Moar Xmas Cheer

Greetings, Dot Calm Readers, Justice Champions, and Truth Crusaders!

Daily Kos posted some Christmas classics I've been wanting to share--too good to miss--so I am posting them all here. I tell ya, some of these people are pretty funny! Might throw in a piece or two from AlterNet, too, if it's funny enough. Didn't want Dot's Christmas memory to fall off the bawtom of the blawg, so I'm appending it to this post.

Happy holidays from Dot Calm's shadow!

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Once a woman is pregnant, it's too late to start yelling at her. Support her--as SHE wants to be supported.

-- Dot Calm

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From DKos: Fox News dreams of a Very White Christmas

By Hunter  

Thursday Dec 12, 2013 2:14 PM EST

 

Sometimes I freaking love Fox News. They're just so very screw you in their truthiness:

"I mean, Jesus was a white man too. He was a historical figure, that's a verifiable fact. As is Santa—I just want the kids watching to know that." — Megyn Kelly

Wow! There are a lot of presents underneath that tree—It's almost too good to touch. But let's, m'kay?
1. Unless Jesus was an albino or possibly a time-travelling Swede, Jesus was a swarthy Middle Eastern type. Did you know that he was Jewish? If you read the Bible it kind of comes up a lot. Not nice American Jewish, either, the kind that was begrudgingly given acceptance in America only after a few hundred years of considering them even worse than Italians, but the Middle Eastern kind. Artistic depictions of Jesus over the centuries have usually closely hewed to the skin tone of the whoever was painting him or, more accurately, whoever was paying for the paint, causing him to get progressively more honky as the religion spread through Europe and, eventually to America, where he is depicted today to be nearly transparent, necessitating greater and greater accessorizing. (Common Jesus accessories in today's depictions include assault rifles, dinosaurs, and a smug sense of self-satisfaction.)

2. Santa is, despite the general devastation wreaked upon the general public when this is mentioned, the much-honkified version of St. Nicholas, aka Nikolaos of Myra, aka the Bishop of Myra, aka a Greek fellow (or, with modern boundaries, a Turkish fellow.) He had a much harder time being accepted in America than Jesus did, and only really caught on here after his ad men suggested a paler, bleached complexion and an ongoing bout of severe obesity, thus allowing him to better connect with American audiences. Again, the great and abiding bigotries celebrated by past generations of Americans judge your relative level of racial whiteness via the proxy of marching proximity to England, with Frenchmen being more acceptable than Spaniards or Italians, Italians being more acceptable than Turks or Greeks, Greeks being more acceptable than Middle Easterners, and God help you if you get any farther afield than that. The exception is the Irish, who I believe throughout much of American history were thought of as albino Italians. The elves, though, I will grant you the elves. Pasty creatures.

3. I am not touching the "historical figure" part. Nope. Leave me out of it.

4. You may be confused by Megyn addressing "the kids watching." In Fox News parlance, Megyn means people with their original hips. No actual children watch Fox News, and if you run across a household in which actual children are exposed to Fox News you are asked to contact your local child services department immediately.

I think what we have here is not actually a historical assertion that Jesus and/or Santa were white, but the considerably more prevalent practice of sufficiently awesome ethnic people being elevated to the status of honorary white people due to their obvious awesomeness. It is like a medal for good behavior. The general understanding that even though you might have been born half-Polish or a quarter Romanian or God forbid full-on something or other, you have conducted yourself in such a way as to have surmounted those unfortunate roots, and can thus be welcomed into the wider pool of White.

The same honor can be taken away, as well—a reasonably untanned person who converts from Christian to Muslim will see their perceived Whiteness level go down several degrees, perhaps leading to more trouble in airport security lines or your state legislators placing monuments to the ten commandments outside their places of work as imagined ward against you. Whole ethnicities can undergo the same treatment, and while most Europeans have seen their honorary Whiteness go steadily up in America through the long decades, persons of other, more distant backgrounds may see their relative Whiteness increase or decrease according to current world events or current imagined American ally or adversary status of their ancestral countries, or countries near those ancestral countries, or countries that have names vaguely similar to those countries when you say them in American.

