HEY, GET THAT BOWL-MONKEY OFF YER BACK

Yep, while all y'all are busy stuffing Christmas back into the boxes out of which it poured a month or so ago, trundling stuff into the garage or the attic or heaven-help-you to your storage locker (parenthetically, residential off-site storage facilities are the Lord's subtle way of telling you YOU NEED TO GIVE OR THROW SOME THINGS AWAY!!!!!!), there is a little game going on today. It happens in a sunny venue, and will feature a Big 10 team against a Pac 10 team and will take place before a near capacity crowd. Hell, I can dream, can't I?

Okay, okay, maybe LOST has slurped the ol' Holiday kool-aid a little. Watching that Stanford basketball game last night fueled the frenzy - it had been 8 years since the last time the ol' Bruins had beaten Stanford at Pauley - LOST's follicles were still active in those days. But this is a chance for a young coach with a great work ethic (and despite that debacle earlier in the month, one who has made great strides) to make another statement. A ten win season in his third year. UCLA has only done that 5 times in its whole program history. And its going to be like shadow boxing - after all, the team faced has a solid offense and on defense, well not so much.

Lets go Bruins. Pound the Wildcats (Psst, Karl, just pretend its the Huskies) Couldn't resist that li'l dig at my one loyal reader.

MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DO (nope, not about the Preznit this time)

Lots of the left blogosphere has been doing this "meme of Four" lately, so I thought I'd give it a try for Christmas, and ask all 3 of my faithful readers to post the same - you CAN do so anonymously, of course

Four jobs you’ve had in your life: Shoe salesman, sandwich maker, production foreman, attorney
Four movies you could watch over and over: The Big Lebowski, It's a Wonderful Life, "Scrooge (the Albert Finney edition), The Natural, The Verdict

Four places you’ve lived: Whittier, California, Los Angeles, El Cajon, California, Escondido,

Four TV shows you love to watch: The Daily Show, ABC College Football, 60 Minutes, The Critic

Four places you’ve been on vacation: Kona, Traverse City, MI, San Francisco, Park CIty, UT

Four websites you visit daily: buzzflash, Latimes.com, bartcop, crooks & liars

Four of your favorite foods: Barbecued (almost anything), Pumpkin Ice Cream, sushi, creamed spinach,

Four places you’d rather be: Dublin, Sydney, Kona, Seattle

Knock yourselves out, people!!!!

Merry Christmas to all, even to the warring factions within LOST's own brood. The first of you to lay down your weapons and seek genuine reconciliation with your adversaries shall the the greatest.

RODNEY HAD IT RIGHT



Poor ol’ Rodney King, it took a major whuppin,’ an oddball setback in a criminal trial, and then a riot for his epiphany. His maligned-at-the-time moment came in May, 1992, when he appeared on television, flanked by his legal counsel at the height of the L.A. riots of that Spring, and sputtered over the airwaves to us all “Why can’t we all just get along?”

A local company out here, a Sod farm of all things, has immortalized a pun of that comment on the side of their trucks: “Why can’t we all just get a lawn?”

Well, why can’t we? This is a question that could be asked on so many levels, and it was yesterday’s glib quip to a friend that “The Arab Israeli conflict will be settled sooner” than the strife within LOST’s own family that has prompted this diatribe. Its probably gonna seem preachy and longer than y’all want, but here goes.

This isn't about whether you were first in line and all the huge expectations on your shoulders. So what if the older two ganged up on one so much that he ran home to Mom? It's not about who was the “good baby.” What’s the big deal if they treated your first serious girlfriend badly – thirty five years ago, give or take. Or if you were "forgotten" at Christmas time when you came home from basic training. Who gives a crap about being better treated because we were the sons and you were the daughters, or flip-flop depending on which one you are? Was your life ruined because of family dislike toward your first boyfriend? Don’t tell me about “China Cups” and “tin cans” and double standards and playing favorites anymore. Its old schtick, from a long time ago.

It no longer matters that someone's former spouse was “dissed” by some or most or all of us. Some of you are generous to a fault, and some of you never think about anyone else. Y'all know where I stand on that one, but it is part of what makes us unique. It doesn’t matter how your friends were treated growing up, or whether parents attended your ball games or plays or recitals or didn’t or whether you went to school or got straight “A”s or became a priest or a nun or big time ball player or whatever.

