelly and callously help out a stranger
Who’s down on his luck or has suffered some loss,
I won’t even speak of the babe in the manger
Whom God sent to Earth to get nailed to a cross;
When the winds of December conspire to freeze us
I’ll help collect sweaters and coats for the poor,
Neglecting to make any mention of Jesus,
Whose torture is really what Christmas is for.
My hatred of Christmas will focus my labors
On weaving an atheist fabric of lies—
For instance, I’m giving to all of my neighbors
Gift baskets, cookies, and fruitcakes and pies!
I’ll say “Merry Christmas!” I’ll say “Season’s Greetings!”
I’ll say “Happy Holidays—Joyous Noel!”
Intending of course, that with each of these meetings
The Truth About Christmas can just go to hell.
The truth is that Christmas is not about presents
It’s no time for songs, It’s not time to be nice
It’s not time for feasting on turkeys or pheasants—
It’s sin, and redemption by blood sacrifice.
No time to be jolly; no time to be merry
It’s time to be solemn, and grim, and devout!
The heathens might find it depressing or scary
But that is what Christmas is truly about.
Yes, Jesus is really the ultimate reason
And Christmas is really redemption and sin;
The war against Christmas is early this season—
For God’s sake, let’s hope that the atheists win!
A bit of history of Christmas in America, after the jump:
As most of us know (except, of course, the people who need to the most), the beginnings of Christmas in America (home of The War On Christmas, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Fox News) were not festive in the least. The Puritans had better, purer things to do on December 25th (for a couple of decades in the 1600’s, Boston even had a law prohibiting the celebration of Christmas!); a Christmas holiday as we know it did not begin until the 1800’s. Interestingly, celebrating Christmas (as opposed to observing it) spread with the notion of Santa, “The Night Before Christmas”, and commercial connections to stores and products, not with the story of the birth of god’s human sacrifice.
Those who wish a return to the traditional values of Christmas, away from the secularization, are welcome to stay inside, draw their curtains tight and stick their noses in their bibles. I will expect them to show up at work on the 25th (as, indeed, Congress did in 1789, the first Christmas under our constitution). Myself, I will gladly take the opportunity to celebrate with Cuttlefamily and friends. We will probably feast, and may even sing–such decadence would surely have been frowned upon, even fined, by the founders of our Christian Nation (TM).
Good.
This verse, and many others, are collected in a book, the proceeds of which go to charity. I’m reposting some of them over the next few days…
Aaaaaaarhgh!! A Visit from St Nick, the most evil poem in the world:
’Twas the month before Christmas: through the whole universe,
Stupid buggers were reciting this horrible verse.
It’s rhymes were pathetic; its scansion was worse.*
And I couldn’t help thinking it should go in reverse
As Dan Chaucer would say, up the re-citers erse!
Clarke Moore is Less or A Visit from Inclement Verse
No wonder there’s a war on Xmas!!
___________________________
* Dan’s pronunciation disyllabic, (which was something like ‘ersë’)
Means that line should end (ungramatically) ‘worser’
Oh! And! Everyone,
HAPPY INSERT-YOUR-HOLIDAY-HERE!!!
Have a wonderful one of whatever it is you celebrate at this time of year!
Remember that ultimately the season is the reason!
The angle of the axis
is the reason for the season.
.
All the seasons actually.
Happy festering season, Cuttlefish, as I like to say.
And a happy new year to you and yours.
At last, a clear statement of the ghoulishness of this whole enterprise, the limitless absurdity of celebrating the imaginary birth of an imaginary child sent to become a blood sacrifice to an imaginary ruler whose character encompasses all the worst in a psychotic mind that craves adoration, obedience, unquestioning loyalty. And that’s coupled with the ghastly notion that killing this person will somehow magically make us all immortal.
This invention of a power-hungry, viciously vindictive, blood-thirsty terrorist has brainwashed humanity through its vulnerable emotional mechanism into slavishly committing the most horrid atrocities in order to please this imaginary construct of the most aberrant and malfunctioning bit of human software, the ultimate demented wildcard. It is terminal mental illness, a collective insanity infecting humanity’s brain like a voracious tapeworm.
And so we’ve built a roaring commercial enterprise around an earlier pagan practice of giving gifts to tide us over winter shortages and to rejoice in the anticipation of returning sunlight. And we accompany this with a cartoon character from a Coca Cola ad, red suit and all, obscuring its origins in the legend of St. Nicholaus, who would kindly leave food and coal in the windows of poor people (the coal is for the fireplace, a great boon, not a punishment for bad children–sheesh).
We need a cultural anthropologist from Mars to dissect this phenomenon with objectivity and amazement.