Forgetting BJ at Christmas a big mistake
Well, the holidays are over and it’s back to the grind for all us hard-working folk. I spent Christmas in Jamaica this year, which was a little surreal. Palm trees and curried goat took the place usually filled by snow and turkey, while the drinking I normally do at Christmas was replaced by drinking in a pool. All in all I had a great time.
One thing I realized during hours of introspection on my underwater stool at the pool bar was that Christmas is not about snow or turkey or any of that crap. It’s not even about presents or drinking - it’s about the Baby Jesus. In recent years BJ (Baby Jesus, not blow job or Bon Jovi) has been taken almost completely out of our common conception of what Christmas is all about, and I believe that this is a travesty.
When you think about it, BJ should be the most important part of any Christmas celebration or stop motion animated television special. How have we as a society become so confused about this blessed holiday that we have completely forgotten its meaning? How could we forget the important role that Baby Jesus plays in Christmas? If it wasn’t for Baby Jesus, Christmas wouldn’t even exist. It’s only because of His tireless efforts, flying around the world on Murray his magical mule, and climbing down chimneys and bringing expensive toys to all the rich kids, and less expensive (or even used) ones to the less important poor kids, that we can actually celebrate Christmas at all.
I know what you’re thinking: “But J.Williamez, Santa is the one who does that stuff.” Well, I’d like to respond by saying WAKE THE FUCK UP! There’s no such thing as Santa. There I said it. I bet I’m gonna get a ton of hate mail now saying stupid crap like “Dear J.Williamez, I let my little younglings read your article and now their childhoods are ruined because of the stuff you said about Santa.” Well in pre-emptive response to this, I’d like to point out that I also used the word “FUCK” in all upper case letters.
Maybe you shouldn’t have let your kids read this kind of trash in the first place. In fact, it seems to me that letting a child read the kind of filth that I write for this wonderful publication every week would probably be considered a form of child abuse. So there. Why are you complaining at me when you’re clearly an abusive parent?
Also, I think we should give our kids some credit. Kids aren’t that dumb. They eventually figure out that it’s impossible for a fat man to fit down even one chimney, never mind to have the cardio vascular endurance to fit down the chimney of every Christian or capitalist in the entire world. Since it couldn’t have been Santa bringing us all those presents over the years, there seems to be only one rational explanation. It was the Baby Jesus on a magic mule named Murray. Game, set, match: Williamez.
J.Williamez is a local musician. He plays at Shannon’s Irish Pub every Monday, but don’t bring your kids.
Published in Volume 63, Number 16 of The Uniter (January 15, 2009)