Hey Kids, Uncle Dewey's Back!
Did you miss me? Awwww.
So. It's the most wonderful time of the year again. Blech. All poinsettias, lachrymose cries of children denied their special desired toy (well, all right, that's actually sort of fun watching the greedy little bastards come up empty handed) oh and the music, the music! It almost makes me wish God did exist, if only to stop the strains of that horrible, Hallelujah! chorus. Oh Handel, there would be a special place waiting for you in Hell, if there were a Hell, instead, you just get me waving my fist in the air railing against the Hallelujah! It's bad enough with five or six, but oh no-they fill auditoriums with these idiotic musical illiterates (and I don't mean in a good way like the religious nutters with their hand bells, because that at least has some cultural value) "mumble, mumble, don't know the words....Hallelujah!"
Please, do not start in on me about "Christmas being for the children." Oh yes, the wonderful little children. Let me clue you in about these sweet, angelic "children" everyone is convinced the holidays benefit. Ahem-I do know a thing or two about the youngsters as you're probably aware. I must tell you, being completely frank, that the dear little ones are, in fact, playing you for goddamned stupid fuckers. Oh stop pretending to be aghast, everyone at Chicago curses like that-we learn it from the sweet, angelic children at the Lab School.
Now, last year, I admit my little War On Christmas lost steam well before the dreaded day, but I attribute that to the rather extraordinary sale on cordials this time of year and well, we all know I can't really resist the lure of Creme de Menthe. Usually, given the exploitative wage I'm paid (they have the chutzpah to tell me how fortunate I am to be tenured-tell it to my fuckin' accountant-so lucky I'm frigging broke) I have to resort to the medicinal, yet minty drunk one gets from mouthwash-but last year, oh last yeah was a good year for bargain cordials. Me? I'm not so "cordial" drinking cordials (unless throwing up all over the department chair's precious Oriental rug counts as being a cordial guest) but if I can pass out before spewing vomitus across campus-all the better. Happy holidays indeed. So anyway, yeah, I was far too sloshed last year to fully wage battle as I'd hoped to do. This year, economy headed straight to the shitter (oh nostalgia, just like '29) it's back to the minty-fresh drunk of Scope for me, and John Dewey's War On Christmas marches on.
Hallelujah! Ha-le-lu-jah!
So. It's the most wonderful time of the year again. Blech. All poinsettias, lachrymose cries of children denied their special desired toy (well, all right, that's actually sort of fun watching the greedy little bastards come up empty handed) oh and the music, the music! It almost makes me wish God did exist, if only to stop the strains of that horrible, Hallelujah! chorus. Oh Handel, there would be a special place waiting for you in Hell, if there were a Hell, instead, you just get me waving my fist in the air railing against the Hallelujah! It's bad enough with five or six, but oh no-they fill auditoriums with these idiotic musical illiterates (and I don't mean in a good way like the religious nutters with their hand bells, because that at least has some cultural value) "mumble, mumble, don't know the words....Hallelujah!"
Please, do not start in on me about "Christmas being for the children." Oh yes, the wonderful little children. Let me clue you in about these sweet, angelic "children" everyone is convinced the holidays benefit. Ahem-I do know a thing or two about the youngsters as you're probably aware. I must tell you, being completely frank, that the dear little ones are, in fact, playing you for goddamned stupid fuckers. Oh stop pretending to be aghast, everyone at Chicago curses like that-we learn it from the sweet, angelic children at the Lab School.
Now, last year, I admit my little War On Christmas lost steam well before the dreaded day, but I attribute that to the rather extraordinary sale on cordials this time of year and well, we all know I can't really resist the lure of Creme de Menthe. Usually, given the exploitative wage I'm paid (they have the chutzpah to tell me how fortunate I am to be tenured-tell it to my fuckin' accountant-so lucky I'm frigging broke) I have to resort to the medicinal, yet minty drunk one gets from mouthwash-but last year, oh last yeah was a good year for bargain cordials. Me? I'm not so "cordial" drinking cordials (unless throwing up all over the department chair's precious Oriental rug counts as being a cordial guest) but if I can pass out before spewing vomitus across campus-all the better. Happy holidays indeed. So anyway, yeah, I was far too sloshed last year to fully wage battle as I'd hoped to do. This year, economy headed straight to the shitter (oh nostalgia, just like '29) it's back to the minty-fresh drunk of Scope for me, and John Dewey's War On Christmas marches on.
Hallelujah! Ha-le-lu-jah!
posted by <$John Dewey$> at 10:31 PM
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