I am not sure that the lily class understands that dodging the need for wider racial acceptance by merely bestowing honorary whiteness upon historically awesome people is not, in fact, as great an honor as they make it out to be. Being able to respect someone only when you have forcibly stripped them of their roots and heritage is perhaps not respecting them in the manner you intended. At the least it suggests that your devotion to the importance of whiteness is measurably deeper than your interest in the actual person themselves; that does not sound like you are honoring them very much at all.

Again, though, I grant you the elves.

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Christ...
Christ...
Christ...
Christy Christmachrist!
(New Year's is for heathens!)

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From DKos: A Woman's Perfect Response to her Anti-Gay Neighbors

By Chrislove

Thursday Dec 26, 2013 4:23 PM EST

Well here's a heartwarming day-after-Christmas story.

Dr. Mary Pham, a resident of Irvine, California, decided last April to show her support for the LGBT community by raising a rainbow flag. Not a big deal--just a small, but strong, message that she stands on the side of love and equality. But it was a big deal to her anti-gay neighbors who had no problem hanging American or seasonal flags but did not think the neighborhood had any place for an affirmation of LGBT acceptance.

From an OC Weekly article on the controversy:

Pham's not a complete stranger to the spotlight. A Vietnamese American chiropractic doctor who came to the United States following the fall of Saigon, Pham has three (mostly) adult children and used to host a daytime talk-radio program on KUCI-FM 88.9 that attempted to shatter stereotypes about living behind the Orange Curtain. In a June 2012 edition of her show, Pham said that, though she often does not speak highly of Irvine, it was ultimately "a pretty good place to live."  

She first flew the flag following a ceremony with friends in June. "It took me a long time to find my flag to hang, so when I did, [my friend] Ramon and I decided that we should do a fun ceremonial event," she says. "Most of my friends here in Orange County rent rooms, so they do not have the luxury of hanging anything. . . . We all decided that [my flag] was pride for all of us—that's why it was a big event. We invited all of our friends of all colors to come to share." 

The flag prominently hung from one of the tallest structures in Orangetree. It immediately drew attention, with initial complaints first directed to the neighborhood's property-management company, PowerStone Property Management.

And her friend did warn her:

Not in Irvine, Mary.

Her friend accurately predicted the neighborhood response. In July, Pham was told that many e-mail complaints had been sent to her Home Owners Association. One such e-mail referred to the flag as the "Fag Flag." Lovely. This particular peach of an individual went on to say:

Is the GAY PRIDE [in large font and rainbow colors] display protected by free speech rights? The Orange Tree Patio Homes neighbors are shaking their heads in disgust. Sexuality is private, and Kurt's display is very, very public. It's even visible from the tennis courts.

From the tennis courts, even! Another e-mail lamented:

[The residents]...have had their 'gay pride' flag up for six to eight weeks. The flag has two wedding rings interlocked and many rainbow-colored stripes. It is an eyesore. In my opinion, it is okay to feel strongely [sic] about a cause. But to leave their 'political statement' up for this long is ridiculous, and I am offended. Most people do not choose the gay lifestyle, and personally, it irritates me to have to be reminded every day of two men having sex with each other. It's not a fun thing to look at as I come and go every day. If someone left their sign up regarding an election for more than a week or two, it would get very old and be an eyesore.

Community manager Amanda McGinley replied to one of the e-mails:

We have not had any calls yet about the flag on the home...But I did see it on the property inspection and contacted legal counsel to see if the HOA can do anything about it. Civil Code does provide protection for homeowners to put up flags, banners and noncommercial signs, and the Association can do nothing to prohibit it. I have a feeling that this will not last long, but I could be wrong.

