It’s beginning to sound like we like Auschwitz,
 every time we vote

Now that Trump has been twice chosen (first by the rubes in November and today by the rubes the earlier rubes hired to do their dirty work) and is soon to become our naked emperor, it appears that America is suddenly greater than ever once again, and the war on Christmas is over. At least I haven’t heard of a single skirmish between the godless and the immoral this consumer milking season, and the usual purveyors of delusion outrage are currently rolling around in the muck in politically orgasmic satisfaction, waiting for Obamacare to die.

Isn’t it great to know how many of your neighbors voted against your interests yet again? What else is the Christmas season all about if not getting high and saying God makes you do it?

My favorite Christmas movie is The Victors. I was a senior in high school when I saw it the first time with schoolmates and park buddies, a few of whom were to injured or killed several thousand miles from home in the coming years.

Two things still stick with me about the film more than 50 years later, the first being the ending, where an American soldier who looks like George Hamilton gets in a fight with a drunken Russian soldier who looks like a very young Albert Finney. The fight ends badly for them both. When the camera zooms out, you see their fallen bodies make a “V” on the ground in a landscape of rubble and ruin.

But the other thing I often think about in The Victors is the scene where a truckload of soldiers is commandeered to serve as witnesses to the execution of a deserter in a beautiful field of snow. While the soldier is marched out through the snow, Frank Sinatra sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Such a wonderful season deserves a wonderful execution.

And so Christmas wins again.

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