Above all, it matters little that somebody said one, or two or three, or a dozen plus uncalled for, unkind, thoughtless, judgmental, self-righteous, mean-spirited, self-promoting, angry, hypercritical, envious, spiteful, or nasty things to you, me or any group of us. It doesn’t matter who was the Pard, or the chosen one or who was put on the pedestal, and it doesn’t matter whether anyone denies that this happened or that it still goes on. The labeling – who “made it” who didn’t etc., is meaningless.

It matters that we are here. It matters that we’re related to one another by common genetics, by many more similar characteristics than the sum total of our ultimate differences. It matters that we have the capacity and the power to forgive, to let go, to move forward. It matters that part of that capacity – the genesis of it in fact – flows from being able to sincerely say, “I am sorry when I hurt you, and I forgive you for hurting me.” The bags of stuff being carried around by us all – see above for some of the highlights - are getting very ripe. Okay, they’re rotted. They are putrid bags of old fetid malignancy clung to by all of us –every one – because of some misguided belief that holding onto it makes us feel better. We’re kidding and we’re hurting ourselves and each other by swallowing that line.

For Christmas, we don’t need to give each other any material thing. Of course it would be lovely and send me an e-mail and I’ll send you sizes and colors. Seriously, the best gift would be to say something to each other the fourteen simple words in the preceding paragraph. And we could get rid of something. We could all drop the bags. Just put them down and take a couple of steps away. Maybe then we’d notice the smell of corruption that pours forth from the bag, and we’d just keep on walking. Wouldn’t that be a hell of a Christmas present to ourselves and each other.

IN MY NEXT LIFE I'M GONNA BE A T-SHIRT DESIGNER



And you can get this clever one at www.tshirthumor.com

SPENDING TIME ON A TRAIN





Time it was that nearly every family in America had a relative that worked on the railroad. In LOST’s case, both sets of grandparents were so situated. Currently, passenger rail in this country is being starved to a slow death, having had its fiscal feeding tube removed by the Bush Administration in 2001, in order to send the Grover Norquists of the country into paroxysms of quasi-orgasmic ecstasy.

Yesterday LOST and family spent most of the day on Amtrak’s Surfliner, on the way up to and back from Los Angeles to pick up our nephew. The landscape changes dramatically on this trek. From the sandstone cliffs of San Clemente – complete with patio slabs hanging a foot or more into unsupported open space, to the shanty neighborhoods of Pico Rivera – in truth LOST never recalled these areas fondly, but they are really down in the dumps now, even with the occasional dwelling that is being desperately cared for by its owner, roof, paint, yard and fence, almost in the forlorn hope that the Area 51 aliens will happen upon it and beam it to a land called Almost Anywhere Else. From the nearly downtown rail yard - -where the boxcar has been hunted into extinction by the seagoing metal container, to the weed-riven ghost town that used to be the El Toro Marine Corps Air Station. The trek is nothing if not diverse. The underscore of that diversity is the trips northern terminus: paralleling the flood control channel formerly known as the LA River. The large swaths of graffiti, interposed with the flood control inlets - some of which are crudely covered with cloth or other makeshift doors, suggest that condominium development is still strong among the poorest and most desperate among us.

Our time in Los Angeles is perilously short. In part this is due to a breakdown on the outbound trip. It is almost comical to experience this major difference between the airlines, who have made a science out of giving passengers the mushroom treatment, and Amtrak, which aspires to do the same with its charges, but has staff which fails to turn off (or lower) the volume of its walkie-talkies. So despite the calming, accented voice of the conductor, telling us we will be in motion momentarily, we are all too aware that the engine is not responding, and that our engineer “might be able to limp it into Santa Ana, but not much further.”

Amtrak is still staffed by friendly people, people who refuse to act as though their jobs and their employer are being squeezed off. This shouldn’t happen. The opportunities to see the world from this vantage point are priceless. The return trek at night alone is worth the price. To see the same dilapidated dwellings by day lit up in finest Yuletide nighttime splendor is tenderly reminiscent of the Widow’s Mite: people with little to give nonetheless striving to benefit all eyes with a festive display. This display of nighttime beauty is even worth the "F**k and S**T man", sitting in front of me, talking on his cell phone constantly, to what seems like a plethora of girlfriends and ex-girlfriends, and nearly every word is "F**k" and "S**t." The "F**k and S**T" man has the same laptop. Thankfully he does have iTunes, and music (even his variety) hath charms to soothe the savage beast.

