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ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS TRUMP IMPEACHED AND POETRY WRITTEN IN THE FORM OF “T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS” TO ADD TO THE MOCKERY HE SO RICHLY DESERVES

Cartoon used by permission: 232990 Twas the Night Before Impeachment by R.J. Matson CQ Roll Call

(A POLITICAL PARODY RIPOFF FROM “T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”—ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1823.  My apologies to the poet Clement Clarke Moore.)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the country,

               Not a news org was stirring, not even the Fox News punditry.

               The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,      

         In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

Cartoon used by permission: 219574 Santa Social Media by Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch OH

               Fractured Americans all nestled snug in their beds,

               While visions of Trump’s impeachment (or not) danc’d in their heads,

               Women in pink pussy hats, and White Trumpers in their MAGA caps,

               Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.

Cartoon used by permission: 232948 Merry Christmas by Milt Prigge Oak Harbor WA

               When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

               I sprang from the bed to see what the fuck was the matter.

               Away to the window I flew like a flash,

               Opened it and looked out on snow-covered grass.

A red-suited fat man stood down there below,

               Stomping up and down as he yelled: “Ho, ho, ho”;

Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

               But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

Cartoon used by permission: 87030 Santa Claus And His Flying Reindeer COLOR by Bob Englehart PoliticalCartoons.com

With a spring in his step, so lively and quick,

               I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

               More agile than fairies, the reindeer they came,

               As Santa whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,

               “On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;

               “To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

               “Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

Cartoon used by permission: 87220 Prancers Out COLOR by Cameron Cardow The Ottawa Citizen

Like an arrow shot from a bow does fly,

               Santa, his sleigh, and bag did mount to the sky;

               So up to the house-top eight reindeer they flew,

               With the sleigh full of Xmas wishes—and St. Nicholas too:

               And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

               The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

               As I pulled in my head, and was turning around,

               Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:

Cartoon used by permission: 157843 Santa and lighthouse beacon by Dave Granlund Politicalcartoons.com

               He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

               And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

               A bundle of gifts was flung on his back,

               And he muttered like a crazed prophet while he opened his pack:

               “15,413 lies in 1,055 days by my last Trump naughty tally,

               “Should I skip the White House entirely and fly on to North Philly?

               “And should I rent tons of U-hauls needed for all the coal,

               “To be placed in the stockings of Trumpers who’ve sold their souls?”

Cartoon used by permission: 232858 Santa naughty list by John Darkow Columbia Missourian

               The stump of a pipe he clinched tight in his teeth,

               As angry smoke encircled his head like a wreath.

               And he mumbled: “What to do, what to do, what to do?”

               Then burst into laughter, and said: “Shit, I don’t have a clue.”

               He gave off a huge sigh, that right jolly old elf,

               And I laughed when I heard him in spite of myself;

               He was just as flummoxed as the rest of us,

               Which made me think these days I needed someone higher to trust.

               Santa shouted several phrases as he went straight to his task,

               Filling all the stockings with word-gifts for which we’d asked:

“Trump Impeached!”

“Trump Removed!”

“Trump Destroyed!”

 “Trump Done in!”

               And laying his finger aside of his nose

               And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

Cartoon used by permission: 204470 Santa Hacked by Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

               He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

               And away they all flew, like a North Korean missile:

               But I heard him shout in his booming rich voice: “DO NOT FEAR:

Concentrate on the TRUE meaning of Christmas, my Dears.”      

 “IN THE NAME OF JESUS—the true reason for the season

Trump WILL be impeached and with damn good reason”

(“Mainly ‘cause God don’t like ugly, accordin’ to Black Folks’ teasin’s.”)

Then I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL—AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”

Cartoon used by permission: 219626 Christmas Day by Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle GA

Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a humorist who is an award-winning voice-over performer.  In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!).  Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival:  “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.”  Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker.  If you don’t believe me, just ask her!

Cartoon used by permission: 189369 Santas Likes by Jeff Koterba Omaha World Herald NE

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on December 18, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Waiting for Santa

Well, my loyal and wonderful readers, I’m taking a break for two weeks to spend time with my delicious family.  They are pouring in from all parts by trains, planes, and automobiles.  The tree is up, the stockings have been hung with care, and I have enough food to feed an army.

Besides being the chief cook and chubby-cheek kisser of all peeps from three – eighty-three, I am on guard Christmas Eve as the Santa lookout.  The Sucker never, ever showed up to my house in The Cleve when I was a child, sending a strong signal that I was perennially on his “naughty” list.   (I’m inclined to believe the dude doesn’t exist.)  I have several years of “memory photos” of the rats eating Santa’s cookies when I hid in a closet with the door cracked to catch him in the act of consuming his midnight snack.

