Season’s Yeetings

Dec 17, 2025

WARNING: The following contains elements of sarcasm, droll humor, parody, and otherwise snarky commentary. Or, as we used to say in Catholic school, I am really going to hell for this one. Read on.

I was just thinking about the idea of celebrating Christmas and when it officially became a thing. I know that the heathens observed the winter solstice for many years before Joseph and Mary checked in to the shittiest Airbnb in Bethlehem. It didn’t even have a door much less windows. But the ventilation and central air were the best.

The holiday retail season didn’t really pick up until after the 4^th century and the first Nicaean Council, when those assembled took a vote and Jesus was elevated from Triple A to Major League status. Members of the academy also decided to co-opt the winter solstice as the birth date of the new addition to the deity trio. More on that in a moment.

During that first council it was also decided that the Negroni would become the official cocktail of Christianity, with its perfect alchemy of equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin, not unlike the new and improved holy trinity. A protracted debate over which ingredient represented what specific member of the trio went on for over a week. Finally, after a highly contested vote, it was decided that Campari was Jesus, vermouth the holy ghost (later to be renamed the holy spirit), and gin was God the father. The world has been sipping Negronis ever since. The Italians do it better than anyone.

So December 21^st became Jesus’s birthday. In time, most of the pagans were either converted or killed off so the winter solstice celebration thing waned. Then the power brokers in Rome moved the big day to the 25^th. Not long after, the first Walmart opened in Byzantium in the financial district. No doubt parking was tight. It still is. At least the greeter was multi-lingual. Shopping was relegated to daylight hours because the interior lighting was bad. Nowadays we have electricity which facilitates late night shopping. But the greeters can only speak two languages: English and bad English.

So the very idea of Christmas, and how and when it’s celebrated, have changed through the ages. At times, scare tactics have been used to keep kids in line. There’s the threat of a gift-wrapped lump of coal if they didn’t shape up and fly right. Then there’s Krampus, a hideous beast who terrifies children who haven’t been good for goodness’ sake. Oddly enough, Krampus is eerily like the devil in appearance with cloven hooves, horns, a long, pointed tongue, and fangs. Proving once again, if you can’t beat ‘em, co-opt ‘em.

What of Christmas now, in this day and age of hyper-political correctness, where everyone and everything is under constant scrutiny? Should we reign in our seasonal exuberance and shallow consumerism? I say no to all of the above. In keeping with the true holiday spirit, we should rewrite the Christmas story to embrace all cultures and beliefs, even those that are fiction—as in science fiction. In which case, the new version of the Christmas story might be something like the following.

And Jesus arrived in the early hours on that cold and snowy Christmas morning after hitching a ride on the Millennium Falcon. He was transported down to the Terran surface where he met up with St. Nicholas and Spot, St. Nick’s velociraptor. After a hearty and hale greeting, Santa offered Jesus a nip off a bottle of Braulio. Then the duo took off on Spot, who handled the deep snow like a pro. In minutes, the trio arrived at a large A-frame cabin. Inside, Mary, Joseph, and the 11 of the 12 apostles were in the kitchen noshing on a sumptuous holiday spread. In the corner, Mary Magdalene was serving up eggnog spiked with Jack Daniels and frosty bottles of Sierra Nevada Celebration IPA. Judas was a no show once again because he was serving time for shoplifting and petty theft. Meanwhile, a huge fire was roaring in the hearth. No more drafty manger nonsense.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous knock at the door. Peter answered and gave Jesus and Nick a vicious bro-hug. “The big guy is here!” he called out. Everyone rushed the door in response. “My usual,” Jesus called out to Mary M, giving her a wink. She immediately concocted a perfect Negroni for his endlessness, making sure to measure equal parts so the magic of the spiritous trinity could take place. The vermouth was Carpano Antica and the gin was Plymouth 80-proof, in case you’re keeping score.

Before Jesus could make the rounds, another knock came at the door. It was the Bob and Emily Cratchit with their brood. Tiny Tim riding was riding Scrooge’s shoulder, just like in the book.

After the late comers were welcomed, coats were hung in the massive hall closet and refreshments offered. It was then, and only then, that a Christmas toast was offered.

“Happy Christmas!” cried Joseph and Mary.

“Bite me, Krampus!” said Scrooge.

“Shit’s the weasel!” yelled St. Nick

“I am the rock!” said Peter

“You are the man!” said Jesus.

“God bless us, everyone!” said Tiny Tim

Jesus smiled. And then he did just that.

“Who needs another drink?” said Mary Magdalene.