A chat with another southbound traveler helps blunt the language. We share chuckles over the northbound leg of the trip - she too was stuck on the siding for 2 hours, only she lost that time from a Holiday family gathering. Still, she laughs about the experience, tempered only by wary hope that it will not be repeated on the southbound leg. A brief stop to allow passage for a northbound train momentarily gives us pause, coming as it does all-too-close to where the morning breakdown occurred. Soon, we're back up and running, and safely, timely deposited at our stop.

SO IT'S NOT FOOTBALL, BUT A WIN IS A WIN



Yeah, LOST spent many an unhappy November in the late 60's and early 70's sniffling out the spiteful cant "Wait 'til basketball Season." Yes, it was in part because "we" had a Wizard in place in Westwood for the wintertime, and his presence helped counterbalance the gridiron prowess of humoursly evil John McKay in South Central.

Well the more things change the more they stay the same. LOST at 45+ is still saying "basketball season," this time in response to an evil pretty-boy in South Central who keeps beating the Bruin gridders with such regularity that its a wonder A.D. Dan Guerrero doesn't toss out his scheduling notebook and start applying for a restraining order. While Ben Howland and his charges are, ahem, a few steps away from being given Wizard status, they've been passing their compulsory exams at the Hogwarts school of Basketball.

The latest victims were the Michigan Wolverines, a team legendary at least in their own minds (and those of their haughty fans), previously unbeaten on the year, and playing in the fiercely partisan confines of the Crisler Arena in the Ann Arbor snow. These home-cookin' lovin' So-Cal dwellin' basketball players were initially so taken aback by the snow, the loudness of the crowd and the early hour that they spotted the Michiganders a 6-0 lead, and didn't score for nearly 6 minutes, before Aaron Afflalo starting boming them in from downtown Ann Arbor, and the rest of team flipped the switch and clawed to victory. This is the best start for a Bruin team since 1997-8, the first full year of Grease-boy Lavin - when he was still runnin' on the strength of Harrick's recruits.

ANOTHER CAN OF LEFTOVERS

Ho Hum, another ad nauseum repetitive radio speech by Feckless Leader, another 7 mentions of "September the 11th" 2 more "9/11"s, 21 variations of the word terror (ists, ism), 1 "killers" and 2 "freedom"s.

Hey, stupid!! Trying to scare people batsh*t doesn't work like it used to. Some have woken up to find rats in your cupboard, so they don't wanna drink from your cups anymore. Imagine that. Can't help but wonder if this a prelude to tomorrow night's "address to the Nation." Will you pull a Nixon and unveil a "secret plan" that is really nothing more than a redux of the 1972 bombing campaign over Vietnam? Will you hail the election and actually play on people's Holiday impulses and promise a troop reduction? Or are you going to issue Cassandra like warnings about failure to re-adopt the Fascism-OOPS, I meant Patriot-Act?

Smart money says its gonna be a little of all three. Here's hoping most people watch "Gilligan's Island" reruns instead.

THE ETHOS OF “THIRTY FIVE YEARS AGO”


Three and a half decades seems like such a very long time, right up until the time you come to grips with the fact that you’ve lived way longer than that. When LOST was a kid, in the late 60’s – younger than his own are now, many willies were received over the thought of being 40. After all, that would not occur until the year 2000. We’d probably have colonies on Mars then. On the heels of that, my parents would probably be gone by then! Where would I live? And then down the road to a dozen or more oddly paranoid thoughts before moving on to some, more kid-like concept.

But to look backward for a moment, from that late 1960’s vantage point – let’s just call it 1969 – the year after, if you will – thirty-five years ago meant depression era America. Halfway through FDR’s first term. Multi media evangelism meant Father Charles Coughlin. Organized labor was still struggling mightily to come into its own (the UAW sit-down strikes were still a germ of a thought in the Reuther brothers’ brains). Black and White movies – no “Wizard of Oz,” at least not at the theatres. The Cubs were still losers, but hey some things don’t change. In short, 1934 was a permanently sepia-toned image in the mind of a nine year old kid – never really real. Almost like it never really happened, as if five minutes after Mom and Dad dropped the dime on Santa and the Easter bunny, each was going to say “now, Son, about that Depression stuff . . . .” The point is, thirty five years ago in that context might has well have been a century before. It could not be touched, sensed, even fathomed – whether one looked forward or backward.





Flash forward to the last throes of 2005. LOST frequently catches himself not calculating the significance of 35 years ago in thought processes currently. For some reason, there is this mind set that this concept leads inexorably back into “Happy Days” America, if not “Happy Days are Here Again” America. But then it strikes like shower-head cold water on a frosty December morning. Nope. Thirty five years ago was 1970. The Beatles officially broke up.

