The Caucasian-in-Chief is noted for taking credit for things he doesn’t do, like the economy and Melania, but claiming he restored Christmas to its place in the pantheon of American holidays is a bold new advance in the chutzpah field, even for him. If any of you recall Christmas being defunct during the years BT, raise your hand.
No, Christmas continued with all of its tinselly splendor throughout the Obama Administration and many eons prior. That man even had the nerve to put up a big Christmas tree in front of the White House and wish us “Merry Christmas” every single year he stained America’s honor by being a black guy running the country. The image of him standing there, being black, with his black wife and his black kids, and having Christmas is burned indelibly into some people’s brains. For eight years, they couldn’t even listen to “White Christmas” without falling into a black rage.
The privilege of saying “Merry Christmas” never went away, however. Sure, some, if not all, major corporations went with “Happy Holidays,” instead, recognizing that they were making money off of non-believers as well as Christians, and did not want to offend them and cause them to go off and contribute to some other corporation’s profits. If you listen carefully, you’ll notice they still do. None of them have started saying, “Merry Christmas in your face, Jews.”
The rest of us were free to say “Merry Christmas,” “Ho, ho, ho,” “Bah, humbug,” or even “If I have to listen to All I Want for Christmas Is You one more fucking time before December 25th I’m going on a rampage, I swear,” as much as we wanted.
Like most of the things Trump claims to have done, he didn’t really do it and it doesn’t really matter. If you think the season is best celebrated by a fat billionaire lolling around his mansion in Florida with his five spoiled kids from three wives, stuffing his face with food and bragging to all of his cronies about the big tax break he just handed them for the holidays, rather than watching that black fellow and his family sitting in the pews at some mundane Episcopalian church in DC, this Christmas is an occasion for joy for you.
Or you may think a bigger and more disgusting parallel could not be drawn between the humble manger scene and the spectacle of selfish splendor that Trump constructs around himself every day of the year.
You have to admit that Jesus and Trump have something in common, though—they both demand you kiss their asses before they’ll do anything for you.
Guess I've aired enough grievances for today. Happy Festivus, everybody.