Okay. Its December 23rd, and I’m looking forward to spending Christmas Eve at the firehouse. Ah, Christmas. I was thinking of going nuts and giving a whole litter of links about how Christmas is largely a load of crap, how Jesus was most likely not born in the winter, how the Roman Catholic Church (or was it the Holy Roman Empire, or is there a bloody difference?) cooked up the whole thing to make the transition to “Christianity” much easier for pagans in the fading Empire, etc., etc., ad nauseum. But I think that, except for the most dim among you, everyone knows that Christmas has little to do with Jesus Christ. I challenge anyone to scour their Bible and find the passage where the son of God commanded his followers to trade gifts and sit on a fat man’s lap in memory of his birthday.

Why am I carping about this at all, you ask? Because its better than watching Monday Night Football, that’s why. More important, though, is that I was thinkin’ earlier about how people in the West (especially us Merrkins) like to carry on our daily lives in spite of truth, fairness, and accuracy. As long as the beer and gasoline remains relatively cheap, who gives a shit what time of year Jeezus was born? For that matter, who cares if G.W. was lawfully and ethically elected president? Who cares if the “war on terror” is just another anorexically disguised phase of the continuing campaign of U.S. corporate/imperial hegemonic feeding frenzy? Ah, shucks. Enough already. I’ll write more after St. Nick’s Orgy is done.

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