There's magic in the air and music in my heart. That can only mean one thing. Merry Christmas! Or "Happy holidays," depending on which false religion you mistakenly follow.
If I have one wish this Christmas, it is for our president to carefully weigh the information gathered by the Iraq study group and do what's best for our troops. Unfortunately, Santa doesn't have the cure for retarded in his bag.
Another Christmas season is upon us and, once again, Jesus is getting all the attention. To paraphrase a popular yuletide song, all I want for Christmas is credit where credit is due.
Don't get me wrong. I have no problems with Jesus. I love the guy. I just think he gets a lot more credit than he should. Take two seconds to think about what Christmas actually is and I'm sure you'll agree. Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Christ. How much say did he really have in the matter? For our birthdays, the rest of us get a card with a terrible pun and, if we're lucky, a cake that was hardly edible even when it was fresh. But Jesus, for simply plopping out of a pussy, like you, me and everyone else, gets praise and worship every December for over 2,000 years.
If you ask me, Christmas should be a celebration of Mary's vagina. She's the one that pooped out the savior without ever having known someone biblically (pun intended). Suffering through pregnancy without ever having enjoyed the usual cause of it is much more admirable than simply being born. Being born is so easy a baby can do it. I suggest renaming Christmas "Mary's Amazing Vag-mas" or "The Annual Tribute to That Magical Box."
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
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