 

Google Image/originally uploaded by pyza

So now that I’m an adult who realizes one has to have a family to “eat the Santa cookies” in order to keep up the ruse, I’ll be standing guard Christmas Eve just in case while WW puts together a thousand piece train set for our grandson.  To help keep myself awake I’ll think about how, if I were a god who wanted to express his divine love to a gnarly bunch of ragamuffins who were constantly acting the fool against each other and the Earth, what better method could that god have used than to sneak in under cover as a baby and hang out in our midst for a few years to show us how to treat each other.

Google Image

To some it is hard to believe, but I actually think it’s pretty clever—hidden in plain sight.   And so with all the hope, love, peace and joy that Christmas offers from God incognito in a manger, Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine.

See you on January 5th!

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on December 19, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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I’ll Be Home for Christmas

ELEANOR’S CHRISTMAS LETTER TO FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND BLOG FANS

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  No matter how hard I try, I don’t have anything original to say about Christmas.  I’ve almost worried myself into a heart attack this week trying to come up with something pithy to say in my 2011 Christmas letter.  I got nothing—bupkis!   It’s all been done.  After days of fretting, the only thing I can say is that my three favorite Christmas stories are A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation by John Hughes, and The Christmas Story by Jean Shepherd.  Put those three stories together (which I watch every year) and you’ll get my humorous take on all things Christmas.

I will tell you that in my 63 years of existence, my Christmases have been touched by horror and by deep pain, but they have also been graced with weird wonderment and joy, while being tangled up in multiple cords of three-twined commercialism, with massive bows of:  if the family portrait of what you think Christmas is supposed to be can go wrong, it will go wrong.  My first Christmas was my first memory in life (three years old), and it found me trying to rescue my one and only toy off the top of a frozen eviction pile heaped high outside a padlocked house in The Cleve, while my mother dissolved into her first wave of schizophrenia right before my eyes.  But that is the opening to my memoir (When Monsters Come Out to Play), so that Christmas story can’t be told here but hopefully will have the good fortune of being published next year.  Are you listening, Santa, Baby?

You can imagine since I met my husband (White and Wonderful) thirty-eight years ago, that I have tried to “live the Christmas dream” I never had when it came to creating a wonderful holiday for my children.  I always thought that if Christmas was great for the kids, then it would translate to our children all was right with the world.  Sometimes I hit the target right in the bull’s-eye, and sometimes I missed it by a mile.  Because as a family, you’ll never know who or what’s going to show up (or not show up) on any given Christmas, given the fine print on every family Christmas photo that says, “Have a Merry Christmas, but don’t forget when it comes to humans—all kinds of shit can hit the fan.”

Google Image

All of us have the illusion that the “heart” of our family Christmases should look like an 1800’s postcard which shows an adoring family, grateful for their modest gifts (no brats screaming in protest about the presents they didn’t get), wise and caring grandparents (not grumpy or cranky at all), and contentment with our lot in life, because we’ve only known good bounty from the hand of a loving God.  Even I have this Christmas illusion which is pretty pathetic because there are never any black people to be found in these “perfect” portraits.  Have you ever noticed that?

Google Image

If I were putting paint on canvas, my portrayal of Christmas would always be with warm colors, cordial people (including black and brown people all over the painting), loving smiles full of laughter and joy, and lots of good food and drink.  No one would ever get sick—no one would ever be short-tempered.  No family member would ever get Alzheimer’s, and no women would get breast cancer.  No planes would ever be late traveling home for Christmas, no toilets would ever overflow, no parents would ever argue, no teenagers would ever run away, no one would die on or near Christmas, no parent would lose his/her job, and no home would be foreclosed upon.  But the problem we all live with is that we all have weird relatives (and we’re just a little bit crazy ourselves), patchy histories, economic downturns, latent jealousies, death in our midst, and unresolved hurts.  So when we gather together for the holidays we sit down before the Christmas tree with a powder-keg of the crazies in a Griswold moose glass for our family Christmas toast.

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation “Eggnog Moose Glass”/Google Image

Addams Family/Google Image

Some of us share Christmas with parents who love each other in a weird sort of way, but the kids are bat-shit crazy and borderline psychotic.  Of course, upon closer analysis of the extended family (uncle, grandmamma, and the butler), we see why the kids never had a chance to be sane and in reality should never be left alone with the uncle, grandmamma, or (god-forbid) Lurch, the butler.

