It was the worst of times in America, bloody body parts strewn in the streets, half-eaten sandwiches rapidly growing mold, and reruns. It was cold; steam formed and rose from the fresher corpses. It was the new “typical” Midwestern Christmas. It was just ten years ago! A wave of paranoia accompanied by the brutal sub-zero polar vortex winds swept through the streets, packed with last minute holiday shoppers, who bravely sidestepped all the decomposing flesh lying on the street like so much dog manure.

There were lots of nervous eye contact, and an unspoken urgency held in check just under their breaths. One man said, “Happy holidays,” to people he considered “foreigners” before blowing up in smithereens. He so wanted to say “Merry Christmas”, but couldn’t. It just wasn’t enough. It was like burping instead of outright throwing up, too much internal pressure, some gastric science, and then, boom, instantaneous combustion.

Remember, these were the worst of times, you couldn’t say “Merry Christmas” anymore in America. It was politically incorrect, thus offensive, thus depending on what color your skin was, a crime against humanity. The only time you could utter the words was in the secrecy of private Christian conversations at the local speakeasies, otherwise called churches. For God’s sake that was only once a week.

Imagine that you are a pressure cooker and saying Merry Christmas is the release valve. Without the Merry Christmases, you are going to blow the fuck up. Fact! When history catches up, 2008 will go down as the year World War III really began.

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