Thank You, Corey Lewandowski, For Giving Me Permission to Freely and Confidently and Unabashedly Say “Merry Christmas” To Whomever the Fuck I Want

Gary M. Almeter
Bullshit.IST
Published in
6 min readDec 15, 2016

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Corey Lewandowski says we can say Merry Christmas again! Thank you Corey.

Thank you, Corey Lewandowski. In the week or so since you generously provided Americans permission to once again say “Merry Christmas” to whomever the fuck we want to say “Merry Christmas”, life as I know it has changed exponentially.

At the outset, let me just tell you that saying “Merry Christmas” is the most important issue in the world to me. For years I have been oppressed. It is more important than income inequality; more important than affordable healthcare; more important than refugees; more important than some frightened shell-shocked Syrian child or any of the other crap on your liberal agenda. I’m going to give it to you straight, libtards, so listen up. Christmas is not about a displaced middle-eastern refugee boy. It’s about Jesus. Aleppo is no where near Bethlehem of Galilee. Do you fucking get that yet? I feel fucking liberated. Liberated, invigorated, and positively exhilarated. I feel like a fucking shepherd who has just been told by a glorious angel that baby Jesus was born and I should go visit him. That is how invigorated I am.

As a result, I am way more fucking joyful. About every fucking thing. I just feel fucking joy everywhere.

I say “Merry Christmas” to whomever the fuck I want. Pretty fucking simple. Folks at the hardware; folks at the drug store; folks at the bank; folks at the feed mill; folks at the pub. Anywhere I happen to find some fucking folks I just fucking tell them flat out, “Merry Christmas”. And I know these people fucking like it because they smile at me. Some even say “Merry Christmas” back to me. If they don’t like it when I say “Merry Christmas” to them they are pretty goddamned good at camouflaging that dislike because they know I am a lean mean “Merry Christmas”-sayin’ machine and I will say “Merry Christmas” over and over and over again.

While the first amendment has always guaranteed me the right to say “Merry Christmas” since the 1st Amendment was adopted in 1791, I don’t know, I just feel way less persecuted doing it now that you, Corey Lewandowski, have granted me permission to do so. That feeling is important to me. I feel fresh, like I have just received a Peppermint extract enema from the Angel Gabriel himself.

I am so fucking jolly all the fucking time. And I just feel so Jesussy.

I tied this luminous Baby Jesus to the front of my truck.

Perhaps most importantly, in lieu of attaching a secular an ultimately innocuous wreath to the front grill of my Ford pick-up truck, I have strapped on a luminous plastic baby Jesus to the front grill of my Ford pick-up truck. He’s a big (approximately three feet in length) pink, polyurethane Jesus with chipped yellow-painted hair and monochromatic blue eyes, red lips and rosy cheeks , just like Jesus really was in real life. (If you recall, in all the kids Christmas books from yester year, baby Jesus had blonde hair. When was the last fucking time you felt brave enough to even look at a Christmas book from your youth?) I affixed my plastic Jesus to the grill of my Ford pick-up truck with blue nylon twine. I illuminated the baby Jesus by attaching some coaxial cable from the truck battery to the light bulb in baby Jesus’s innards. Because what the politically correct fuckwads don’t quite understand is that illumination is what Christmas is all about. When those secular fucking liberals look at this with their stupid fucking bewildered faces I yell, “Jesus is the reason for the season, motherfuckers!” and honk my horn, which I have reprogrammed to play “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!” Hark. I might as well be an angel. For I am fucking singing and saying “Merry Christmas” once more.

When I see a fucking department store that doesn’t have the word “Christmas” in its advertising, I have a renewed enthusiasm for boycotting that shit. I haven’t identified one yet. But when I do, I am going to boycott the fuck out of it.

I tell people at Starbucks that my name is “Merry Christmas”. When they say, “that’s your name?” I say, “Yeah — that’s my name. Can I spell it for you?” And they say, “No, sir.” Then the barista asks me if I want to try a gingerbread muffin and I say, “You mean a Christmas loaf? No thanks.” Then I observe with great satisfaction, the barista writing “Merry Christmas” on an otherwise nonreligious bright red cup. I wait for my coffee or latte or whatever the fuck I got to get poured into that less nonreligious cup and then I leave. I go to the grocery store and ask, “Where is your Christmas juice?” And the clerk says, “Pardon me sir?” And I say, “Forgive me. Eggnog”. And they send me to the dairy aisle. Guess what? I already knew where the egg nog was. I just wanted then to know that I call it “Christmas Juice” because that’s what it fucking is. I then feel compelled to purchase and subsequently drink the Christmas Juice. I have drank so much Christmas Juice. My cholesterol level is Three hundred and fucking fifty. But it’s Christmas!

I have brazenly affixed a baby Jesus pin on my fucking coat. It lights up when you press the baby Jesus’s face and it plays “Away in a Manger”.

What the fuck is this horseshit?

When I get a Christmas card in the mail that says “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings” or some shit, I put it back in its envelope, write “Refused” on the envelope and send that shit back to from whence it came. I am taking back my country. This is my America now.

During the intermission at my kids Holiday concert, I audaciously and assuredly grabbed the fucking microphone and sang “O Come All Ye Faithful”. I have done this every year. But this year I did so way more fucking assuredly and way more unabashedly than I did it last year.

I got so fucking wasted at my work Christmas party this year. I was just so happy. I did so many shots with colleagues and friends; they had these White Russian shots with holiday sprinkle rimmed glasses. They were so fucking good. And it felt good knowing that I have reinforced the idea that Christmas is a time for charity and mirth.

I did so many shots at my work Christmas party. Everyone was making me do shots — EVERYONE!

Lastly, I am way more fucking merry. So fucking merry. Thank you Corey. And in the words of Tiny Tim, “God Bless Us, Everyone”.

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Gary is an attorney who lives in Baltimore, MD with his wife, three kids and beagle. His work has appeared in McSweeney’s, 1966, Good Men Project & Splitsider