The first “Earth Day.” Kent State. Sesame Street. The “Manson Family” murder trials. Governor Ronald Reagan. Nixon. LOST’s mother being disgusted by both. All stuff that is in the grasp of personal memory – somewhat fragmented, certainly not perfect, but no less real. Technicolor memories, lived history.

Perhaps the reason for thinking of this stems from the milestone reached by LOST’s mother this week, eighty years. Thirty five years ago, LOST’s Mom was the same age LOST is now. Wow and Ick burst forward almost simultaneously, because 45 seemed soooo old at 10, and now, to stare mortality in the face, consciously thinking about how much time is really left and what to do with it? Nothing like a good dose of Holiday Depression at 3 am on a December weekday morning.





But then maybe it’s not just that. Maybe it’s looking through the eyes of the kids - for whom "35 years ago" is deprived of meaning beyond what can be read in a book or recounted from parents or grandparents. Except for maybe the music. LOST’s kids still crank up the Beatles frequently, and at holiday time the house is just as likely to be filled with the strains of Nat King Cole or Andy Williams as opposed to Manheim Steamroller.

Whatever the rationale, LOST hopes that thirty five years from now that his kids can look back fondly on this time, not just Christmas 2005, but this general point in their lives, and see the time as magical, as a time when the seeds of fulfillment were being nurtured. LOST hopes he and Mrs. LOST are still there, too, with the vast majority of our collective wits still intact. For then as now, ust he couldn’t fathom being 40 at the dawn of a new century, LOST really cannot conceptualize having two sons pushing hard at fifty.

I am alone

in the land of the aardvarks.

I am walking west

all the aardvarks are going east. Eugene McCarthy











May God Bless and keep you both, for what you did in awakening all of us.

"THIS BOY IS IGNORANCE, THIS GIRL IS WANT, BEWARE THEM BOTH . . . BUT MOST OF ALL BEWARE THIS BOY, FOR ON HIS BROW I SEE THAT WRITTEN WHICH IS 'DOOM' "



It happens every year at this time. LOST (over) indulges in all things Christmas. Christmas decorations, Christmas music, Christmas junk food, Christmas shopping. Christmas stories. You name it. "A Christmas Carol" is one of the best Christmas stories ever written. It may be the Second Best all time.

The title line above comes from the original "A Christmas Carol," as written by Dickens, and LOST thought of it as he read the letters section of the local paper here in Red-Ville. In reading the local letters to the editor section, I was taken aback by two letters in Friday's section, both of which criticized - nay, demonized, another "predatory lawyer" filing "abusive lawsuits" against "small businesses" which threatened to "destroy a whole town." This dual display of hyperbole prompted a search for the original article, which happened to be about a San Diego lawyer well known for this kind of suit. All the article mentioned was that this man "uses a wheelchair," and it quoted him extensively. And two people in this little Redville corner wrote in, decrying the greed, the shamefulness of another greedy lawyer "conveniently representing himself" in these "Extortion" based lawsuits which "the attorney general" should investigate. Ignorance of Dickensian proportions.

The lawyer who brings these lawsuits, Theodore Pinnock, is a remarkable man. Yes, he uses a wheelchair. He is African American, not a fact covered in the local paper. Nor was it mentioned that he suffers from cerebral palsy, and needs assistance to get to and from court. He speaks laboriously, but beneath his ravaged exterior is a working brain and a good heart. What is wrong about a man who, with those strikes against him, going to and getting through law school, passing the 3 day long drudge that is the State Bar exam, and then finding a way to use that hard-earned education and licensure to benefit others who are similarly disadvantaged and keep the lights on while doing so? Not a damn thing.

More importantly, the law that Mr. Pinnock grounds these lawsuits upon is not State law - which might have been affected by the passage of Prop 64 last year, but it is Federal law, specifically the Americans With Disabilities Act, or ADA. ADA was signed into law by Bush 41, in 1990. It has been the law of the land since 1992. That means 13 years that the good business owners of Julian have had to retrofit and/or make their establishments accessible. Is it expensive? No doubt it is for many. Is it the law? Without question it is. Why is it somehow virtuous then, for small business owners to claim poverty as an excuse for flouting Federal law, when, in courtrooms all over this country, defendants who resort to other types of crime for the same claim of impoverishment are rebuked and convicted?

