Wednesday, November 13, 2013

War Mongrel

She was a little late to the trough: I'd been seeing Christmas commercials on TV for at least two days before Sarah the Moose-killer rekindled the annual celebration of having nothing to say, i.e., rolling out the tired paranoia-appealing claims of The War On Christmas. Well, Sarah the Self-promoting has a book coming out on the subject, because that's the sort of thing she does: appeal to the lowest common denominations. Policy is hard, dontcha know. Too much like work. So, on schedule (or just a little late) the Grifter of Grizzlyland dredges up the old faith-full as predictably as snow in the Rockies; albeit, in the only hopeful news associated with our lady of laughable laziness, to a smaller crowd than in past years.

It's pretty daunting to come up with a list topper of right wing dissemblage, but this WOC crap has gotta be very near it; and, this time of year, way over. It is, of course, the perfect soil in which to plant the happy seeds of aggrievement that characterize Sarah the Simple and those who adore her; i.e. every teabagger from sea to shine-on sea.

How awful that some minimum wage clerks in a few department stores say "Happy Holidays!" this time o'year, because their bosses made a capitalist business decision to be inclusive. How it forces Christmas into the closet, makes good Christians have to skulk around, looking over their leaden shoulders like Jews on Kristallnacht. How sad that the only place to celebrate Christmas is in one's home, church, watching endless Christmas-themed TV shows, reading articles about celebrants and celebrations in newspapers, magazines, Sunday supplements; hearing them on the radio; caroling; putting up lights, driving around to see them; putting Nativity scenes only on one's lawn, one's churchyard, in malls, store windows, places of business. Not public schools or city hall? The horror! What's next? Paying taxes?

Sarah and Bill and Sean and Glenn and Ann and Laura and Michelle never tire of rending their garments this time of year. Do their audiences ever look around and start to think it's time to come up with something real, something important? Do they think, yet again, that they're being played, being treated like stupid people who can't see? Well, not all of them, not by a long shot. There's nothing a teabagger likes more than self-pity and victimhood, no matter how phony. But, geez. Isn't this one, after all, getting pretty ridiculous?

War on Christmas! It's like eating a couple of Big Macs at McDonalds and decrying the war on hamburgers.

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