Satire

Holiday Greetings

from the G.O.P.

Sorry we've not kept in touch. It's been such a busy year. Turning back the political clock one hundred years is hard work! It's good to ease into a comfortable chair, coal fire roaring and enjoy a mug of hot cocoa served by our butler and yard man, Jesus. He can't seem to get the pronunciation right, even though his name proclaims the reason for the season. Fluent American is beyond his grasp but he comes cheap and stays on top of the privet.

“Exhausted, yet exhilarated” would be our answer should anyone ask the question, “How are you feeling? You look just fabulous!” Thanks, you're too kind. Holding back the Red Tide of Socialism is a full time job. Vacation? Forget it. Aside from a few golf weekends, Big Horn season in Montana, our condo in Antigua, the Palm Springs compound, skiing in Utah, bone fishing off Gitmo, Mardi Gras, Spoletto, Cannes, Derby week, the Super Bowl, Taylor Swift in Anaheim (full backstage access!), the NBA playoffs and fund raising events in Dallas, Atlanta, San Diego, New Orleans, Orlando, Houston, Vegas, L.A., Miami and San Juan, we never got a moment away.

Thanks for all the complements.  We do look great.  The cuts were draconian but worth it. We've dropped three pants sizes. At the May, "Beltway Prayer Rally to Roll Back the Satanic New Deal”, we still fit into our old seersucker ensemble from our Yale days. And listen: Newt only looks that way on television. The camera really adds pounds. We joined a great club, ellipticals, tread mills, massage, personal trainers, you name it. But no yoga. It's a gateway drug for heresy. A week or two of that and we'd be wearing harem pants and sacrificing goats on K Street.

The kids are doing fine. They are having the time of their lives in the House. Our pediatrician expressed concern over “developmental delays”. He recommended a bunch of fancy scientific tests to measure cognitive functioning and language acquisition. It's not like we couldn't afford it, but where's the problem? They're happy. Sure, they sass back to Boehner sometimes, but they toe the line. Language problems? They can say “NO!”, “Don't Tread On Me!” and “You lie!” in American. If the good Lord wanted fancy talk in the House he would have voted Democrat.

What about that Team! Go Pachyderms! Aren't they adorable? Eight cuddly puppies in a Christmas sock. It's true, a smaller litter with fewer runts would have been nice. We would have been happy with a pound dog from New Jersey or, say, Indiana. But you go to war with the hounds that were born behind your furnace, to paraphrase a certain Secretary of Defense. It's not as if we would ever consider putting them in a sack and dropping them in the Potomac. Even if we thought it, mere intent isn't a sin, is it? What if the dog was Mormon? Old Testament justification might apply in that case.

But we support our Team, warts and all. Especially when they've been kicked around by the Liberal Media. Sorry, we had to take a minute. It's hard to write Liberal Media, let alone say it, without bursting out laughing. We're better now. The Gang of Eight represents the best the GOP has to offer. They were all born in America with American names, American values and God given Christian faith. Mostly. Maybe it's not too late to find a gunny sack.

We admit we're hard to shop for. The Party of a constituency that wants for nothing, you'd think our list would be a short one. Guess again. Sure, most of our dreams have come true. Low and middle income Americans vote for us against their own economic self-interest, like turkeys voting for Thanksgiving. Fossil fuel combusts in the presence of oxygen, carbon is an all natural byproduct of that combustion, God put the dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden so they'd turn into fossil fuel and He put Dick Cheney in charge of writing national energy policy. Almost everything has been privatized and deregulated, corporate profits have never been higher, unions are nearly extinct and the rich are getting richer. We are truly blessed.

If you really want to surprise us, put Occupy Wall Street in a sack and drown it in the Potomac or take away the voting rights of our opponents or find Obamas' real birth certificate. But really, we'd be just as happy with a good bottle of single malt.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year!

The G.O.P.

Story

The Great Holiday Catastrophe

Three Stultifying, Trifling and Unimaginably Pusillanimous Officials (S.T.U.P.O.’s) sat around a big round, glossy table. A large calendar lay in front of them.

The Secretary of Dates frowned. The Minister of Snacks licked powdered sugar from her fingers. The Vice President of Riddles said “What do you get when you cross a boa constrictor with tomatoes?”

No one knew the answer.

“A bottle of ketchup that squeezes itself,” he said.

The other officials rolled their eyes. “We have no time for riddles or constrictors or condiments. Can’t you see there is something terribly, horribly wrong with this calendar?”

They took a long look.

January, February and March made them faint. April, May and June gave them hives. July, August and September made them sob like wet babies. October, November and December set their teeth chattering like castanets.

There were too many holidays.