Pham continued to fly the flag. But she understandably became more nervous about it. Upon the advice of the executive director of her local LGBT center, Pham filed a police report, just in case. Then, the neighbor reactions became more hostile. A Westboro Baptist Church flyer was printed out and left at her door, and a flyer was left on her windshield that said "GOD HATES FLAGS." Pham's resolve became all the more hardened:

Before, it was just a flag. Now, I’m going to fight back.

And fight back she did this Christmas. After discussing the matter with her son Russell, Pham decided to take her display of support for the LGBT community to the next level. Perhaps that's an understatement.

It was a very gay Christmas in Pham's Irvine neighborhood. And there wasn't a damn thing her bigoted neighbors could do about it.

From DKos: Good samaritan books hotel rooms for homeless on Christmas day, hotel cancels rooms

By Jen Hayden  

Thursday Jan 08, 2015 2:31 PM EST

Homeless? No room at the inn.

Matt Senge wanted to help Wilmington, Delaware homeless people living under a bridge. He booked a hotel suite for Christmas day to get them out of the cold:

Senge wrapped the confirmation e-mail in a red bow and delivered it to the two men, a woman, and her three children underneath the Amtrak bridge to let them know they would have a warm place to sleep on Christmas night.

A thoughtful gesture made in the spirit of the holiday. Unfortunately, the management at the Hotel du Pont had second thoughts:

But three hours before check-in time on Christmas Day, Matt's phone rang. It was a staffer at the Hotel du Pont calling to cancel the reservation.  

"He said verbatim, 'What if one of those people rapes or robs one of my guests?' So I guess you have to be homeless to rape or rob somebody. I was devastated," said Senge.

The hotel defended their decision saying the homeless guests did not have proper photo ID, something Senge refutes.

 

As the story gained attention in the Wilmington area and nationwide, Hilton's Christiana Hotel management in Wilmington is stepping in:

In response to WDEL's exclusive story about the Hotel du Pont canceling a reservation for the homeless on Christmas, the Christiana Hilton is offering 10 rooms to the homeless tonight to beat the freezing cold temperatures.  

"I would provide dinner and breakfast for them, I would give them a hospitality room where they could relax and now feel like they have to stay in the room all night, make them as comfortable as possible," said hotel manager Brad Wenger. 

Wenger said the Hotel du Pont's decision not to honor a reservation for the homeless casts a black mark on the hospitality industry that they must rise above.

Bravo to Brad Wenger and the Christiana Hotel! With frigid temperatures across the country, wouldn't it be nice if other hotels followed their lead?

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When's the last time you heard of a scientist mass-murdering innocent people with a gun because they believed in a different science from his?

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Dot Calm didn't exactly have the easiest time with childbirth. She understood how deeply and permanently pregnancy and childbirth can impact a woman. This is why she was such a tremendous champion for women's reproductive rights. And oh-oh-oh, but she would have loved his piece from DKos!

Silent F*cking Night

By Frankenoid  
Sunday Dec 21, 2014 7:00 PM EST

This is the eighth annual posting of the Christmas Story, from a mother's point of view.

 

Through the years it's changed a bit — the language tweaked here and there, photos added then improved upon.

 

In 2011, it was dubbed the top "anti-Christian rant" by the stupidest man on the internet, Jim Hoft the Gateway Pundit.

 

It's also been praised by a few members of the clergy for emphasizing the humanity of the story.

 

And it all started as a conversation between two working mothers about what a stupid idea it is to pound on a drum anywhere near a newborn and his mother.

As I've wallowed in Christmas music the last couple of weeks, I've pondered the traditions of the Christmas story; and I've come to a conclusion.

Mary was shafted.

There she is, 8+ months pregnant, having been dragged all over Israel on the back of a fucking donkey.  I know that when I was 8 months pregnant, I had a hard time riding for two hours in a car to attend my father-in-law's funeral.

