Happy Xmas. War is over.
I have come into possession of a series of dispatches from the War on Christmas. I reproduce them here for the record.
Day One: The predawn assault by the enemy’s reindeer brigade was repulsed with heavy enemy losses. The enemy general made the incredible tactical blunder of placing LT Rudolph in the front rank, alerting our gunners that an attack was imminent. Our soldiers inflicted an incredible 77.8% casualty rate on the assault element.
We eat well tonight.
Day Five: No matter how jauntily they wear their top hats, snowmen are no match for flamethrowers. The enemy general either seriously underestimates our capacity or overestimates his own. Alternatively, he could be insane.
Day Eleven: Today, we prepared to meet another enemy attack. Strangely, the enemy force consisted of a woman on a donkey and a man. Puzzled, I sent a squad to flank and capture this odd unit. In interrogation, the woman and man claimed that she was a virgin, yet also was pregnant. We instructed them in the basics of human physiology and gave them the number of a good couple’s counselor.
Day Twelve: The enemy sent the elite Kwanzaa Korps against our lines this morning. Expecting such a ploy, I had a strategy at the ready. I had a sentry challenge the enemy force and ask them what they were there to do; they couldn’t answer, as no one knew. Confused, they fell back.
Day Nineteen: Proton packs made short work of the ghosts of Christmas. That all you got, Claus?
Day Thirty-three: The enemy actually tried a decent ploy. He sent a spy into our base under cover of darkness. He was, apparently, a mutant, as he was covered in green hair from head to toe. The spy was attempting to steal food, equipment, and secrets. The stratagem failed: He died while in our base; the autopsy found that his heart was three times too large, and it burst. We got lucky this time.
Day Thirty-six: The Bubbeh Brigade mounted what we thought would be an assault; however, they just gave us all a nice mug cocoa and some warm socks. Too bad they won’t be back again this season. And this soup is delicious.
Day Forty-nine: Six enemy divisions dropped dead today when a cashier in the K-mart in Casper, Wyoming said “Happy Holidays” to a shopper.
Day Sixty: Every fracas ain’t a victory. Must reconfigure guns to depress low enough to hit elves. In positive news, the enemy’s ammunition appears to be gumdrops. No casualties on our side.
Day Sixty-seven: A three-camel column (the enemy soldiers were surprisingly well dressed) was surrounded and destroyed. We no longer lack myrrh.
Day Seventy-two: All was calm; all was bright thanks to the illumination flare. All was calm, that is, until the enemy tripped the claymores. The rattle of automatic weapons ensued, and another pointless and wasteful enemy attack was repulsed. The assault phase begins soon.
Day Eighty-four: We besieged the enemy’s factories today. After a brief resistance, the defenders surrendered. However, despite the fact that our attack was no secret, the enemy did not retool the factories to make munitions; rather, we found toys (which we plan to distribute). The enemy general’s sanity remains in doubt.
Day Eighty-eight: Gingerbread redoubts and fortifications are no match for modern weapons. Or ancient weapons. Or a good rainstorm, for that matter. I knew we weren’t facing Sun Tzu, but this is starting to get ridiculous.
Day Ninety-five: Elves are particularly susceptible to grazing fire. We should be entering the enemy’s citadel soon.
Day Ninety-nine: The enemy commander, in desperation, has unleashed a biological attack. However, in keeping with his general level of incompetence, he used a human rhinovirus. This has slowed the pace of our assault for a day and necessitated an emergency resupply of Kleenex, but that is the extent of the damage done.
Day One Hundred Four: This has turned into a war of emancipation. These elves, it seems, have been pressed into service by the enemy commander for use as cannon fodder. Prior to the war, they worked without pay in conditions that would make a Chinese factory owner blush. We have declared a general amnesty for any elf who lays down his or her miniature arms.
Day One Hundred Eleven: The final push into the enemy’s ruined citadel is underway. Resistance is light due to the mass desertion of the elf labor force. Tomorrow the enemy commander will be either dead or in custody. Happy Holidays.
Day One Hundred Twelve: We have captured the enemy commander. Rather than coordinating his defenses or destroying incriminating documents, he was praying to an idol of a baby in an animal trough. He will be placed on trial for war crimes as soon as possible; additionally, he claims to have committed over 17 quintillion acts of breaking and entering. Hopefully, he will be deemed sane enough for trial.
Followup: After a lengthy trial, the enemy commander was sentenced to death by hanging. I was on the scaffold to witness his end. And I heard him exclaim, as he dropped out of sight, “I’ll see you in hell!” Then the rope played out tight.
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little jaunt. Seriously, though, what amuses me most about the whole “War on Christmas” bullshit is that the occasion, if you’re a Christian, is supposed to be joyous–you know, the promise of redemption being realized and all that. And these humorless scolds have to ruin it for themselves and everyone else by acting as the proper greeting police. Just relax and be smug in the knowledge that those of us who don’t believe in your fairy tale will go to hell, would ya?