What God Wants for Christmas

Now first, I have to 'fess up. Mrs. Wiggy pointed me at James Lileks' blog today, and I read it and laughed like a maniac for ten minutes. So you really oughta read and enjoy his blog, and then if you feel feel like not laughing, come back here again:

James Lileks' the bleat

I laughed so hard that I had to email a couple of my coworkers to let them know what was so dang funny. I emailed them the link and then waited to hear the gales of laughter emerging from their cubicles. Nothing. Wait some more more. Maybe they're slow readers. Nothing. Hmmm.

OK, I could not take the suspense anymore and wandered over to their cubes to see if they had bothered to read the thing. They had. Didn't find it amusing.

Well, it is one thing to realize that one has a 'different' sense of humor than most of the rest of the world. It is another yet again to have one's nose rubbed in it. I prepared to sigh deeply and shrug it off. After all, I still have beer to look forward to when I get home tonight. They have to go home and be themselves - a worse punishment I cannot imagine.

But one of my coworkers, a born-again type who seems to like me ok even though he is certain that as a Catholic, I am going straight to Hell, came over and told me how sad the story made him. Sad? I thought it was hilarious! He allowed that yes, it was funny in a certain sense, but that it struck a bit too close to home for him to laugh at.

Ah, now we get to something interesting! Tragedy befalls earnest coworker, film at eleven. I prepared to suppress my impending grin and asked him to tell me more. And he did.

First of all, you have to understand that in the part of the USA where Mrs. Wiggy and I live, religion is a major component of people's lives. And the religion of choice is a fundamental brand of evangelical Christianity. Not quite snake-handling (as far as I know), but not that far from it, either. I won't go into all that right now, but you might recall I once blogged on the topic of The Guardian for television - some kind of naughty word bleeper you can buy and hook up to your TV - I had laughed about it, and found out that I was surrounded by people who own several of them and and give them as gifts. Are you with me?

So, my friend and coworker, Gamaliel Mishmannah, told me about What God Wants for Christmas (TM).




You see, What God apparently wants for Christmas is for all His believers to buy a box that has a bunch of smaller boxes inside, all done up like Christmas presents, plus a Nativity scene. You buy this for your kids, and they like it.

Ever day, the kid opens a box. Inside, there is a character that belongs in the Nativity. You read the biblical lesson that goes with that character, and the kid places the character in the correct place in the manger scene, and you go on like that, day by day. The last day, of course (not to be a spoiler), is the Baby Jesus character, followed by one more surprise (I'm coming to that).

So, the first day, my buddy Gamaliel gives his kid, Nibshan, a box to open. Inside, an angel with a horn. When Gammy told me that, I thought he said "horns" and not "horn." An angel with horns? "Gammy!" I told him, "You've got demons in your Jesus-Box!" But Gammy explained to me that he meant one horn, and a musical instrument type horn at that. Ah. Much less entertaining, but more predictable, I guess. Still, seems like it could be fun - a game where UP POPS THE DEVIL ever so often to scare the bajabbers out of the little tyke. Hours of fun. Anyway. Now you see why I am not a parent.

Little Nibby is delighted. However, during the reading of the significance of the presence of angels at the Nativity, Nibby managed to break off the angel's wings, followed by his musical horn and his head. My pal Gammy remained nonplussed, and continued with the reading of the lesson, and grimly placed the remaining angel fuselage in the appropriate place in the Nativity, so he could gurgle his exhaltations at the appropriate time, I guess.

I can see it all now, "G'nork! G'nork!" the Herald Angels sing, "G'nork! to the newborn King..."

Next day, it was more of the same type of ritual abuse. The Three Wise Men were apparently not wise enough to avoid having Nibby suck the paint off 'em, so they were more or less The Wise Three Pillars of Salt. Mary was carried off by the family cat, and Joseph was basically okay until he fell on the floor and was inadvertantly sucked up by the vacuum cleaner the next day. I don't want to be struck by lightning, so let's just say that Baby Jesus was abused in a number of ways that make scourging and cross-carrying seem like the least of His worries. If He were to come today, He'd be in Holy Foster Care, and Child Protective Services would have a lot of work to do.

So, you come to the last box, when the child is supposed to open it, revealing What God Wants for Christmas. Well, not to ruin the story, but it's a box with a mirror in it. The kid is supposed to look inside and twig to the fact that what God really wants is him. But kids are kinda literal, in my experience. Nibby opened the box, and saw the mirror. Gammy said, expectantly, "So...what do you think God wants for Christmas?" Nibby immediately replied "A box with a mirror in it. So God can see what He looks like."

Gammy told me this story without a twinkle in his eye - no, to him, it was a serious retelling of a sad event in his life, and the reason why he didn't find James Lileks very amusing. He was even afraid to retell this story to his less blasphemous friends, as they might burst into flames or something just for hearing about this sacrilege committed by the seed of his loins.

And me, I'm thinking of a Nativity scene with Three Wise Pillars of Salt, a headless Angel gurgling Exhaltations, Mary ascended bodily into Wherever The Cat Took Her, Joseph discovering that life really does suck, and Baby Jesus tortured beyond endurance by a small child and his mouth - while God Demands to Know What He Really Looks Like in a Mirror. I tried not to laugh, I really did. Well, I held it in too hard - ended up farting. And then I laughed anyway, 'cause you know, farts are funny. And at work, yet. Sigh. This is not going to look good on my permanent record.

I am going straight to Hell, because God help me, I found the entire thing a tad amusing. And if you laughed at this at all, you're all going there with me. You're welcome.

Merry Christmas,

Wigwam Jones & the Eternally Suffering Mrs. Wiggy
Fiona, Zone Five, & Diarmuid (the cats - fluffy, sneaky, and huge, respectively)
Molly & Milo (the Dogs of the Apocolypse, floor-eating dibolical cat-poop-eating slobber machines)