And men just do not understand how often one has to pee when there's a baby sitting on one's bladder, especially when one is being jiggled by travel.  Do you think Joseph cheerfully stopped every 15 minutes for a potty break, heaving Mary on and off the donkey with nary a complaint?  I mean, he didn't even get the fun of the conception.  That had to have had an effect on his equanimity during the pregnancy.

So they pull into Bethlehem, and Joseph can't even come up with a room at a Motel 6.  Mary must have felt as if her damned back was breaking, even before she went into labor.
And let's think about that for a little bit, shall we?  Mary was a first-time mother.  Her labor would have lasted a long, long time.  I went for 23 hours between my water breaking and the delivery of my eldest child, so I'm guessing Mary was in labor for 12 hours at least — with no option for an epidural.

Yeah, I suppose God could have given Mary a short and pain-free labor.  After all, she was doing him a pretty damned big favor, being a surrogate mother and all.  But were that the case, I'm pretty sure that would have been mentioned as one of the miracles of the miraculous birth.  Besides, this is a male God.

He wouldn't have thought of giving Mary a break.  You know, it's one of those "wimmin things."

And speaking of "wimmin things," who helped deliver Baby Jesus?  There's no mention of any women being around.  Did Joseph run for a midwife and, if so, why don't we know about it?

We do know that Joseph couldn't assist.  For one thing, he didn't know nothing about birthing no babies.  Mary was a first time mother, but Joseph wasn't even a first-time father.

Besides, according to the Jewish laws concerning niddah at the point when labor became really, really painful, Mary was a yoledet, a woman giving birth and unclean.  Not Joseph, nor the innkeeper, nor the shepherds, nor any other Jewish man could touch her: she was on her own.

Beyond that, what was Mary using for a bed?

We know all about the Little Lord Jesus being tucked away in a manger after-the-fact, but what did Mary labor upon?  I doubt that the innkeeper kept a birthing stool handy, especially not in the barn, so I'm guessing our poor girl was relegated to a pile of straw.  In a cow barn, full of fodder and cowshit.

Do you think Mary suffered it all in stoic silence?  If Mary was like most women she likely was cursing the Male who got her in that condition, and that position, especially since He had it in His power to spare her the entire ordeal.  Jesus was born of a woman, that was the whole idea of God made Man, wasn't it?  And a real woman would have been screaming her head off, cursing Father, Son and Holy Ghost for good measure.

So here we have Mary, who had jogged around the countryside on a donkey, not getting a decent night's sleep in weeks; having labored mightily to bring forth the Child with no assistance from a knowledgeable woman; bedded down in stable, lying on poking, scratchy straw amongst the oxen and cows and ducks and sheep and all the effluvia which comes from livestock — the poor girl just needs some rest.

I know that after I gave birth, the last thing I wanted was a parade of visitors; all I wanted was some goddamned sleep.

But poor Mary — what happened to her?  Why, a veritable convention broke out!  First there were the animals already in the barn — "the cattle are lowing, the poor Baby wakes."

Then the shepherds arrived with their flocks — you don't think they left them out in the pastures unguarded, do you?  Those sheep were the only wealth they had, they wouldn't just leave them there.

It was those damned Angels with their trumpets, and their harps of gold, bending near the earth to sing "hark!  Glory to the newborn King!"; oh, yeah, the Angels did a great fucking job.  By the time they were finished singing on high, with the mountains echoing the "joyful strains" to "come to Bethlehem and see," heaven and nature singing and repeating the sounding joy and the song high above the trees with a voice as big as the seas, everyone and their brother — but no sisters to tend to Mary — had been called to traipse through the cow barn and stare at the Baby.

There was no consideration at all of what Mary needed: the wise men show up with gold, frankincense and myrrh for Jesus — they could have at least have brought a pacifier to keep the baby quiet, and Mary could really have used a fluffy down comforter or some nice bath salts (although the frankincense would have been useful for covering up the stench of the cow shit).
Shit, they even end up referring to Jesus as the Son of Man when there was no man involved in the whole process — just a Godhead and a woman.