It is difficult to reconcile this. It is a tough problem, to balance the costs of providing access - and their imposition upon business and property owners, against the deprivation and indignity suffered by the disabled, who for no fault of their own would otherwise be denied access to enjoyments we "healthy" people take for granted? Why then, do so many here in Redville simply decide to label the lawyer "greedy" and identify with the lawbreaking small business owner? Is it bigotry, the time honored, anecdotal hatred of lawyers? Is it the similarly time honored affinity for the entrepreneur, the mythical self-made business person bucking the odds to make a living despite the crushing weight of Government regulation? Is it convenient memory lapses - the type that enable people to forget that ADA was signed by a Republican President, or that - as we all learned in Civics and History classes, that Federal law takes precedence over ("pre-empts") State law in many instances? Yes, yes and yes. But its also part and parcel of the very ignorance that Charles Dickens warned us about over 160 years ago. It is a willingness to supplant critical thinking and evaluation with labeling and stereotyping and moving forward in impulse, rather than a depth of critical, analytical thought. The costs of this failure are readily seen in the black and white of the local paper. First by a reporter who failed to grasp the depth of a story, then by two local letter writers who allowed their stereotypical view of society guide their processing of the same story. Let us not be doomed by ignorance.

WAR ON CHRISTMAS CAROLS, TOO?





So Bill O'Reilly, a bombastic cretin who never has let the truth get in the way of good theatre for his moronic minions, got caught with his hand in the toilet of truth by trying to pass off a year old Daily Show skit as recent evidence of his illusory War on Christmas. The reigning champ of mental limbo for more than a decade, O' Reilly proves repeatedly that if you're gonna lie big, lie LOUD, too. In his honor, here's a little Christmas ditty, revamped for the Falafelsir King himself


BILDO FALAFEL (sung to the tune of "Frosty the Snowman")

bildo falafel was a two faced hy-po-crite
he could spew for days about libs and gays
but he was just full of Sh*t

Seen on the TV
by adoring hordes of rubes
as he yelled and screamed
self-right-eous-ly
to his audience of boobs

There must've been some magic
in that loofah that he found
for when he panted into it
they nearly ran him out of town

but Bildo Falafel
Reinvented he's no fool
now he carps and screams
with a lustful gleam
'bout a nasty war on Yule.


WAKE UP YOU MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The Right is full of Crooks liars and perverts screaming about morality - Yours and mine, not their own.

OUCH

Bad day in Bruin land.
When does Basketball season resume?
PLEASE TELL ME THAT ITS SOON!

ANOTHER CHAPTER



The 75th meeting. The crosstown rivalry. The battle for the VIctory Bell. The Battle of Los Angeles. Or, LOST's personal favorite, Good vs. Evil. It all happens again today, and it looks, from the front end, to be a barn burner. The beloved Bruins have an outstanding offense, and a defense that truly strikes terror into the hearts of . . . Bruin fans everywhere. $C's got an offense that many have labeled the Best in college football history, and a defense that is good but not as good as last year's, and special teams that sometimes play as though coached by Bill and Ted, or Beavis and Butt-head.

One of LOST's better friends, another fine graduate of the University of California - unfortunately the wrong campus, loves to tell the tell of being at a ball game years ago, and sitting behind a guy watching the game with his family. The guy's mood rose and fell with the fortunes of the (at the time) maligned Golden Bears, as they struggled against Stanford. After nearly three hours of commentary which varied between calm conversation between this fan and his kids and outbursts more likely expected from a demonically possessed longshoreman, this fan was overheard to be whispering in hushed, reverent tones,
"Please God . . . Please let the Golden Bears win . . . " Stanford won the game that year.

Now LOST gave up praying for the Bruins to win games in young adolescence. Okay, okay, just a few years ago. God's got way more important things to address and prayers to answer than that. But its also true that the Bruins have been down on the deck with that smelly red and gold foot on their throats for the last six years. But they've gotten stronger, better, and hungrier while that has happened. Last year's edition was the closest game in six years, and the trOJans were double digit faves then, too. And the Bruins are much better on offense this time around, playing with a lot more confidence. And "you can't win 'em all," like all axioms, comes from a firmly rooted place in historical fact.

It's time for this bunch 'cross town to taste humility again - something most of 'em tend to avoid the way kids avoid cauliflower and Brussels sprouts.

