Bah-humbug 1 (with little to do with zombies)

Because I thought I was funny I came up with the three phases of Jesus: the cutey cute lil’ baby Jesus in the manger, the full grown handsome-hippy Jesus, and then the rolled-the stone-away, walking-dead, zombie-Jesus. And it was the walking-dead zombie-Jesus that would get you if you didn’t watch out. With his Holy Ghost and put the whole thing all over you so you’d go to heaven. Which would’ve been easy enough, I think. Except somebody got it wrong and nowadays you spend the days before His birth nearly bankrupting yourself and your offspring consume you from lack of protein because they’ve been eating crap and chocolate for three weeks because you’ve dragged them all over the eastern seaboard and back for two months trying to make everybody happy. Sorry lil Henry won’t eat your Crab Bisque. But Aren’t you happy to see us? Good deal, cause there ain’t no fucking work come January cause everybody else shot their wad too. Back there at the Big Lots and the WalMart. Where the food is and the diapers that I didn’t spend the money on, Oh Lord, Thank You Baby Jesus, but dig this, you’ve fucked me once again. Yes, I blame you, shivering there in the hay, next to the donkey, carved out of whatever passes for balsa-wood in China, for the fact that my infant daughter is crying right now, and for my student loan debt, and for George W. Bush. Well maybe not the last couple, but some day Jesus, you, me and Linus will go to the North Pole and assassinate Santa Claus and put everything right. Starting with the 700 club.