By the time the Little Drummer Boy arrived, Mary probably grabbed a shepherd's crook and beat the kid with it, and then broke the fucking drum and waled shit on the shepherds, the wise men, the angels, the sheep and Joseph for good measure.

It would have been the only way she could get a Silent Fucking Night.

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It's a RELIGION,
not a relationship

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From DKos: An alternative Christmas carol in case you're sick of the tape loops at the mall

By Meteor Blades  

Tuesday Dec 24, 2013 6:30 PM EST

Australian comedian Tim Minchin sings "White Wine in the Sun," which isn't exactly "Greensleeves."

 

I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know, but I just really like it
I am hardly religious
I'd rather break bread with Dawkins than Desmond Tutu, to be honest And yes, I have all of the usual objections
To consumerism, the commercialization of an ancient religion
To the westernization of a dead Palestinian
Press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer
But I still really like it 

I'm looking forward to Christmas
Though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus

I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun 

I don't go in for ancient wisdom
I don't believe just 'cos ideas are tenacious it means they're worthy
I get freaked out by churches
Some of the hymns that they sing have nice chords but the lyrics are spooky dodgy 

And yes I have all of the usual objections
To the miseducation of children who, in tax-exempt institutions,
Are taught to externalize blame
And to feel ashamed and to judge things as plain right and wrong
But I quite like the songs 

I'm not expecting big presents
The old combination of socks, jocks and chocolates is just fine by me 

Cos I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun 

And you, my baby girl
My jet-lagged infant daughter
You'll be handed round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school
And you won't understand
But you will learn someday
That wherever you are and whatever you face
These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world
My sweet blue-eyed girl 

And if my baby girl
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one
And Christmas comes around
And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home
You'll know what ever comes 

Your brothers and sisters and me and your Mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun
Whenever you come
Your brothers and sisters, your aunts and your uncles
Your grandparents, cousins and me and your mum
We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun
Darling, when Christmas comes
We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun
Waiting for you in the sun
Waiting for you...
Waiting...
I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know...

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Whenever you make yourself believe something you know isn't true, you install a Trojan horse in your bullshit filters.

-- Dot Calm's shadow

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From DKos: Dispatch From the War on Christmas

By Hunter  

Friday Dec 09, 2005 5:01 PM EST

Dear Aunt Mabel,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing you from the Christmas frontlines, currently in front of Cinnabon at Twin Oaks Mall. May Jesus and Santa forgive me, but I have to say that this is the worst I've ever seen it.

What a horrible place, the mall. The architecture of these things is all the same. Malls are the architectural scat of the biggest American colossus, corporate capitalism -- a cogs-and-bricks-and-money giant that thunders, three miles high, across the landscape, stopping and squatting occasionally to crap out one of these rectangular jumbles of cement block. May Jesus forgive them for sucking so bad.

I have some sad news -- John has been in an accident. It was his first day here, and we were eating lunch in the food court, in front of the Peppy Peppy Pizza. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a lady carrying three bags stop in her tracks, like she saw someone she knew.  She raised a hand, and shouted it, right there in the middle of the mall. "HAPPY HOLIDAYS!"

The carnage was bad. Real bad. I'm sorry to say John wasn't prepared to hear it, and he accidentally stabbed himself repeatedly in the eye with a plastic fork.

The doctors say he'll be fine, but he'll lose that eye.  Even in his sleep he's mumbling Merry Christmas, over and over. He's a damn fighter, that one. He's one of the lucky ones, because I'm pretty sure some other people got trampled in the rush to get out.

This whole war has been a nightmare. I was at Circuit City yesterday, looking for a cheap DVD player. Out front they had a "Happy Holidays" banner that must have been in letters three feet high. I stepped under it, may Jesus forgive me, because I knew I had to get in there, but inside was no better. Some damn wreaths, here and there, and lots of lights, but no tree. I swear to God, no Christmas tree at all -- I looked everywhere. It was like being in Iraq or something.