Come on Bruins, get it done today. Win one for Bill Barnes, and Johnny Lynn, Troy Aikman, and Dennis Dummit, and Pepper Rodgers, and George Dickerson, and Zenon Andrusyshyn, and Theotis Brown and Eric Turner, and Eric Ball, and Norm Johnson, Kermit Johnson and James McAllister and all the other great players and coaches who don't know what winning one of these felt like. And, God, I'm not asking for a win. But, please don't let them lose on some stupid fluke fumble, or tipped pass or a phantom penalty or touchdown or multiple turnovers or some other freakish instance. Those flashy guys across town have already got those presents in droves over the years, and according to all the sports pundits, they surely are soooo good that they don't need 'em today.

GO BRUINS! START A NEW STREAK TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ALL STAR PREGAME CHALK TALK


"It's not a matter of life and death - it's a litttle more important than that" Henry "Red" Sanders




"anybody seen my smokes and my briefcase?" J. Thompson Prothro



































"Hold onto the ball, darn it" Terry Donahue

Go Kick some trOJan butt, tomorrow, Bruins!!

CHRISTMAS UNDER ATTACK AND OTHER FABLES

Falafel stuffer O'Reilly is out ready to pump his Barney Fife one bullet into the "enemies of Christmas" and is vowing total Jihad - oops I mean opposition to anyone ready to malign or remove "Christmas" from the public lexicon. Jesus ROFL til he wept. Piety is the new last refuge of a scoundrel.

On the other hand, in this little corner of Red in the blue, the Mount Soledad cross has become a Bull Run of sorts. Back and forth fight a small band of atheist ideologues trying to scrub the cross from the top of the hill. And the right wingers, Christians and hate radio purveyors have had a field day lambasting the left as anti-God, anti-Christian, anti-Christ, anti-war memorial, HUH? Yep, that's what the save the cross folks have tried to label the cross. Its a war memorial. Shaped like a cross. To honor the fallen Christian - no wait, all soldiers felled in battle.

Truth and fact its a stupid debate. Like the "flag burning amendment." Right wing politicians - like our beloved thief Duke - line up to defend the war memorial and bemoan creeping secularism. Left wingers scream about separation of church and state and violating the "Establishment" clause of the First amendment. In all of this toxic rhetoric no one - atheist, non-christian religious of any sort, liberal secular-humanist, has articulated one solid reason how this hunk of concrete rebar and reinforcement establishes religion. Similarly, no one has shown one iota of tangible harm that the cross' past half century presence has caused. Point for the Righties.

However, none of the righties has made a bit of sense by trying to fit this very square peg into the round hole of "War Memorial." It's a Christian symbol. No getting around that. If any one group has a chance at noting tangible harm, it would be the Jewish community in San Diego. The community is fewer than six decades removed from a time when restrictive covenants permeated the la Jolla community surrounding mount Soledad - said restrictions precluded selling homes to Jewish people. The cross, then, placed as it was, could evoke the same response in Jewish residents of the surrounding area that the confederate flag in South Carolina might have on some of that State's residents who descend from slaves. But when atheists- who believe in nothing anyway - claim that this cross threatens them, I say how? The cross ain't the threat. The expansion of evangelical Christo-fascism is the threat, but its only been around since the early 1970's. Going after the cross only fuels the evangelical fascists' claims of persecution - including this absolutely nutty claim that Christmas is under attack. Say "Merry Christmas" to your friends and family if they celebrate Christmas. Don't create awkwardness with the greeting toward those who don't. Isn't that courtesy? Isn't that being polite? What the HELL is wrong with good manners?

But just in case the Right wing evangelofascistas are feeling a little persecuted, I offer up the lyrics of a contemporary Christmas tune. Enjoy, you uber pious hypocrites! Scrape those "W" ovals off the back of your SUV windows while you're at it.

Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
Right back where He belongs,
Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
And back in your favorite Christmas songs!

(sung to the tune of) Frosty the Snowman,
Was Jesus Christ's best friend,
He stood there melting by the cross,
Until the very end!

Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
Right back where He belongs,
Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
And back in your favorite Christmas songs!

(Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer) Jesus the long-haired savior,
Had a very shiny glow,
And if you ever saw it,
You'd say it's a halo!

Oh, Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
Right back where He belongs,
Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
And back in your favorite Christmas songs!

(Santa Claus is comin' to town) You better not shout,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why,
Jesus Christ is coming again!

Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
Right back where He belongs,
Let's put Christ back in Christmas,
And back in your favorite Christmas songs!

Jingle bells,
Go to Hell,
If you do not pray!

TWO (MORE) DICKS WHO SHOULDA BEEN TROJANS



Hat tip to www.bartcop.com for this one.