The Changing Face of America

27 December 2018

The Changing Face of America.

The Hanukkah flames are gone, the Christmas tree lights are winking out and the world is once again quiet — well, sort of anyway.

I play Santa Clause hereabouts. I’ve been doing it for nine years now. 2016 will be my tenth. Sitting on my throne, I get to see a lot of people. And as I’m rotated between several malls, I get to see folks from different areas and demographics. Over this last decade I’ve come to notice America’s changing face. When I was a kid back in Minnesota seventy years ago, the only faces I saw were white ones; blond, blue-eyed with freckles. Oh, in the fourth grade there was an exception: A black girl who joined us in mid-year. She was in my class. She didn’t last long. A few weeks later I was walking onto the school yard one morning and heard frightful ructions coming from the front door’s vestibule.

It seems some of my classmates had the girl cornered in the doorway. This little mob was delivering vicious scurrilities, insults and racial taunts: Nigger, jigaboo, go-back-to-the-jungle-you-monkey . . . It was appalling. I elbowed my way to the front and there was my little classmate, hugging her books to her chest with a look on her face I’ll never forget. I tried to get them to disperse but they were having none of it. Their ringleader was a girl I especially didn’t like. She had one huge black eyebrow that ran across her face from one side to another. I tried to get her to shut up but she kept right on spewing and then turned her attentions to me, whereupon I drilled her right in the snot-locker. That had some effect so I got the door opened and helped the girl get inside. Making some awkward conversation, l accompanied her to the principal’s office.

We never saw her again.

Now it’s 2015 and what a difference. Helping me on the Santa set were “elves” — high school kids of every description and bent and, perhaps most happily, the children of mixed stock. Oriental, Negro, Caucasian, Semite, Native American, you name it. It was as if the adults had been tossed into a . . . well . . . a Melting Pot, if you will, and here were the children.

My elves spoke impeccable English. Their manners were exemplary. When there were dull moments, we chatted and I found all of them had aspirations way beyond pushing a broom in a downtown office building. I fancy myself to be a polymath and I could talk with my elves on almost any subject and they could respond in kind. When I offered new information, they didn’t sneer and turn up their noses as did so many young people of my day. No indeed. Also, as an added benefit, they were of comely appearance. Of course the tykes who sat on my lap to tell me their hearts’ desires were also cast from this same mold.

So then, it seems the “mongrelization of the races” so feared by the peckerwoods, rednecks and stump-jumpers has come to pass and it has turned out to be a wonderful thing! Give this trend two, maybe three generations more and their might well be only one race in this country; the American Race. A new people to be a lamp unto the nations.

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Oh, Frosty The Postman

19 December 2018

This dates back to the time when postal workers were killing their co-workers.

Oh, Frosty the Postman was a very unsocial guy.
He liked to dis the girls,
Cut off their curls,
And tear wings from off of a fly.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, he’d never get a date,
For he’d pass some gas,
Then Pick his ass.
That’s not the way to win a mate!

His rented room was filled with trash and porno mags and more,
Like dirty shirts and nasty shorts
And pecker tracks galore.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, he really hated life.
`Cause as a sexless jerk,
The redhead clerk
Would never be his wife.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, co-workers teased him bad
Spit on his lunch
Pissed in his punch
And this really made him mad

There must have been some magic in the old carbine he found,
Cause when he brought it into work
They began to run around.

Oh, Frosty the Postman was a very disgruntled soul.
The night shift gig
Finally blew his wig.
And really took a toll.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, it had been an awful day.
So he got the gun,
Then just for fun,
He blew them all away.

-Merlin-


A Christmas Letter

2 December 2018

Every x-mas season the world’s assholes send out newsy little letters about their families. These letters are filled with bombast and braggadocio designed to rub the recipients’ noses in the authors’ wonderful lives. If you know anyone who feels he or she is one up on you, you have gotten one too. Here is a letter I got in 1999. I thought I’d share it with you.

Happy Holidays, one and all:

Well it’s been another wonderful year at the Farquart house. So much has happened I scarcely know where to begin! How about January? That’s when Freddy was offered a job as CFO at that wonderful new startup, Penwiper.com. The day after New Years, he was approached by the VC underwriting Penwiper’s upcoming IPO. Freddy was first on the A-list of Penwiper’s search committee. Freddy had done such an outstanding job at his old company the president used to refer to him affectionately as “The Chef” because Freddy was so good at “cooking the books” (whatever that means, I’m so naive about all this business stuff).