I stumbled around with the rest of the shoppers. Everyone was in a daze, bumping into each other. I don't think any of us knew what to do, except just keep shopping, but I could tell everyone was thinking what I was. But I wasn't ready to see the DVD player prices, and I lost it.

"FIFTEEN FUCKING PERCENT OFF?" I shouted. (Sorry for the language. This war has screwed us all up) -- "FIFTEEN FUCKING PERCENT?  WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE CELEBRATING THE BIRTH OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR HERE, AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS A FUCKING FIFTEEN PERCENT OFF?"

I knew then that I was among heathens, and I dropped all the DVDs and batteries and stuff that I had scooped up, and just left. I swear, some days I don't understand what this war is even about.

Over and over it's the same. Every damn store. Some of them just say "Happy Holidays" out front, and I don't even go in. Most say Merry Christmas, but even then, it rings hollow. If they really were celebrating Jesus, they'd have more lights. The music would be louder. The giant inflatable snowmen would be bigger, and there'd be more of them. There was one place that had a little nativity scene, and that was cool, but the baby Jesus was laying in a manger and instead of straw, they had little optical fibers that glowed all sorts of different colors. But sometimes it glowed RED, because that was one of the colors in the cycle, and when that happened it looked like they were trying to barbecue the Baby Jesus and I had to leave.

I've seen a lot of pain, on a lot of faces. I know that "Holidays" and "HolyDays" are related, but it's not the same. One has an "I", and one has a "Y". One is about the self, and one is about the Holy Mystery.

Y. Y, indeed.  These damn heathen bastards.

They're making us forget the Y.

I know a guy who ran right off the road, just last week. He was passing a Kentucky Fried Chicken (I know, they call themselves "KFC" now, but that's just so fucking stupid I can't even handle it) and they had on the sign out front, right under the price of a 12-piece family bucket:

"Seasons Greetings"

Dear sweet God. Of course, he ran right off the damn road. Even "Happy Holidays", you can sort of swallow hard and pretend you saw the Y and move on, but "Seasons Greetings?" It doesn't even sound human. It sounds like a brand of instant fucking stuffing.

In fact, that's exactly what it sounds like. A brand of goddamn Satanic turkey stuffing. That's how far we've sunk, as Americans.

Wal-Mart was the best and the worst. Oh sure, they said Merry Christmas. Or maybe it was the guy outside ringing the bell that said Merry Christmas, I'm not sure -- I'm pretty sure the greeter said it too. But they had the DVD player like I was looking for, and at twentyfive bucks each I got two of them so the kids don't have to share.

I had to wait in line about a half hour, but I passed the time by talking to the person behind me in line, who was buying a bunch of clothes and stuff. I let her know which things Jesus would and wouldn't approve of, because I'm pretty good at knowing stuff like that. I thought that the Christmas Tree sweater with the little lights that light up using a teeny battery was pretty damn cool and a pretty good celebration of the Birth of Our Lord, but that I thought the socks had too much blue in them and not enough green. I also told her to make sure to check that the little snowman figurine wasn't made in a communist country, but we couldn't remember if Taiwan counted or not, so I told her it was probably OK, especially at that price.

It was all going OK until i got to the checkout and put everything down. The guy who was checking me out looked funny -- he was polite and cheerful, sure, but something was off about him. As he turned to recheck the price on a twentyfour pack of Rudolph and Frosty paper towels, because I was pretty sure the price was supposed to be sixty cents cheaper than it said, I saw what it was -- he was wearing a yarmulke (Is that how you spell it? Weird, but I looked it up.) Seriously, I'm not kidding, right in the middle of the store. What kind of person just rubs his religion right in your face like that?

I was prepared. My mind is always ready for these challenges, and I knew what to do. I waited for him to ring me up, and paid my money, and got my receipt.

"Merry Christmas," I said, experimentally.

"Merry Christmas," he replied cheerfully.

I narrowed my eyes with a snarl, and with all my strength, I hit him as hard as I could with the twentyfour pack of Rudolph and Frosty paper towels.

