I had a vision this morning after eating some week-old ham. In it, Jesus was petitioning the audience of the Republican National Convention to please take his name out of our word “Christmas.”
“I’ve been, you know, keeping an eye on things,” He said, “and–while I’m flattered and everything, truly–I really have to respectfully ask not to be associated with the holiday, I mean, as it’s celebrated today, which is sort of, you know, very upsetting to me, and I think to most people.” His powerpoint included clips from Rick Perry’s profoundly disturbing campaign ad as well as commercials from Lexus, Mercedes and the entire Infiniti “snowball” series, with one commercial played in its entirety:
“I would just ask Infiniti,” Jesus said, “what’s that supposed to mean? I get that the guy in the BMW is supposed to be a douchebag, but the guy in the Infiniti isn’t, right? I mean, the ad’s for Infiniti, but their douchebag not only fails to turn the other cheek and rise above the situation, but instead actually recruits children to pelt the Beamer douche. And just the look on both guy’s faces–particularly the Infiniti guy at the end,” Jesus visibly shuddered at the recollection, “it’s just horrible. Horrible and truly mean-spirited. Sort of ‘soul-ugly,’ if you know what I mean.” Jesus squinted out into the bright lights obscuring the crowd, lifting his upturned palms as if offering them all something invisible and roughly the size of a beach ball. “Does that make sense?” He asked. “And what’s going on in these commercials, anyway? I get the, ‘We’re vacationing at our ski chalet’ affluence, part, which–really, I mean, every time I think it’s been overdone, you go even further. But why do Dad and the BMW guy keep driving a half a mile up the mountain and then back down every day? Is there like a brokerage firm inside the ski lodge? Do they ski in ties and carrying their briefcases? It’s like some kind of strange, fucked-up world where you have a perfect home and car and family and kids and stuff, but they’re all trapped inside your freaky nightmare corporate snowglobe eternal Winter of material gain and one-upmanship. What a bleak world. Who would do that to a child?”
Here, Jesus sort of trailed off, shaking his head, before regaining His composure a bit and leaning forward into the microphone. Somewhere in the crowd, Sarah Palin’s husband whispered, to no one in particular, “He looks more like Clint Eastwood than you’d have thought.”
“But seriously,” Jesus was concluding, “just stick with the ‘X’ on there. What with all the Roman human sacrifices and depravity and Saturnalia-crap, including some horrible mistreatment of religious minorities, and now this,” Jesus said, waving his hands in the general direction of his now dark presentation screen and everything. “I’d really rather just stay out of it. Please.”
And that was it. Herman Cain was on deck to lead a prayer and super-brief inspirational speech for America, and the sense that Jesus had really overstayed His welcome was palpable at this point, but He turned back to the microphone and added, “But, seriously, those Infiniti commercials are just sick,” before acknowledging that a RNC representative was about to escort Him off stage.
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