American Chimpanzee

Some may call this offensive, while others may call this racist. Me, I call it something I wrote for the National Lampoon back when times were different, and by different I mean when people had a sense of humor. I think we got along better back then. As a back urban militant straight outta Compton who just happens to be gay, I've gotta shout out loud how incredibly racist I find the white songwriting community to be for ignoring the black holiday of Kwanzaa. This ancient tradition, which dates back to pre-Tupac times, is due reparations for this blatant disrespect. Reparations, that is, in the form of holiday Kwanzaa songs. You can keep your forty acres and a mule, you racist  munkafunkas . Kwanzaa, or "Kill Whitey," is from the African language of... um, from the original... ah, who am I kidding? "Kwanzaa" is a made-up word that's meant to be African-sounding. I think we succeeded. The above paragraph reminds me of the movie  Skin Games,  starring James Gar...

  "Where ya going, Streit? It's Christmas! Don't tell me you'll be spending it fishing? You can do that any ol' day of the year. You should be in church, my friend." "Bah! Halibut!" Streit answered. "Fishing  is  my church," and he went on his way, the whole exchange reminding him of a similar conversation he had decades earlier when he was but a wee laddie. The widow Kravitz, busybody that she was, had spied him walking jauntily one Sunday with a fishing rod in one hand and a jar of tadpoles in the other. "Streit!" she chastised. "Don't you know better than to go fishing on the Lord's day?" "I'm not going fishing," he answered back politely. "I'm going home." Meanwhile, when the grown Streit got to his favorite fishing spot, he was shocked to find his uncle there waiting for him. Because his uncle had died YEARS  ago! "Uncle Jack!" Streit cried out happily. "What are  y...

The last Saturday before Christmas was busy. By the time I got home it was dark. My wife was already in bed watching something on her tablet. I'd tell you what, but I've forgotten. That's nothing unusual. I can forget any number between one and ten just by counting scoops of coffee into my coffee maker. My wife, on the other hand, says I don't listen to her, or some such nonsense. My two daughters were getting ready to go out and my granddaughter was by herself watching  Home Alone  in the living room. On the TV screen, a young girl was busy miscounting the children. Personally, I've never cared for  Home Alone . With the exception of John Candy, there's not one likable person in it. Sure, little Kevin is cute, but do you really like him? In a reflective moment inside a church, even  he  admits he's a bit of a turd. I wanted to get on my laptop (to write this very column, in fact) but seeing my granddaughter by herself tugged at my heart a bit, so I joined h...

(Once upon a time after the election...) Somewhere... in the cosmos... "You sent for me, sir? "Yes, Clarence. A man down on Earth needs our help." "Splendid! Maybe then, sir, maybe then I'll get my wings?" It was Christmas Eve and President Biden was sitting in the Oval Office brooding. Come the new year, he would be out and a new president would be sworn in, but there was so much left to do. So much left to do. Like every president who served before him, he worried about his legacy these last few days in public office. Was he too hard on Israel? Too easy on radical Islam? Should he have secured the border and fixed the ailing economy? Was it wise to bring potential terrorists possibly disguised as political refugees into the country? Could he have done more to ease race relations? Well, it was too late now. History would judge him by the results of his efforts, not by the nobility of his intentions. "Oh, my," a voice said. "Aren't  we  a...

 Once upon a time before the election... Hillary Clinton sat alone in her study contemplating the upcoming 2024 presidential election. Biden had a successful four years, she thought, but surely he realized it was not in the best interest of the Democratic Party for him to run for a second term, and if he didn't run that created an opportunity. The opportunity to run again. That would be good for her, but, more importantly, that would be good for America. "God bless us every one," she said out loud, liking the idea of it. Oh, sure, by the look of things she might end up running against Trump again, but she liked the idea of that, too. Fate seemed to be offering her a second chance to prove what she had known all these years, that she had been cheated in 2016. The doors to her study burst open and there stood a ghostly Bill Clinton, chains attached to his wrists and ankles, a thick metal collar padlocked around his neck. A fifth chain hung loosely from the back of the colla...

"Merry Christmas!" I tell Christian, handing him my tiny gift. "Why, Ana," he says, honestly surprised. "I already told you, this wasn't necessary. With you in my life, I already have everything I want." "I know you told me not to, but I couldn't resist." Peeling off the wrapping paper as easily as my panties the night before, he opened the box. "A diamond tie pin!" he exclaimed happily, immediately putting it to use securing his tie. Why he chooses to wear a tie with his pajamas is a fashion statement I'll never understand. "I love it, Ana." "That means a lot to me, Christian." "How could you afford something so extravagant?" "You know my Volkswagen Beetle, the one I love so much I swore I'd never get rid of it?" "Yes." "I got rid of it." "But you LOVED that car, Ana. In fact, when I tried to get rid of it, you made me give it back." "I love you ...

