Ahhh, Christmas time. The most horrible time for the Jews is right around the corner. The malls are packed. It’s as cold as Max Weinberg in an icebox outside and everyone’s gonna see Santa but us.
The only Christmas time I’ve ever experienced consisted of Macaulay Culkin saying, “I made my parents disappear . . . I made my parents disappear!”
Yeah, every Christmas I’m stuck watching sappy TV movies with my buddies Hershel, Ari, and Abner. It’s abominable. Abner’s always flicking my ear and Ari’s always asking, “So what is there to do?” And there’s never anything to do.
So last Christmas, we all got together and concocted a plan. We were tired of the Christians telling us that snow is good because it means Santa is coming and that, on the night of Dec. 24th, a fat man would invade our chimneys. Most of all, though, we were tired of the gentiles cutting down an obscene amount of trees in the name of this insipid holiday.
That night we rounded up all the non- Christians on the street: us four, the guy who works at 7-11, two Muslims from down the block, and Joe the Atheist. Together, we stole all of our neighbor’s trashcans and painted Jewish stars on the lids. Then, we amassed large piles of snowballs.
We also got incredibly drunk on cheap Manischewitz wine. So drunk, in fact, that we all sang “Havah Nagilah” while pissing our names into the snow. I suggested that we chant “Joe Lieberman” in the streets, but the Muslims wanted to chant “Christmas sucks. Allah Rules.” So we ended up chanting “Free My Willy.” Yeah, compromise blows. Anyway, we grabbed our trashcan lids and snowballs and started hobbling through the empty streets. “Man, no one’s on the streets,” Abner quipped.
“We can do whatever we want!”
“Shut- up,” I said. “It’s no fun doing whatever you want when no one’s watching.”
With that, we strolled over to Old Man Roberts’ house. Old Man Roberts is 90 years old and his face looks like a prune being sucked into a black hole. He always got two Christmas trees (and big ones at that). He also knew how to get under our skin.
Whenever we told him that Hanukkah is eight days long and Christmas just one, he would let out a big laugh and say, “Yeah, but Hanukkah sucks.” Which happens to be true, but it hurts to hear.
We rang the doorbell at his house and giggled in anticipation like a pack of yentas waiting outside a bagel store. We saw the old man through the window as he rummaged around his house, false teeth in hand. To aggravate him, we continued to ring the doorbell over and over. The wrinkly old guy quickly opened the door and before he could say, “Merry Christmas” we bombarded him with snow.
“We are the Jew-rax,” I shouted. “We speak for the trees!”
And then, he suddenly fell to his knees. The Old Grinch gave a smile, nay, maybe a grin. And he said to us, “Boys I see that I’ve sinned. I see that I’ve fussed and I’ve cleaned and I’ve scrubbed. But instead of a tree, I should’ve purchased a shrub.”
“It’s good that you see that,” the 7-11 guy said. “But it looks like your dentures are stuck to your head.”
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