The “War on Christmas” is as seasonal as spiked egg nog. On cue, before Bud washed down the last Turkey Day leftovers, 21st century cable television Torquemadas began bitching about liberals besmirching Santa’s milk and cookie transubstantiation. The predictable media uproar appears contrived. A registered Democrat for some time, I’ve never heard of pro-choice pagans interested in protesting publicly-funded nativity scenes. Call me Ishmael, but wouldn’t Slomo’s donkey and Buddha’s beautiful belly provide novel additions to the usual suspects surrounding Baby Jesus? Including Spider Man, SpongeBob SquarePants and Mickey Rourke as manger staples could go a long way in broadening Christianity’s cultural appeal. I’m kidding: Rumors concerning SpongeBob’s swishy sexual orientation guarantee local mullahs would never sanction homosexual animation so close to straight plastic figurines.
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Years ago I barely escaped excommunication for trying to replace “Silent Night” with Little Baby Jesus fighting Little Baby Devil. The Gruppenpastor did not think an altar melee a proper Christmas Eve dénouement…breaking the hearts of two four year old boys. Thanks to blind dating, my ideas for “Easter in Space” were embraced by Unitarians, leading to a short-lived stint in rehab, followed by an even shorter marriage. I’ll always wonder why I insisted on Jesus wearing roller skates during the “He is Risen”(sic) musical number. In my defense, the clinical psychologist playing Jesus wasn’t upfront about his bad ankles. Grady’s less than graceful tomb exit was not the effect I envisaged. If the Unitarians had been blessed with Saddleback’s bank account, I’d have affixed my clumsy Jesus with a wire harness, a la Peter Pan. This type of clever staging is known in religious theatre lingo as “more cowbell.”
Even though “Easter in Space” had its spotty moments, phaser toting Uranthians beaming down into traditional “Passion Play” fare remains the highlight of my directing career.
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I have yet to read where Pinochet Christians donate proceeds from their war profiteering to charity. You’d think Sarah Palin might relax her $15.99 per personal photo policy. After all, this is retail shopping’s holiest month. I guess a real Christian, raking in millions selling dime store diva values, believes receiving is better than giving; it’s not like Trig would go without shoes if Sarah waived the photo fee. Gifting rural bachelors with suitable icon-cum-pinup material displays the true spirit of Christmas, and gives her male fans something special to ogle when engaged in private root cellar ho, ho, ho. Had the half-term governor hawked Lynn Vincent’s fiction in green bra and red panties, squeezing a little extra juice from Joel’s Army is understandable -- especially if strategically placed candy canes are involved.
Adler is on record saying that should the book tour bleed over into January, Sarah will be swinging from a pole. If so, color me gone.
Juan Don
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