There were too many celebrations and parties. There was too much laughing and singing. There was too much gift giving and gift getting. There were too many school vacations.

They passed a law called the Accrued Combined Holiday Oversight Omnibus (A.C.H.O.O.) Act. The old holidays were replaced by just a few, strange new ones. The Secretary, Vice President and Minister were pleased.

But things started to go wrong. Things went very, very wrong.

Teachers R Rodents Day (formally Groundhog Day and National Teachers Day) fell on June 14^th. Everyone waited patiently that morning for Mrs. Erleen Runchbottom, fourth grade teacher at Loonbinder Elementary School in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to emerge from the Teachers Lounge. The hallway was filled with parents, teachers, students, television crews and lights. Mr. McFlibbish, Principal of Loonbinder, stood smiling for the cameras. At exactly 7:27 a.m., Mrs. Runchbottom opened the door to the lounge and peeked outside. The startled woman blinked her small, wet eyes, spotted McFlibbish and slammed the door.

“SIX MORE WEEKS OF SCHOOL!” shouted happy parents. Students and teachers cried.

June 29^th became Foolish Hearts Day (formally Valentines Day and April Fools Day). Jimmy Jimcracks' mother smiled as she opened a big heart-shaped box wrapped in red foil. It was a gift from Jimmy. Jimmy ducked for cover as the box exploded, covering Mrs. Jimcrack with gooey chocolate and sticky caramel. Jimmys' father opened his gift very, very slowly. It was just a can of shaving cream. He thanked Jimmy but kept looking over his shoulder, nervously.

That night, that Jimcracks tucked Jimmy into his bed. Mrs. Jimcracks hair was still stiff with salt water taffy. Mr. Jimcracks' face was dyed bright blue.

“Good night, Jimmy,” said they said. They wore strange smiles on their faces.

Jimmy started to say goodnight but stopped. He felt something cool and slinky crawling up his leg.

Pops and Rockets Day (formally Independence Day and Fathers Day) fell on October 17^th. The day began at the crack of dawn in Whipglooder, West Virginia with a big Dads-On-Parade Extravaganza. Main Street was clogged with wandering, bewildered dads. They shuffled along in pajamas and slippers. They spilled coffee and idly scratched. The Whipglooder High School marching band followed close behind, cymbals crashing and trombones blaring.

Later, after the Spicy Deviled Egg Salad and S’mores Eating Contest, jittery dads dodged bottle rockets during the Television Remote and Runaway Recliner Relay. The day ended with the Whipglooder Ladies Auxiliary Glee Club serenading the few dads still standing (to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner):

On say can you see

My old man’s knobby knees?

What so proudly we hail,

His fat belly so pale!

Turkey Treater Day (formally Halloween and Thanksgiving) fell on August 29^th. Wally Knicknacker and his little sister Katrina prepared for Tricks or Treats. Wally was dressed as a pilgrim. Katrina, as a witch. Their costumes looked exactly the same, except Wally shouldered a musket and Katrina, a broom.

Wally and Katrina went door to door. They saw goblins that gobbled. Elaborate Jack-O-Turkeys glowed on front porches. A kind looking grandmother handed out treats from a cornucopia full of spiders, bats, toads and newts.

When they got home, they emptied their sacks on the living room floor. Katrina sorted through the pile of mashed potatoes and gravy, molded gelatin salad and glazed yams with marshmallows. Wally hurried off to a costume party. He didn’t want to miss bobbing for mincemeat pie.

December 24^th was no longer Christmas Eve. It was now Fling Grandma and Grandpa Day (formally National Aviation Day and National Grandparents Day). There wasn’t a reindeer in sight that night, only soaring elderly people.

With his six children, 27 grandchildren and 11 great-grand children looking on, Grandpa Bill Bleanerpoot catapulted from a giant rubber band high into the sky above Haversack, Florida. He looked spectacular soaring above the palmetto trees in dark wraparound shades, flowered shirt, Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals.

Grandma Philmona Fetterloam of Red Gumms, Minnesota, blasted from a circus cannon in galoshes, plastic scarf and overcoat. She skidded to a soft landing in the salad bar at the Red Gumms Jumbo Buffet, just in time for the Early Bird special.

In Brainfreeze, Massachusetts, Bing Kiltkanuuver, an old white bearded gentleman dressed in a red union suit, crashed onto someone’s roof. He became wedged in the chimney and had to be rescued by the B.F.D.

Hunka-Hunka Auld Lang Syne Day (formally Elvis’s Birthday and New Years Eve was celebrated on July 30^th. Roger and Vonda Ray Van Ribblemilch gyrated wildly in their family room. Portly Roger and plump Vonda Ray were dressed in glittering, tight fitting jumpsuits. Roger tossed scarves to Vonda Ray. She shouted, “Go cat, go! Go cat, go!”

