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Thursday, Aug. 25, 2016

When Christmas spirits visit

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I awoke the other night from a light sleep after hearing a noise in the other room. Thinking it was the lousy cat, I tried to go back to sleep but I kept hearing a humming so I went into the other room and there she was. A beautiful woman wearing a bikini was standing there smiling at me with the most innocent look you've ever seen.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," she said. "Not any Christmas I remember," I replied as she grabbed my hand and away we went to a time long ago.

There I was, sitting in my footed pajamas opening up Christmas gifts as my family watched and took pictures. All the Christmas gifts I had ever received flashed in front of my eyes: my first football helmet, the go-cart my dad built, the socks and underwear. Oh what great days.

"Why are you showing me this miss gorgeous ghost," I asked. "Eyes up here," she replied as she pointed to her face. Once again I was back in Christmas past, remembering singing Christmas carols, watching Christmas parades and sitting on Santa's lap, telling the fat man what I wanted for Christmas.

The next thing I remember I was back in my bed and I heard another noise. I looked up and saw a middle-aged woman who looked like she just woke up. She was wearing a bathrobe and silly bunny rabbit slippers.

"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present and don't mention anything about the way I look," she said in a raspy voice. "It's bad enough I've got to follow that cutesy little Christmas Past, but I have to do it in the middle of the night," she complained as she grabbed my hand and off we went.

Now here I was in Christmas present, being told I could no longer say "Merry Christmas" but that I had to say "Happy Holidays" so I wouldn't offend anyone. Santa couldn't say "Ho, ho, ho," because it might be offensive to certain women.

Christmas was now commercialized and I saw myself Christmas shopping, getting run over by old ladies trying to get the last box of Depends, I guess. I saw my face redden and I heard myself exclaim, "I hate Christmas."

"Am I supposed to feel bad?" I asked the Spirit. "Christmas isn't what it used to be. It's no longer fun, but a pain." The Spirit shook her head and back to sleep I went.

A little later I awoke again, this time to an old, decrepit lady wearing a "Ghost of Holiday's Future" T-shirt. She didn't speak and looked like her jaw would fall off if she tried. So the old hag smacked me in the head with her cane and away we went into the future.

And there I was, still with a full head of hair I might add, on Christmas Day 20 years in the future. Only I looked on the calendar and it wasn't Christmas anymore, it was just "Winter Holiday." I turned on the television and there were no more Christmas movies.

I then picked up a copy of the Standard Democrat and on the front page was a story on the demise of Christmas. Apparently some people weren't happy with a Santa Claus figure that was an old, hairy man who wanted kids to sit on his lap. That mixed with the idiots at PETA who didn't like images of reindeer pulling a sleigh and Santa was gone.

The PC police, whoever they might be, deemed the day Christmas as politically incorrect and the day was changed to "Winter Holiday." Christmas trees were replaced by "Holiday trees," and "Winter Holiday" was turned into nothing but a dreaded event.

"Can this be changed?" I asked the old hag and just as she was about to answer I felt another smack on my head. I opened my eyes and there was my wife.

"You're late for work," she said. "You've got to stop taking NyQuil before you go to sleep."

NyQuil or not, I realized I must save Christmas. Never will I say "Happy Holidays," and I won't make fun of Santa Claus anymore, even though I think it is weird that we've made a hero out of a fat man that is known for breaking and entering and hangs out with elves. Now if I can just find those footed pajamas maybe I can save Christmas after all.

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