'Twas two weeks before Christmas, when all through the land
Everyone was so angry, and taking a stand.
People online were spouting their ire,
And innocent victims were hit with crossfire.
We were bundled up warm in holiday sweaters,
With Christmastime movies, there is nothing better.
Call me eccentric, call me unwise,
But it just isn't Christmas 'til Hans Gruber dies.
When my phone alert sounded, so loud and so strong,
I opened it up to see what was wrong.
Notifications and updates galore,
My phone burned so hot, I dropped it and swore.
My screen was aglow with new messages of
Facebook and Twitter, and they weren't filled with love.
I've always loved Christmas, you can't dampen my cheer,
But the Internet smiled and said "Hold my beer."
With an angry complaint from a bitter aggressor,
He looked like he'd die from soaring blood pressure.
"There's way too much Christmas," he said with a shout.
"I'm being smothered, day in and day out."
His outrage rang out, his manner offended,
No one could tell if it was real or pretended.
He had many things to be bitter about,
And he shared them all with us in a verbal freak out.
"Our gluttonous mindset has me all miffed,
"What kind of boob buys a car as a gift?
"I'm sick of this holiday," he said in rebuke.
"Our Christmastime greed and our Christmas tree puke!"
"I'm getting so tired of the retailers' rush
To bury us all in this Christmas-y crush.
"And the radio stations all playing those songs,
Have turned this great season into something too long."
And then with a jingling, my phone did re-chime,
With answers and updates that responded in kind.
"Fake news!" they said with fury and hate,
"You must not disparage this holy date."
Their rage - how it burned! Their ears, they did smoke
Their cheeks were afire, were they having a stroke?
They clutched at their pearls in fierce disapproval
They clamored for blood and his earthly removal.
"That's War On Christmas," they said with clenched teeth,
And leading the mob was some dude named Keith.
He had a round jaw and a pumpkin-sized skull,
His eyes were like shark's eyes, soulless and dull.
"This time of Christ's birth is one we all share,
"And so I will say, God please hear my prayer,
"With divine retribution and death you'll be struck,
"By the good Lord above, you heathenish freak!"
So they argued and fought and pointed out flaws,
And proclaimed their devotion to dear Jesus Claus.
But I wanted the fighting and anger to cease,
This is a season of love and of peace.
So I followed the Bard without much ado,
"This above all: To thine own self be true."
I posted my message to cut through the clatter,
Three simple words: "All Holidays Matter."
Photo credit: 'Santa's Portrait' by Thomas Nast, published in Harper's Weekly, 1881 (Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain)
The 3rd edition of Branding Yourself is now available on Amazon.com and in your local Barnes & Noble bookstore.
Everyone was so angry, and taking a stand.
People online were spouting their ire,
And innocent victims were hit with crossfire.
With Christmastime movies, there is nothing better.
Call me eccentric, call me unwise,
But it just isn't Christmas 'til Hans Gruber dies.
When my phone alert sounded, so loud and so strong,
I opened it up to see what was wrong.
Notifications and updates galore,
My phone burned so hot, I dropped it and swore.
My screen was aglow with new messages of
Facebook and Twitter, and they weren't filled with love.
I've always loved Christmas, you can't dampen my cheer,
But the Internet smiled and said "Hold my beer."
With an angry complaint from a bitter aggressor,
He looked like he'd die from soaring blood pressure.
"There's way too much Christmas," he said with a shout.
"I'm being smothered, day in and day out."
His outrage rang out, his manner offended,
No one could tell if it was real or pretended.
He had many things to be bitter about,
And he shared them all with us in a verbal freak out.
"Our gluttonous mindset has me all miffed,
"What kind of boob buys a car as a gift?
"I'm sick of this holiday," he said in rebuke.
"Our Christmastime greed and our Christmas tree puke!"
"I'm getting so tired of the retailers' rush
To bury us all in this Christmas-y crush.
"And the radio stations all playing those songs,
Have turned this great season into something too long."
And then with a jingling, my phone did re-chime,
With answers and updates that responded in kind.
"Fake news!" they said with fury and hate,
"You must not disparage this holy date."
Their rage - how it burned! Their ears, they did smoke
Their cheeks were afire, were they having a stroke?
They clutched at their pearls in fierce disapproval
They clamored for blood and his earthly removal.
"That's War On Christmas," they said with clenched teeth,
And leading the mob was some dude named Keith.
He had a round jaw and a pumpkin-sized skull,
His eyes were like shark's eyes, soulless and dull.
"This time of Christ's birth is one we all share,
"And so I will say, God please hear my prayer,
"With divine retribution and death you'll be struck,
"By the good Lord above, you heathenish freak!"
So they argued and fought and pointed out flaws,
And proclaimed their devotion to dear Jesus Claus.
But I wanted the fighting and anger to cease,
This is a season of love and of peace.
So I followed the Bard without much ado,
"This above all: To thine own self be true."
I posted my message to cut through the clatter,
Three simple words: "All Holidays Matter."
Photo credit: 'Santa's Portrait' by Thomas Nast, published in Harper's Weekly, 1881 (Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain)
The 3rd edition of Branding Yourself is now available on Amazon.com and in your local Barnes & Noble bookstore.