The Christmas Story
Each year around the holidays, my parents have a party for a bunch of highly conservative middle-aged people. As per tradition, I have written a “Christmas story” for the occasion. Typically, my story includes each of the guests as different characters, but I decided to change it up this time around; in light of the recent provincial and federal elections, I thought it would be funny to make it into a “Politically Correct” Holiday Tale- and, in being surrounded by several anti-liberals, I was able to take such liberties without worry of offending our rather right-wing crowd. As for me, I’m Bi- in the political sense, anyway. It’s times like these that it’s fun to swing both ways. So here it is- a politically correct Christmas tale.
T’was the night before Solstice, and in the duplex
An interracial, gay couple was about to have- coffee
Their children were all snuggled in for the night
And plugged into the wall was their eco-night light
They had no decorations, tasteful or eccentric
For a holiday they found downright ethno-centric
Save Rachel Notley’s picture, which hung over the mantle
Surrounded by several a’ non-toxic candle
Their home roasted beans lined the grinder with care
They were locally sourced, from a trade that was fair
But while coffee was brewing, there rose a great quarrel
Over whether the beans said “organic” on the label
And while this was happening, they didn’t take note
Of a rather large stranger in red fuzzy coat
Tromping through their kale garden and into their place
Almost knocking their philosophy books off the case
Now they noticed the man, who was awfully plump
In a bellowing voice he said, “The name’s Donald Trump
I am here to bring Christmas to this empty house
Because Christmas is what America’s all about
Not Channukah, not Qurannukah, or whatever they say
All those left-ist communists, try as I may.
After all, I think Christmas means a little bit more,
What other holiday can you buy from a store?”
The couple, uncomfortable, looked at the floor.
What is it? He asked? Am I some kind of rogue?
Have my snide comments put me no longer in vogue?
The partners looked all ‘round their new- furnished space
Lit stylishly by a non-fossil-fuelled fireplace
And noted with pride: they had no Christmas tree
No garlands, mistletoe, nutcracker or wreath
That symbolized their conformity to a culture
That they felt caused minority groups to suffer
That is, until Trump, a flash of yellow hair
Had converted their home to his own Christmas lair
There were gingerbread cookies, surely GMOs
several sexist toys- revealed by their pink bows
There was even a turkey- Trump wasn’t just bluffing
I’ll bet, said one man, it’s not gluten-free stuffing!
The pair was quite skeptical, perhaps the reason
Was the intruder imposed their whole holiday season
In fact, he was so loud he woke up their kids
Paltrow and Blossom, well, right in they slid
Upon seeing the spread, both their faces lit up
They ran right to the eggnog, and each had a cup
Both their dads exclaimed, my daughter! My son!
Haven’t we drilled in their heads dairy’s poison?
Come on, Blossom, don’t you know what’s right?
And Paltrow, you’re intolerant to egg white!
Mr. Trump only laughed, deep, jolly, and evil
All the while, his true aim had been social upheaval
So he went on his way, his work here was done
Although being the president might have been fun
And the kids, with their toys, smiled the deep toothy smiles
That consumerism brings about once in a while
And their dads exchanged glances, and gave up the fuss
Saying “Not everyone likes Christmas, but it can still be for us.”