Oh, sure, some people are out there fighting…people who humorously vandalize nativity scenes and atheists who pay for billboards that piss off their neighbors—billboards that say things like “The only difference between Jesus and Santa Claus is that, eventually, your parents have to tell you there is no Santa Claus.”
Starbucks always gets in trouble for its Christmas cups. Last year they were too plain—just solid reds and greens. They were not Christmasy enough for Christmas partisans, who demanded that Starbucks produce cups as holiday festive as one of those neighborhoods where the HOA makes you use the equivalent of the national budget of Honduras burning Christmas lights for a month.
Starbucks responded by really frilling up their cups this year, but its critics are not satisfied, because some of them think they see a pair of “lesbian hands” clasped together on the cup.
Why this is an anti-Yule message they do not make clear. Is Christmas a holiday for everyone except lesbians? Are lesbians not allowed to snuggle by the fireplace in lesbian Christmases? Because they certainly are in lesbian porn.
Here we just think “Lesbian Hands” would be an okay name for an all-male punk rock band. We don’t find lesbian hands, if that’s what they are, particularly offensive or even noticeable, especially when that Starbuck’s Christmas cup holds the coffee that we hope will at least partially offset the blinding holiday hangover we woke up with.
Certainly, none of the vapid Christmas specials that clog the cable channels this time of year are titled “A Lesbian Christmas,” or something equivalent, although this column is grateful that they don’t make that show, because there are already plenty of syrupy Hallmark Channel Christmas movies out there, movies that force you to wonder whether it’s the hack writing, the wooden acting or the terrible music that is the worst thing about them.
Inevitably, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” catches us unaware when we are passing in front of the TV and we flinch, because around here, we don’t give a crap about what kind of Christmas dimensionally challenged imaginary children are having.
In the meantime, the Caucasian-in-Chief plans on giving himself, his family, his Cabinet and assorted other billionaires something to be thankful for when the sun comes up on Christmas, a brand spanking new tax break that will make them all even richer. But that is in the spirit of the season, because we all give our most precious gifts to our family and friends, and for passing strangers we care not a bit, unless they come to our door singing carols.
Then we might give them a dollop of eggnog, like we might get a hundred bucks extra back from the IRS for a few years, and send them on their way thinking they ought to be grateful for it.
And they should be. Grateful for the eggnog, that is. It really helps with those hangovers.