It seems the day is nigh upon us to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus in a manger so long ago. Christmas time has come in spite of the foes apparently aligned against it. The war on Christmas has failed yet again. I hear about me carols, and the joy and laughter of the revelers. I see the profits accrued by the various retail outlets as they have struggled with great might since before black friday to garner the attentions of shoppers prancing from store to store in a frenzied glee. Light displays and manger scenes adorn the landscape as the gloom of winter turns to an electric and eclectic fascination with which garish display will come out on top. We have passed through our hate Starbucks stage and grudgingly accepted their wanton expressions of hatred for all that is holy. It is time to pay the yearly visits expected of us this time of year. This year we are fortunate and have the chance to visit the homes of our various presidential candidates as they prepare for this holiday season.
On dancer and prancer and … well .. on us, as we trot off, presents in hand, to the home of our first x-mas visit. A knock on the door and who to our wondering eyes should appear but, Mr. Raphael “Ted” Cruz. He opens the door and is about to let our group of gay revelers in when it dawns on him, all gays are to be stoned to death according to the bible he reads. We show him the Websters dictionary we read and it assures him there are other definitions of gay and thus our visit begins. Raphael, as those in the know call him, invites us in. “Would you care for some butter tarts, Canadian bacon, and a Molson eh?” He asks innocently enough, suddenly remembering he has thrown away his affiliation with Canada as he switches to a somewhat confused American accent. He takes us into what he calls his “war room” where hundreds of children are seated in front of screens with joysticks in hand. His drone air force for his coming theocracy he explains. The bible shall rule and the heathens shall repent as the rapture is upon us. We interrupt him to offer a gift of fruitcake but this sends him into another rant about stoning us and all people of opposing views. We leave in haste while being chased against a pilot-less air force dropping cross shaped explosives around us.
Next we approach the home of Dr. Ben Carson which is unlit and frankly, a little dismal. Dr. Carson answers and invites us in while explaining that, as a seventh day adventist, he does not celebrate the pagan ritual of Christmas. He continues to mumble softly about Jesus coming to earth and manifesting as a human as he fidgets with the pages of a well worn bible. We offer him some fruitcake as an attempt to break him from this mumbling moment. He explains that, while he hates no person specifically and would not use the term fruitcake to describe them, he does feel he is a better candidate than Trump or Cruz. We try to explain that fruitcake is merely a very dense holiday baked good and not a reference to any of the other presidential hopefuls in this case. He merely begins muttering again about pagan beliefs and how they are specifically forbidden in the constitution as he reads it. We back away slowly and leave, confused, a bit shaken, but healthy.
Arriving at the next home we are greeted at the door by Bernie Sanders. Bernie is dressed in a Santa suit hanging loosely off his gangly frame. His fake beard is below his chin and his pillow belly absent but he seems cheerful enough. “Hello my friends!” he exclaims! This is a time for giving, for joy, for the redistribution of one’s belongings to those in need and want. He explains further about corporate whores and their massive subsidies as we offer him some fruitcake. He stares at the fruitcake with a painful expression and asks “is this the best you got?” He continues, “no one wants this garbage, it’s like Reagan cheese man, you gotta step to the plate man, pony up some real goods! I can’t bring this crap to the poor and expect votes! Are you going to tell Black Lives Matter that they only matter enough for fruitcake?!?!?! I THINK NOT!.” By now he is screaming at the furniture as his glasses have fallen off, his pants have fallen down, and his house staff are running for the exits. We join them.
Next we approach the home of democratic front runner Hilary Clinton. She greets us in an oddly colored equivalent of a leisure suit but seems quite happy. We enter as she leads us to a large Christmas tree in the corner where they have been opening their gifts early. She explains that Clintons in general do not like to postpone gratification, nor do rules in general apply, so this is their tradition. She shows us her latest gift and it is an E-mail Server. Apparently she had to surrender her last one to some agency and is quite pleased that she can once again keep her information private. A number of gentlemen of various ethnicities enter the room from a door disguised as a false wall, which we at first mistake for elves or Christmas gnomes. It turns out they are foreign investors here to supply a series of cash holiday gifts to Hilary and her campaign. At this point several armed men in black suits and dark glasses shuffle us from the room harshly. We try to offer the fruitcake we have come to distribute in the holiday spirit and everyone but us hits the floor screaming bomb. We explain what fruitcake is and Hilary and her people laugh, throw the gift in a nearby waste receptacle, and usher us from the home.
One last home on the list and as we approach we must shield our eyes. The wall of lights stands 100 feet high and says Merry Christmas Try To Climb This You Rapist Foreigner! Above that there is another display of a much greater height being put in place by undocumented workers reading T R U M …. P … Trump … Oh I see. As we recognize the name the Donald himself steps out of the door in the bottom of the wall and greets us with a hearty handshake. We offer him our fruitcake and he explains this is not fruitcake. “This is loser cake” he explains “I am the greatest maker of cakes and fruits and any and all combinations of such that God has ever produced and I know fruitcake!” We agree so he will cease speaking and enter his decidedly NON-humble abode. Under the tree are a series of mail order brides from all the corners of the globe. Donald explains he doesn’t ask for this stuff but he has friends. Hedonistic friends. “What can ya do?” he asks. Milling about the place in a frenzy of activity are Mexicans and Muslims dressed in gold lamatte elf and reindeer outfits. He sees us staring and explains “my staff, Mexicans and Muslims love me, they have to, I pay them, they don’t eat otherwise!” He laughs and laughs as he trips one of the Muslim elves as he walks by. “I am currently producing the greatest Christmas display ever made. God has supplied me, to you, that you may witness Christmas as it should be done you losers!” We leave frightened for the future of America and mankind in general.
We stop by a random home on the way back and a normal American couple answer the door. We ask them about the upcoming election and they cower in fear back in the shadow away from the entrance to their home. They say they do not know who they are voting for if they do at all but they assure us they fear them all. They invite us in and they have a wonderfully lit tree and a few family members sitting about it in the living room singing x-mas carols softly . It occurs to us that
it came without ribbons, and it came without walls,
it came without campaign finance and brightly lit halls
it came without fighting and hatred and fear
It came when we kept our loved ones quite near
So we puzzled and puzzled ’till our puzzlers were sore
we then thought of something we hadn’t before
What if Christmas we thought doesn’t come from a store
What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?
But we laughed and we laughed at how silly that was
We have hatred and fear, and political buzz
corporations to save and foreigners to hate
and we knew for sure that’s what makes x-mas great.
And to all a good night.