Bob Cratchit got up from his desk as Ebenezer Scrooge hunched over his account books. "Sir?" he said, tapping on the old man's door. "I've copied all the letters and filed the paperwork. I also brought in more firewood and swept out the ashes." Here, Bob Cratchit paused, and then began again. "And, well, it's closing time, Mr. Scrooge." "Fine," Scrooge replied. "If your work is finished, you may leave." "Mr. Scrooge?" Cratchit proceeded cautiously. "Tomorrow is Christmas, a day to spend with family." "Christmas? Bah!" Scrooge all but spat. "Fine. Take tomorrow off, but be here early the next day." "Yes, sir," Cratchit acquiesced. "You can count on it, sir." Cratchit pulled his coat snug around him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge," he said, and then stood there. Waiting. "Well?" Scrooge said, getting up from his desk. "I just thought…" ...

Hard-Core Advice From Hard-Core's Hardest Core...  John Leslie! Dear John, My 23-year-old daughter is out of control, and has been since she was 16. She has a 2-year-old daughter, but she lives her life on the edge. She spends her days on the Internet meeting strange men and going out with them who knows where? On weekends, she drops off her daughter with me and takes off. She has a history of drug and alcohol abuse and prostitution, but swears she only drinks alcohol now. I get so worried and upset I find myself yelling at her and trying to prevent her from leaving with these strange men. She thinks I'm trying to control her life, but I'm trying to save her. Here it is, Christmas, and all I'm doing is worrying that she's going to be the "gift that keeps on giving." What should I do? I'm getting too old to be stressing out about what and who she's doing. -Stressed Dear Stressed, What you see as a destructive life-style choice, I see as a great care...

The Twelve Beers Of Christmas     On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a cooler full of Coors beer. On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two Michelobs,  and a cooler full of Coors beer. On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three Schlitz Lights,  two Michelobs...  a nd a cooler full of Coors beer. On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me four Rolling Rocks,  three Schlitz Lights, two Michelobs... and a cooler full of Coors beer. On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me Five! Bud! Wei! Sers! four Rolling Rocks, three Schlitz Lights, two Michelobs... and a cooler full of Coors beer. On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me six guzzlers guzzling, Five! Bud! Wei! Sers! four Rolling Rocks, three Schlitz Lights, two Michelobs... and a cooler full of Coors beer. On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me seven brewers brewing,  six guzzlers guzzling, Five! ...

  Somewhere... in the cosmos... "You sent for me, sir? "Yes, Clarence. A man down on Earth needs our help." "Splendid! Maybe then, sir, maybe then I'll get my wings?" The infamous drug lord Scarface lay dying. Shot in the back by the hitman sent by his enemies. In the distance he could see the mountain of cocaine piled on his desk. It looked comical to him now. His vision slowly began to fade as his life poured out of him in a red, warm liquid. Fading... fading...  and then miraculously clear!  "Hi, I'm Clarence," a jovial voice said, as a white-haired old coot slid into view above him. Scarface's eyes blinked. He felt his chest. There were no wounds, no blood, but... but that was impossible. His mind felt sharp, crystal clear. Sobriety, he laughed at the irony, felt better than any drug. The old man helped him up. "Who are you?" Scarface asked, suspiciously. "I'm Clarence, your guardian angel." "My guardian an...

The infamous drug lord Scarface was alone on Christmas Eve. His huge mansion empty, except for the bodyguards paid to protect him. Scarface was remembering his old life in Cuba. He loved his country and his family, but he loved money and power more. He absently touched the scar on his face that earned him his nickname. He was so lost in his remorse that he didn't notice he was no longer alone. "I am Tubbs, the Ghost of Christmas Past." Bam! Bam! Bam!  Scarface shot the phantom three times with his Glock, but the shots had no effect. "Um... you did hear me tell you that I'm a ghost, right?" Tubbs asked. "Now, come with me to when you were a man of 16." The apparition waved its hand, and there on the floor were Scarface's parents. Both dead. A much younger Scarface standing above them. His gun still smoking in his hand. "Why did you kill them?" Tubbs asked. "They stole from me, and  nobody  steals from Tony Montana." "The...