It's me. Jesus. You know, Lamb of God and all. Sorry I haven't
been in touch in a while, things have been crazy, you know how
it is. Dad says hi.
I just thought I'd write and wish everyone a Merry Christmas. I
know that's not as fashionable as it should be, maybe I'm supposed to
say 'happy holidays', but I think it's okay to say 'Merry
Christmas' to everyone. You don't have to be a Christian, you
don't have to believe I'm divine, all I'm doing is wishing you
well. And just so we're clear, personally? I think putting a
nativity on public property is pushy. Plus, it's a little
embarrassing. You know how it is when company you barely know
comes over and your mom hauls out your baby album? It's like
Anyway, to me this is a special time of year, and I just thought
I'd take the time to remind you that while I'm sure I said a lot
of things that got written down and translated a lot of
different ways, what I really meant was 'Be as nice as you can
to other people'. And then try harder. Stretch a little. Even
people you don't like. Actually especially people you don't
like, because, come on, if it's hard for you to be nice to the
people you like, you're already in trouble, right? That's the
important stuff. And I just feel, at this time of year, that's
the message I really want to get out. 'Cause it's my birthday.
You knew that right? That Christmas is my birthday? It's kind of
funny, see, 'cause it's my birthday, but you guys get all the
presents. See, those presents? They're supposed to be a symbol,
right, of the gifts I got at my birth. The Gold, frankincense,
myrrh, pa-rah-pa-pum-pum. You know. See, and all I want from you
guys, right, is to hate each other just a little less, and I
don't know, maybe try to cut back on the constant stealing and
raping and killing and blowing shit up. You know, you're always
praying to me, like I'm going to do something about it. Well,
newsflash, if you haven't copped to it yet, I'm not. Because I
haven't killed anyone. See what I'm saying? You want that crap
to stop, YOU need to stop it. And seriously, how much do you
want it to stop? 'Cause most of the prayers I've gotten this
last month are all "Please Make Dad give me a cell phone!",
want a Wii!", Wii... what the fuck kind of gay name is that anyway?
Do you have any idea how many sixteen-year-old American girls
asked me to help get them a car for Christmas? A Fucking CAR?!
HEY! I'm not Santa. I do NOT get involved in that shit, and if
that's the kind of crap you pray for, you ought to be ashamed.
It makes me sick, literally.
I mean, God Damnit, you know? Gotta get more lights than the
neighbors, gotta buy a damn High-Def TV, gotta drink like some
kind of alcoholic PIG so I can STAND to be around the people I'm
supposed LOVE, right? SHIT!
You, you, you, you, you, you, you. It's all about you. Season of
IT'S MY DAMN BIRTHDAY!
Jesus wants some cake and ice cream. Jesus wants to pin the tail
on the damn donkey, unwrap some cool shit, and he wants to see a
damn chocolate cake with real butter cream frosting somebody
made, with two-thousand-six damn candles out and he wants to MAKE A DAMN WISH!
Don't worry. I can blow them all out. Fed a friggin' multitude,
I think I can blow out a few thousand fuckin' candles. And I
don't want that joke kind, the kind that light back up! I'll
fuckin' damn you to hell. Bet on it.
A birthday card. Shit, something. I'm sure it's too much to ask.
I only got crucified.
Okay, look, In Barbara Mandrell's autobiography? She was born on
December 25th right? And her whole life, her whole friggin' life,
on Christmas there'd be two cakes. TWO. One for Barbara and one
for me. That's nice, don't you think?
Barbara Mandrell. Mandrell. Country singer? The Mandrell
sisters? The Barbara and the Mandrell Sister's show? With the
puppet? The Sid and Marty Kroft Barbara Mandrell Puppet?
"Sleeping Single in a Double Bed" Hello?
No. No. of course you don't know who Barbara Mandrell is, cause
she wasn't popular in the last ten minutes. Shit, you barely
know who I am and I'M THE FUCKING SON OF GOD!!!
Sorry. Sorry. Mea Culpa, right? Mea Maxima Culpa. It's just, you
know, I get a little blue on my birthday, what with all the fuss
and all and Santa, and Rudolph, and friggin' Frosty, right? And
none of that shit is even slightly about me, is it?
Screw it, though, you know. If I wanted a pity party I should
have gone into some other line of work. OH! I heard that
nativity movie they have out right now is a complete snooze, so
don't bother. I'm barely even in it. Can you imagine that? Make
a movie about the Prince of Peace and then hardly even show him.
Excuse my French, but what the fuck, am I right?
Anyway, sorry about the spaz attack. Just spare a moment or two
to think of me while you're at the office party contemplating
adultery, all right?
Good night and God Bless,
Prince of Peace.
If you enjoyed this piece, be sure to check out:
My Holiday Memories!