I am genuinely elated to report that I have survived another Thanksgiving… or rather what remains of this rapidly deteriorating national holiday. I ate, I watched football, I napped. God ordained back in the Plymouth Rock days that we adhere to this sacred ritual, right? And doing so enables me to show my Turkey Day pride, to get my festive gobble-gobble swerve thang on… and have gas until New Year’s from all that gorging.
But increasingly each year something else is ominously creeping into the view from my yam-tinted glasses, vulgarly tinkling on my Thanksgiving joy and ruthlessly pushing all the pilgrim imagery to the side - it’s name, Christmas.
Now I’m not one to trip on the sanctity of our Lord and Savior’s birth and the Immaculate Contraception and so forth… three wise guys on a camel train and a big ole happy star… etc., etc. But can’t the Baby Jesus wait His turn? He gets His big day every December 25th according to the Gregorian calendar. And it’s not like we’re gonna forget that important date… after all, every retail outlet from New York City to San Francisco will be shoving an artificial tree and piped-in Christmas carols up our collective ass before Halloween even passes. Would you like to purchase an advent calendar to go with your Freddy Krueger mask?
Just consider some of these examples as Christmas sneaks up on us earlier and earlier each year, creeping and spreading like an itchy mystery rash in an unsavory place: Would you shoot off fireworks on Valentine’s Day? (No dirty comments, you vile perverts!) Would you give heart-shaped chocolates and mango-flavored massage oil to someone for Easter? How about sparklers and hamburgers on Mother’s Day?
Then why do we keep smuggling in Santa Claus for Thanksgiving? You know he's busy trying to make toys, right? We should allow him to do his job in peace. Let the damn turkey have his day! Look, it’s bad enough that poor creature can only say one word - gobble, he’s dumber than Sarah Palin in a vice presidential debate, and he has to live with that awful scrotum-looking thing hanging under his beak. The least we can do is let that stupid bird have his 24 hours in November sans the Christmas trees, tacky-ass inflatable snowmen on the lawn, and Christmas muzak raining down on us like a stinky flurry of pigeon poo… granted, we will eat the bird in question, but what greater sign of respect and admiration than burping up that tough ole son of a bitch for the next three hours?
Speaking of tacky inflatable snowmen… my neighbor erected one a week before Thanksgiving. I thought it was a joke of some sort, but it was accompanied by a seething ugly horde of other cheap Christmassy trinkets and a path of lights that would rival the runway at La Guardia. My primary concern was that all those blinkity-blinking lights were going to cause traffic accidents… or at least blow a transformer and leave my hood in complete darkness. It all managed to function for a few hours, so I felt a little safer. At that point, I knew I had to pursue drastic efforts in order to strike a small blow in the name of Thanksgiving. Donning my favorite ninja clothes, I slipped over to his home like a fierce jungle cat… silent and all creepy-crawly like. With a rebel yell and a fist raised in defiance, I sprayed-painted “Happy Thanksgiving!” on the snowman only to find that the damn thing had multiplied - like getting a Gremlin wet - and to my horror I saw the second snowman. The bastard had a twin! I didn’t want to be redundant with my political statement, so with the latter snowman, I just poked that sneering, Thanksgiving-stealing punk in the eye. He felt deflated. My job was done. And my escape would have been flawless had it not been for the vigilance of my neighbor’s dog. I demand a medal for my heroics in preserving Turkey Day… because a chunk of my ankle is still lying somewhere behind that man’s shrubbery courtesy of that yappy, fanged beast!
I implore you, America, let’s protect and honor Thanksgiving and not cheapen it by allowing crooked-eyed reindeer, fruity prancing elves, candy canes made in Chinese sweatshops and misleading in-store Christmas "bargains" to stomp all over the purity and unbridled joy of this holiday. Let us join together in cranberry sauce-fueled solidarity and resolve to put aside the shopping, stuffing of stockings and swapping of cheap-ass re-gifted presents with co-workers whom we hate… at least until Thanksgiving dinner has settled in our stomachs and the Pepto-Bismol has done its job. Christmas can wait… for Christmas.
About the author: Joseph O. Patton is the editor-in-chief and founder of the Capital City Free Press.
Copyright © Capital City Free Press
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It's all about the corporate $$$. We would all feel much relieved to have that pressure ease off. The images here were so on Target.
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