"What are you doing!?" the person behind me shrieked, lunging over the counter in a really ripping move to prevent the guy from knocking over a bin of $2.99 plastic mini flashlights. "He said Merry Christmas! He said it!"

"But HE DIDN'T MEAN IT!", I shouted as loud as I could. "LOOK AT THE HAT! HE DIDN'T MEAN IT!"

I gathered my bags up, but I was just getting started, and I lit into everyone in the whole store. "CHRISTMAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT PEACE ON EARTH, ALL YOU GODDAMN COMMUNIST BASTARDS! WHEN WILL YOU GET THAT? PEACE ON EARTH! YOU HAVE TO MEAN IT!" I marched out of the store, head held high. Because all the Wal-Marts in the world, all the Targets, all the Circuit Cities -- they just don't get it. They don't understand.

How long must we be persecuted? Christmas is about Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards All, and how dare the pagan alliance of liberals, non-Christians, hippies and multinational corporations turn this into a damn war zone, where I have to look at every damn sign, and second-guess every greeting, and measure every Christmas tree to make sure that everyone understands that like we do. This is OUR time of year, as Christians, to show the world what Christianity is, and that Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards All isn't some hollow greeting card thing, but is the way we live our lives, and fuck them all if they can't see that. I, for one, will make sure that we understand about Peace On Earth if I have to hit every last damn greeter and fast food teenager and checkout person in America with a paper towel value pack. I'll boycott them all, until every last one of them understands that I am here in the name of Our Lord and Savior to bring PEACE ON EARTH if I have to shove it down every last throat. Especially the damn pagans.

Anyway, I'm so damn glad our church is closed this Sunday for Christmas, I need a break. Best thing they ever did, because you know come Monday, we are all going to need that strength to return oversized sweaters, and fucking ugly placemats, and all that made in China toy crap that breaks the first day. In Jesus' name we'll come back down on those malls and return stuff to celebrate Our Lord and Savior just like in the olden days, and besides it'll be good to have that Sunday to rest and just plug the new DVD players in and stuff.

Hope things are well there. I'll keep fighting, none of us want to leave before this job is done. Tell Uncle Bill I said hi and Merry Christmas and stuff, and that I'll be dead in the cold cold ground before I recognize the goddamn pagan "New Years."

Yours,
Hunter

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Isn't it funny that a tea party evangelical who started boinking at 13 and has two baby mamas feels entitled to lecture someone who waited for marriage about sexual immorality?

Isn't it hypocritical of him to denounce that person as sexually impure because that person does NOT feel entitled to make others' sexual choices for them?

Hey, evangelicals--
what exactly is sexual purity? What you do with your own body or what you force others to do with theirs?

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Dot Calm loved these and posted them every year:

From DKos: 21 Ayn Rand Christmas Cards

By akadjian  

Monday Dec 22, 2014 10:10 AM EST

Did Ayn Rand send Christmas cards?

According to Scott McConnell's 100 Voices: An Oral History of Ayn Rand she did indeed. Unfortunately, none are included in McConnell's 656 page book.

Fortunately, with a little help from the Ayn Rand Archives*, we're able to present to you this exclusive, never-before-seen collection of Ayn Rand favorites.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

Have a very selfish Christmas everyone!

*The representative from the Ayn Rand Archives called me a looter and screamed something unintelligible so some Christmas cards may be fictionalized representations of actual Ayn Rand Christmas cards.
---

David Akadjian is the author of The Little Book of Revolution: A Distributive Strategy for Democracy.
 

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Nationwide Baby-Drop!!!

It's time to drop off
your unwanted baby, child,
(or husband)
(thud)
at the nearest anti-choice location.

Look for the home or office of any
Tea Partier, Christian, Republican,
or Catholic priest.

When in doubt, leave your bundle of joy
on the hood of a car
with any of the above bumper stickers
(anti-science bumper stickers work, too).

