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It was inevitable that someday there would be a showdown between God and Santa Claus. After all, how many beings can lay claim to watching you whether you’re awake or asleep and always knowing if you’ve been bad or good?
What started it was God’s accusation that Claus was in league with demonic forces. The supposed proof was Claus’ sack of goodies. “You expect me to believe that anyone could fit enough loot in that bag for every kid in the world and still be able to lift it?” sneered God.
“Back off,” spat Claus. “How about that time your brat supposedly fed a hillside full of people with one fish and a loaf of bread? Even a supply-side economist couldn’t pull that off.”
“I’m God,” huffed God. “I can do anything I want to do. I could destroy you with a wave of my hand.”
“Just try it, pal,” shot back the Jolly One.
It was at that point that things began to get ugly. As God’s hand began to wave, Prancer bit it. The angels tried to get into the fray, but found themselves engulfed in a tidal wave of droppings unleashed by the other reindeer. It was a month before most of them were able to get the stench out of their wings. (The deodorant salesman believed in unrestrained trade and during this period, the angels became familiar with the phrase “price gouging.”)
The initial encounter was a standoff and thus began the propaganda war to win over hearts and minds. God launched a full scale attack-ad campaign, while Old St. Nick approached Rush Limbaugh and asked for help. Limbaugh readily agreed in the belief that he’d finally be facing an opponent worthy of his verbal arrows. It also occurred to him that in unseating the Almighty, a vacuum would be created that could only be filled by someone totally infallible such as himself.
God’s opening series of ads were rather weak and showed images of millions of children in tears because the loot they’d collected on Christmas morning wasn’t assembled and didn’t include batteries.
Limbaugh’s return salvo was devastating. “Stick with me on this folks. There’s no great mystery here. It’s the wedding night and Mary tells Joseph they can’t consummate the marriage. No, it wasn’t a condom issue and she didn’t have a headache. Instead, she comes up with, -- now get this, -- ‘I’m going to have God’s son and I have to remain pure until then.’ It’s incredible! She lays that on him and the poor sap actually buys it. I mean, we’re talking the low end of the Bell Curve here. My friends, there’s no doubt in my mind that Joseph was one of the first victims of what we’ve come to recognize as ‘liberal thought.’ And the only way to describe Mary’s little performance is recognizing that it was the start of the feminazi movement.”
Infuriated by Limbaugh’s monologue, God fired his ad agency and hired a Republican media consultant who developed a series of one-minute spots questioning Claus’ motivations. As images showed the Portly One slipping into a house through the chimney, an ominous, sarcastic voice-over intoned: “An act of altruism, or an unhealthy interest in little boys and girls? Giving them gifts and expecting nothing in return? If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Just ask yourself how difficult it would be to lure unsuspecting tots onto the roof with the promise of showing them something unusual. ‘Ever see a big red nose like this one, Johnny?”
Claus’ fit of apoplexy didn’t abate until Limbaugh’s ensuing rejoinder. “All right, my friends, let’s get to the Truth here. Let’s take a close look at just who it is that’s sorely lacking in Traditional Values. After Joseph spends thirty years teaching Jesus carpentry, what does the little ingrate do? He leaves home and wanders around the countryside stirring up discontent. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see the foundation he was laying for the sixties generation? The sandals? The beard? The long hair? The rabble rousing? The rebellion against authority? And is he content to do it alone? Not on your life. Along the way, he recruits twelve guys and a hooker. Didn’t you ever wonder what the sleeping arrangements were? Didn’t you ever question what kind of perversions the hooker had in mind after she was through with her foot-washing fetish? And doesn’t it strike you as just a little suspicious that this hooker just happened to have the same name as Jesus’ mother? Now far be it for me to suggest any impropriety here, but isn’t it just possible we’re talking about an Oedipus Complex?”
Flying into a rage, God hired a team of abortion clinic protesters to gun down the Red-Suited One. Retreating to the North Pole, Claus and the elves surrounded the bunker with Barbie Dolls disguised as aborted fetuses. Both sides hunkered down for an extended siege.
As the battle of the titans raged, Pat Robertson found that his calls to God were going unanswered. Quickly grasping the fact that no one was home, he confidently proclaimed, “I’m in charge.”
“No way. I’m running things,” yelled James Dobson.
“No, I’m the decider,” shrieked the commander guy.
“Non! Le roi c’est moi,” chimed in Napoleon.
“I’m Napoleon,” shouted a million madmen.
And a muffled, evil snicker came from a secret, undisclosed location.
Moral: A big mouth can be as mighty as a big myth.
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