A parody of a Christmas classic satirizing the drama queen protests of Christians.
‘Twas the war upon Christmas, and all through the malls
Not a creature was stirring in those gaudy, cheap halls;
The landmines were placed by the entrances with care,
In hopes that the Christians soon would be there;
The warriors were loaded with rounds of hot lead;
While visions of carnage danced in their heads;
And Marx in his ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just hijacked culture outside of The Gap,
When out on the food court there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my cover and saw the blood splatter.
Away to the melee I flew like a flash,
Put one in the chamber and set to let smash.
The blood on the floor from the new-fallen Lutherens,
Made a gory display of I took a great humor in,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But an urban assault sleigh and eight robotic killer deer,
With a Presbyterian leader so depraved and craven,
I yelled to the troops, “Open fire, it’s St. Reagan!”
More vapid than The Eagles his choir they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Baptists! now, Lutherans, Episcopalians and Evangelicals!
On, Quakers! on, Mormons! on, Pentacostals and Methodists!
To the TGIFridays! to Hot Topics & Spencers!
Die to save Christmas and never surrender!”
As unto lions in old Roman Times,
The Christians they fell to our artillery line;
Those not reduced to a lump of warm meat
Ignored St. Reagan’s orders and made a retreat—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The clanking and cranking of each robotic hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down through the skylight St. Reagan came with a bound.
He was dressed all in camo of white, green and red,
I yelled, “Trickle on down here and soon you’ll be dead!”
A bundle of guns he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedo who shows preschoolers his sack.
His eyes—how they seethed! his brows in a furrow!
His cheeks were like roses that would not see tomorrow!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the liver spots on his skin were like turds in the snow;
The pin of a grenade he held in his teeth,
And his hubris encircled his head like a wreath;
That recognizable face we’d all seen on the telly
Spits out the pin and pops a Jelly Belly.
Into the women’s studies major soldiers he tosses his shell,
And laughs at the feminists he just blew to hell;
A vision of myself as twist off his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
Snuck up slowly behind him; then turned with a jerk,
His arms fell at once, flopped to each side,
I let the body fall and kicked it with pride;
The killer robot reindeer, had also been shut down,
And cries of our victory made a glorious sound.
We may have won this battle, but the war must go on –
Until every last shred of Christmas is gone!