The twins, Reenie and Rudie, wore matching pompadour wigs and blue suede shoes. They sat in front of the television eating cheeseburgers, waiting for the big Fried Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich to drop in Times Square.

At the stroke of midnight the sandwich fell in a dazzling burst of laser light. The Van Ribblemilch family, everyone watching on television, and the one million people in Times Square, all wearing identical jumpsuits, curled their lips into sneers and sang “Hound Dog”. Their singing set off a sonic boom. When they got to the part about never catching a rabbit, the jumpsuits burst. It took days to clean up the mess.

The three S.T.U.P.O.s sat around their big, round, glossy table. A mountain of angry mail lay in front of them.

The Secretary of Dates frowned. The Minister of Snacks finished her bag of Cheese Mumblers. The Vice President of Riddles said “What do you get when you cross the Mississippi with a talking pig?”

No one knew the answer.

“A night in Dubuque with a conversation hog”, he said.

The Secretary of Dates and the Minister of Snacks rolled their eyes and shook their fists. “We have no time for hams, riddles or rivers. Everyone is very, very angry!

They passed a new law called the Overturned Odious Proclamation (O.O.P.’s) Act. All the old holidays were restored. The strange new ones were gone forever. The Secretary, Vice President and Minister were pleased.

Everyone was pleased. Well, almost everyone. It was Christmas Eve again, right on schedule. Santa Claus was at his last stop in Brainfreeze, Massachusetts. He was just getting ready to slide down the chimney when he stopped. He put a hand to his ear and listened. He heard a low, whistling sound. Something big was closing fast from above . . .

The End

Wal-Mart

In the same week in late October that Wal-Mart said it would stop offering health insurance benefits to new part-time employees, the retailer sent out a request for partners to help it "dramatically ... lower the cost of healthcare ... by becoming the largest provider of primary healthcare services in the nation." NPR, Wedneday, November 9, 2011

Wal-Mart Automated Customer Service: Hello, thank you for choosing Wal-Mart where we value your business and tolerate our employees. Please listen closely as our prompts have recently changed!

New Patient: (Suppressing a wet, hacking cough) Hello? Hello?

WMACS: Sam's Advantage Club Card holders press one. Wal-Pal Rewards Members press two. Little Sam's Savings Klub for Kids members press three.

NP: Please, can I speak to a nurse?

WMCS: For the Automotive Department, press four. Large Animal and Breeding Stock press five. Reconstructive and Cosmetic Surgery press sixty-eight.

NP: (presses random buttons, gasps for breath)

WMCS: I'm sorry, that isn't a valid selection. To hear this message in Spanish, press twelve. To hear this message in Gaelic, press forty-two.

NP: (drops phone, presses combination of buttons while retrieving from floor)

WMCS: Welcome to Wal-Mart's Hot Picks, your source for great values and money saving deals!

NP: I'm having (pant) trouble breathing.

WMCS: It's buy one get one free Side of Beef Day. These are feedlot raised Texas Longhorns with low-disease metrics and nice marbling. The first five-hundred customers will receive a marrow bone.

NP: (Loudly) I'm sick! I need a doctor! (fingers clinch during racking spasm, depressing several buttons)

WMCS: Laipni lūdzam Wal-Mart!

NP: Is that Latvian? Please, somebody help me!

WMCS: Lūdzu, klausieties uzmanīgi, jo mūsu uzvedņu ir mainījušies.

NP: (Beats chest with phone to restart heart, depressing sequence of buttons)

WMCS: Please hold for an operator. We are experiencing an unusually high call volume and apologize for any inconvenience. Your call is just as important to us as the welfare of our employees. Listen to some exciting values while you wait! (music fades in, theme from 'Chico and the Man')

NP: (Left side of body goes rigid, peripheral vision fades).

WMCS: Tuesday through Friday, senior flu shots, frozen pudding shots, 12 guage shotgun shells and oysters on the half shell, half off! Reversable men's suits, submersable women's faux Alpaca sweaters, transversable brain surgery and Nails by Felicia all thirty percent off their already low, low price! Don't forget to stop in Sam's Main Street Cafe for a delicious . . . (heavily accented voice breaks in) Thank you for holding, this is 'Jeem'. To better improve service please recite to me the Wal-Smart Hippocratic Oath and Disclaimer Clause.

NP: (prone, eyes fixed and glazed, phone under coffee table)

WMCS: Hello? Hello? Hello? Stupid Latvian's! (click)