The pay at Penwiper isn’t too good (only $1.5M/year to start) so the Chairman gave Freddy a $750k signing bonus, plus a contract where he vests immediately in a 8% share of the company and gets lots of options besides. Hoping for the pay-off later on, I believe we can get along on this for a while. (Freddy thinks the bonus might be enough to have Santa leave a mink coat for me under the tree, but we’ll see.)

As for me, my Lexus 400 Coupe acquired a funny little noise in the back somewhere. Freddy, bless his heart, didn’t want me to run the risk of having trouble on the way to Aspen (the kids are so looking forward to lessons from the nice European fellow) that he insisted I get a new Mercedes V-12 sedan. I can’t for the life of me remember the model number, but what’s in a name anyway? It’s just nice to have reliable transportation, let me tell you.

Oh, I almost forgot: The mayor gave me an award at the 4th of July hootinanny in Barfus Park. It seems all the work I did arranging for diaper cleaning service up at Sunny Acres Home for the Financially Disadvantaged made the local paper. When hizoner saw it, he called that afternoon. He’d already received several calls from the families of men who had lost control of their bowels at tax audit time, and who knew of my work – poor things, they even cried when they mentioned my name. I would have sent a copy of the article, but the photo of me wasn’t all the best; the Tiffany ring father gave me upon graduation from Bryn Mar was hidden behind that horrid little pink hat of Jackie’s that our little Jill insists on wearing to public occasions. (You remember; Freddy bought it for Jill on a whim from that dark-haired young fellow who looked so much like Richard Speck. The young man needed the money to buy an airplane.)

Speaking of our Jill, she received letters of acceptance to the pre-med programs at both Stanford and Harvard. Now we have to agonize over which one to accept. Freddie wants her to go out East as he wants to take motoring vacations through the fall colors each year when we drop her off at the dorm. I, however, opt for Stanford as it’s far closer to Aspen, where we can all vacation at Christmas time in the condo Penwiper is giving Freddy as a badly needed perk.

Only one dark blot: We have been having trouble with one of our neighbors. Earlier this year, just before Jill sent applications to a short list of med schools drawn up by our lawyer, she vivisected their wretched little dog. She wanted to have some first-hand knowledge of biology when she went before the application committees – how clever our little girl is – and the horrid neighbor called the police. I tried to explain to these small people just how important a medical education is to Jill, but they won’t listen to reason. As if to try making Jill fell bad about her quest for knowledge, they insisted on burying the remains of their little mutt in a tiny grave by their flower garden where it can be seen from Jill’s window – she gave all the icky stuff back to them without their even asking. I’m so proud!

Freddy wanted to sue them for “busting Jill’s karma” as he put it, but I am the voice of moderation so I vetoed the idea. Instead, Freddy pulled a few strings with another of the Premier Members with whom he golfs at the Skookumchuck Country Club, and got that loutish man fired from his job. I saw a “for sale” sign in their front yard yesterday so this problem should be going away soon. Maybe the new neighbors will do away with the little grave.

I should also mention that little Freddy (he’s is not so little these days), who has been on the accelerated program at Caltech, got his PhD in Astrophysics in June. As you probably remember, little Freddy had such a hard time deciding which way to go. First, Lou Gerstner, that nice fellow from IBM, wanted little Freddy to come to work for him after getting his doctorate at Princeton on a merit scholarship, but little Freddy wanted to give something to the world and just loved all that astronomy stuff. Finally, little Freddy persuaded his friend Lou that his talents can best serve mankind in the hard sciences. Lou was so impressed by little Freddy’s selflessness that he agreed to have IBM endow a chair in little Freddy’s name at a university of his choice. Little Freddy is now doing some post-doctoral research at a place called Sierra Tololo down in South America. He e-mailed us last week telling of this cute little local he met. She comes from a nouveau riche family from someplace in Columbia – a city named Cali, I think – and I understand her family is in international shipping.

Well, I have to get going. The man from the car dealer just called. The little red car I ordered for Freddy (I put it on my Platinum American Express card) has just arrived. I can’t remember the name but it’s Italian and begins with “F”. I hope Freddy likes it; he’s so hard to buy gifts for, you know.

I hope your New Year will be as wonderful as ours. Love and kisses,

Fanny


The Season Begins.

2 December 2018

Merry Christmas, one and all.

-Merlin-