We are All Soldiers in the Real War on Christmas

Good citizens, a brief moment, if you would.

Please, let us not forget that “Merry Christmas” means the same thing to dutiful Satan Claus worshiping consumers as it does to dutiful Baby-Jesus worshiping consumers.

And, do you know what else means the same thing to patriotic gift-givers of all stripes?
“Happy Holidays.”

The pundits on the spirit box, fueled by the division that they themselves create, are shouting at you about their so-called War on Christmas, which they’ve constructed solidly out of sturdy desperation. But remember, loyal borrowers, faithful patrons, conduits of equity, the real War on Christmas is being waged by these people.

The enemy is not your well-wishing fellow patrons, your inclusive-minded civic leaders nor is it any of these people’s choice of language in their seasonal greetings. The real enemies are the Grinches, Scrooges and Terrorists’ Stooges who have nothing on their Christmas lists; who have not one gift-giving bone in their frail bodies; who long to receive nothing less in their stockings this year than the complete collapse of this great nation’s economy.

Think about this, generous givers, the next time you feel that coming to blows with one of your fellow Mall sojourners is necessary; because some spirit box shouter told you that they are stifling your religious freedom with utterances the likes of “Happy Holidays” or “Seasons Greetings”: You are all in this season of giving together. You all drive this economy together, with the massive volume of your overflowing generosity. Wish each other well in your own way. Understand that the spirit of well wishing and bounteous gift-giving is, and must be, universal.

If someone’s really got your goat, let it be known. Outspend that pagan miscreant. Show them the extent of true devotion to this glorious celebration. Let your shining example be their guiding light. Whether you fancy yourself as Rudolph, or the Christmas Star, show them that the path to your brand of enlightenment . . . passes through the checkout counter that just opened up in lane eight. Hurry!

Io, Saturnalia!