The Griswolds (National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation)/Google Image

Before the economic downturn, many of us had slightly upper middle-class families where the husband worked at some ball-crushing job just living for his year-end bonus that he managed to lose just before Christmas.  That bonus would have made everything “perfect” for his family—from award-winning holiday lights and tree—to the perfect roast, perfect gifts, and ultimate Christmas family portrait.  The only problem is that neither he nor his family is perfect, and no matter how upper-middle class you and I become, we’ll always have the type of relatives who join us for the holidays because we have money and they don’t, who proudly announce:  “Shitters full!”  They belong to us for a reason—they are God’s gift to keep us humble.

 

The Gallaghers in “Shameless”/Google Image

There are a few of us (maybe a lot more now since the emergence of the 99%) who grew up with the Gallaghers (of Showtime fame) as a family, and we are a mess as a family unit—“every six ways from Sunday.”  This was more my type of family base as a kid—only instead of alcohol being the co-parent, schizophrenia was.

 

Huxtable TV Family/Google Image

Most of us would like to be the Huxtable family—smart and beautiful—with a lawyer and doctor for parents who are just perfect with children.  The children are smart, respectful, and never, ever do drugs or walk on the wild side.  All their family crises can be solved in 30 minutes.  This is the exact type of family I tried to recreate with my own children once I became an adult (with an uber-Christian patina), given my ignoble beginnings (minus two of the kids and recasting Bill Cosby as a white man to match WW, of course).  But unlike the TV sitcom where the events are controlled by writers, “shit happens,” and reality really messes with the Huxtable image in a way no sitcom script could ever convey and still remain funny.

I am discovering that we all have the ability to have a couple of perfect Christmases, but “perfect” is not always our due.  With the DNA of our families, the sins we’ve committed against each other, and the devastation of living on Earth and what it can do to us, all we can do is dip ourselves in love and hope for the best when we cross the same threshold.  This year our family will come together in its total configuration, for the first time in a long time, and we are beyond ecstatic about this holiday because we know more than life itself, it is about us all being together—laughing, eating too much, cuddling, watching movies, cooking together, and sharing portions of the scary stories of our journeys that have made us the resilient family that we are.  But before anybody steps foot in my house (family, friend, or fan), I’m making all my guests read and observe the following Christmas vacation rules:

Leave your egos at the door

Come together with a servant’s heart willing to help each other

Share (just like in kindergarten)

Let go of your anger

Embrace each other with love and forgiveness

Repent for the wrongs you’ve done to one another

Flush the memories of the hurts done to you down the toilet

Don’t rehash the past (what is done is done and it can’t be undone)

Appreciate everything you receive as a present, even if you don’t wear hats or listen to country music

Listen (really listen with every fiber of your being) to each other’s stories, because they carry multiple secrets about our joys, our pain, our hopes, and our dreams

For the uber-religious in our midst—turn down the volume and listen (don’t, I say, DON’T go ballistic like you did that time over an Obama for President button pinned to a wig-head stand [to tell you the truth, I had forgotten it was there], assuming you knew what I was thinking).  Remember, “When you assume, you make an ass. . .”

No disparaging gay jokes or racial humor!

  Bring genuine hugs and kisses because that works for all genders and races. 

For the “I don’t believe in God”—unplug your ears and listen, you may learn something.

Say “I love you” in a sincere manner at least once to every family member and friend before you leave.

No politics allowed!

We all know what you feel about everything—we’ve seen your Facebook pages, remember.  We’re just going to come together as “family” and our only political platform is love.

Actually, I didn’t quite get it right at the beginning of this Christmas letter.  My favorite Christmas story which infuses all Christmas stories is the original one—the birth of my Messiah, whose name they called “Immanuel.”   Immanuel means, “God with us,” and it means to me the hope and healing needed to survive our families and the other families of man that don’t quite get it right when it comes to cherishing our hearts and our existence, our bodies, and our dreams.

Merry Christmas to you and to us all

And

May the love of God be with you and yours, today and everyday!

In any case, if you need me or want to get in touch, I’ll be home for Christmas.  Love, Eleanor

The Author

“A scientist said, making a plea for exchange scholarships between nations, ‘The very best way to send an idea is to wrap it up in a person.’ That was what happened at Christmas. The idea of divine love was wrapped up in a Person.” – Halford E. Luccock

All text and photos by Eleanor and John Tomczyk © 2011 , except where otherwise noted.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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