‘Twas the War Upon Christmas

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!

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