Witt: A Christmas Story

Witt: A Christmas Story

 

I received a Christmas card yesterday from my friend, Chrystal Lee. I don’t get many. I put it above the fireplace. Sitting alone last night, I found myself looking at it for the longest time. I live alone, and don’t set up a tree or anything. Pam does that in the other house. Basically, that card is my only ornament. Now, before you start thinking that I’m a bitter old prick, I’m not, but somehow that card put me into a melancholy mood. Whiskey helps. Doctors say it’s bad for you, but there are more old drunks than there are old doctors.

By and by my thoughts centered on recent events. Just by chance I caught a little bit of “A Christmas Story,” on Netflix, but didn’t watch it all because my mind began to turn out a more current Christmas Story. I thought of the fourteen in San Bernardino.  I thought about their husbands, wives, kids, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and all their friends and co-workers, and I considered what their Christmas must be like. The funerals, the empty plate, the clothes still hanging in the closet, the empty desk at work. Yes, Allah was truly great that day. He certainly spread a lot of holiday cheer, didn’t he?

It is hard enough to lose a grandparent, or someone who has been ill for a very long time, but to lose someone who simply went to an office party is horrific. There is no preparation, no understanding, nothing! Just loss, and pain, and the pain will never go away, and the hole in your heart will never completely heal. I thought of the children left behind. If you think such an event is rough on adults, put yourself in their shoes. On one hand is the expectation of Santa, only this time they have to look at mommy, or daddy in a box, and the big people try to explain to you how they are in heaven, but you don’t really know where that’s at, only that they won’t be coming home with you.

So I lit another cigarette, poured another glass of Jim Beam, and thought of Paris. If San Bernardino gives you pause, Paris is overwhelming. The city of light. A concert transformed into a field of death. One minute, music and laughter, and the next, chaos! A man running for his life, leaving his dead wife because of his age and inability to simply drag her body out of the building. Seems Allah doesn’t like parties, and certainly doesn’t get into music, and happiness.

I don’t spread it all around but I don’t pray. I talk to Jesus all through my day. Now, don’t get me wrong, He doesn’t talk back, that’s schizophrenia, but thoughts, from without form in my mind, such as this article. The Lord said that if someone hits you, then you should turn the other cheek, but He also said that one day you would have to sell your coat, and buy a sword. My friend, Doc Greene, updates that and says we should buy a gun. Just by chance I watched a retired police officer explaining that most beat cops want an armed citizenry. It’s only the chiefs and upper end that bow and scrape to the politicians, and advocate gun control.

Some Muslim cleric said last week that to say, “Merry Christmas” was worse than murder. Well, he doesn’t have to worry about that. Allah certainly took the “Merry” out of Christmas, now didn’t he? Then the message of the card became clear. Rise up, Patriots, we have work to do!

 

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

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