Our Father who art in Heaven...
Merry Christmas.
So it's that time of the year again where I dress up all nice and spiffy and don a masque to hide my true self behind, where I put up a little pangeant for my family. It's that time again where I pretend to be something I'm not around a group of pretentious nimwits who feign compassion and understanding for me, the proverbial 'lost lamb' who strayed from the flock. They don't care for me, it's just that darn "Family Love" check box on their 'The Spirit of Christmas' rubric.
Don't you just love Christmas?
Before we dig into the delictable carcasses displayed on the dinner table, someone says a little Christmas prayer for us all. My eyes wandered on with nonchalance as my aunt lead us in an invocation. In my mind, the prayer went something like:
"Our father who art in heaven whose name is so holy that we dare not utter it here, hallowed be thy kingdom come: which seems to bear a striking resemblance with insurgent riots in Fallujah as seen on TV. Bless us this day where we gather in a more fortunate part of your scorched earth. Bless the carcasses of these animals we slaughtered (like our own foreign brethren) to feed our insatiable hunger for flesh and our penchant for sadism. Yea, heavenly father here we are all nice, fine and dandy this blessed day. For just one day this year: we're all actually together, not because we like to but, because we have to. God the father, please give me the patience to tolerate: my gay cousin who brought his caucasian boyfriend--- my brother, the drunk, who still owes me ten thousand bucks for paying for his honeymoon expenses-- my ex-husband who had the nerve to bring his girlfriend with him and who, I hear, owns an engagement ring twice the value of the one he gave me-- and my insufferable mom who's filthy rich and whose death we're all eagerly awaiting so we can claim the spoils. Heavenly father, bless us this day: a happy, blessed family united in Christ."
Like I said, "Merry Christmas."