Then walk away, knowing that
they'll gladly take responsibility
and welcome your gift
as a Blessing from God.

Remember:
If they want to make YOUR decisions,
then give THEM the consequences!

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A Dot Calm Christmas story

Once upon a time, long long ago, when Dot and Mr. Calm had been happily married for some ten or eleven years (give or take), the family was joyfully preparing for Christmas.

As usual for that time of year, Mr. Calm had, like many of his neighbors, hung cheery Christmas lights along the eaves of the family's suburban home and on some of the outdoor trees and shrubs.

Then, something unusual happened: one morning, Mr. Calm noticed that someone had taken the bulbs from the Christmas lights.

He dutifully replaced the bulbs that evening, before dark, only to find more missing bulbs the next morning.

He mentioned it to one of his neighbors, who told him that several houses on the block had also had Christmas bulbs taken.

Mr. Calm laid a trap for the culprits by putting out more bulbs and watching for the thief.

At this point, he was down to so many orange and purple bulbs that the decorations looked gruesome--more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas. But he persevered.

The daughters sat upstairs, waiting for their hero-dad to spring the trap. What would he do to the culprits? Would he come down on them like a ton of bricks?

The mood became more and more tense as Mr. Calm held his night-time vigil.

Finally--success! The minute Mr. Calm spied bulbs being removed from his Christmas lights, he scrambled out of his hiding place and collared two neighborhood boys, neither of whom were known to the family.

Was he going to hit them? Yell? Or just scare the pudding out of them? Though gentle by nature, Mr. Calm could be very intimidating when he needed to be.

Dot Calm went to the door and called out,
"Bring them inside."

Dutifully, Mr. Calm did.

The daughters, who were under strict instructions to stay upstairs, peeked through the railings, straining to see and hear what was going on.

What would Dot Calm say to these young thieves?

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

It was spoken softly, invitingly.

Confused, the boys looked at each other...and nodded meekly to Dot Calm. Caught red-handed by Mr. Calm, the last thing in the world they expected was gentle kindness...not to mention everyone's favorite--hot chocolate--on that frosty December night.

She beckoned them all into the kitchen and fixed them all hot chocolate.

As she did so, and as the boys warmed up, she began chatting with them and asking them questions--very gently, very softly, very kindly. It was clear that she wanted only to understand and connect with the boys--not judge them.

This was so typical of Dot Calm--animals and children were drawn to her. They clustered to her and followed her around. They knew she would never harm them.

So the boys opened up. It turned out that the boys were not Catholic, like the Calms, and had felt jealous of their neighbors who celebrate Christmas. They were jealous of all the lights and Christmas trees and stockings laden with presents. That was why they had gone around taking Christmas bulbs.

"You'll have to return all those bulbs,"
Mr. Calm calmly said.

The boys nodded and promised to bring the bulbs back the next evening.

Dot Calm was always handy with the right lesson whenever a teaching moment came up. She asked the boys about their holiday traditions and told them about neighbors and school-mates of the same faith she had grown up with. She reminded them that their holiday traditions are beautiful and special, too, and that Christian children might just as easily be jealous of them.

The boys smiled.

Dot Calm sent the boys home with Christmas cookies and candy canes.

True to their word, the boys came back the next evening, asking for Mr. Calm--as promised, they had brought back all the Christmas bulbs they had taken. Of course, since there was no way to sort whose were whose, Mr. Calm's Christmas lights still ended up looking hideous enough for Halloween, but it didn't matter to the family at that point. To them, they were the best Christmas lights ever because they had seen the true Christmas spirit--and Dot Calm's unfailing love and compassion--shared with neighborhood boys who really needed it.

That didn't stop Mr. Calm from replacing the Christmas bulbs the following year.
I guess Dot Calm wasn't the only one
with OCD in the family.

The end!

Remember; December 26th is Dot Calm's father's birthday, so, if you haven't already, grab yourself some Torrone Ferrara and celebrate!