Vol. 101: The war against Xmas

Is ‘conservative humor’ an oxymoron?

Back in the day, my Penn classmate Bob Gardner was one of the most entertaining figures on campus—not only as a star of Mask & Wig, Penn’s legendary song-and dance troupe, but also as a wonderfully witty pianist and composer, the life of every party. His faux romantic ballad, “This Is No Shit”—in which a campus lothario attempts to persuade a coed of the sincerity of his intentions— remans a classic of the genre.

More than 60 years later, thanks to “The Right Side,” his column in the Sonoma (Calif.) Index-Tribune, Bob seems poised to succeed the late P.J. O’Rourke as the world’s leading—better make that only—conservative humorist.

Surely you recall O’Rourke, who died almost three years ago after a career spent skewering liberals and progressives. For example: “How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer: One—and that’s not funny!”

Conservative humorists are in short supply because the very notion of conservative humor is an oxymoron: Conservatives, by definition, want to keep things the way they are. As Bill Buckley declared in an early issue of his National Review, “We stand athwart history, yelling ‘Stop!’” But the world keeps changing every day— and that’s not funny!

WASPs vs. Polacks

Also, humor is historically a tool employed by underdogs— say, blacks, Jews, and women— as a defensive weapon against overdogs, who possess other weapons, like money, guns, and lawyers. This may explain why you don’t encounter many WASP standup comedians.

Also, when underdogs utilize humor, it can be surprisingly effective. During Soviet Russia’s occupation of eastern Europe, oppressed Poles and Czechoslovaks responded not with guns but by spreading Russian jokes that the Russians themselves were helpless to combat. (Sample: A Czech civilian runs up to a Russian soldier, shouting, “A Swiss soldier just stole my Russian watch!” The soldier replies, “Don’t you mean a Russian soldier stole your Swiss watch?” The Czech replies, “You said it, not I.”) After several decades of such ridicule, the Russians eventually departed without firing a shot.

I should add that humor only works in the cause of comforting the afflicted or afflicting the comfortable. When rich people make fun of poor people, or whites ridicule blacks, it inevitably comes across as nasty and mean-spirited— definitely not funny. The wave of cruel “Polack” jokes that sprang up in the ’60s died out for precisely that reason. But for Jews or blacks to make jokes about WASPs— stop me, I’m laughing already. (Example: “How many WASPs does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer: Two: One to mix the martinis, and one to phone the electrician.”)

Into this vacuum leaps my old friend Bob Gardner, bringing joy and laughter to beleaguered conservatives everywhere. Bob closes most of his columns with a brief item labeled “Liberal Dinner Party Discussion Topic.” Example: “Where will you go when Trump wins? Presumably not Turkey or Hungary or Iran. Maybe Canada, New Zealand, Costa Rica? Beachfront property in Gaza is a bargain.”

Not funny? Hmm. Maybe you had to be there.

Who wrote ‘White Christmas’?

With the holiday season upon us, Bob recently jumped into the spirit in the best conservative fashion: by comforting the comfortable— in this case, Christians whose God-given monopoly of the winter solstice is under assault from Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Druids, and God knows what other sects celebrating their own winter festivals.

“It’s Christmas. Get Over It” declares the headline on a column Bob has reprinted each December for several years, in response to requests he says he receives “from all over the country.” This column targets the growing ranks of limp-wristed liberals who insist on greeting people with “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.”

“In our ever-encroaching woke world,” Bob laments, “I find this happening more and more.” Although Bob describes himself as wholeheartedly Jewish, he explains, “I also love Christmas. I love the trees, the decorations, the lights, the parties, the food and drink, the gifts, the overindulgence.” Bob entreats us to get into the spirit of other Jews who promoted Christmas in their department stores (like Macy’s, Saks, Gimbel’s, Bergdorf’s, Bloomingdale’s, Gump’s, Magnin’s, and the Gap) or by writing popular Christmas songs like “White Christmas,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “Silver Bells,” “Do You Hear What I Hear?” and “Winter Wonderland.” As the Talmud teaches, if you can’t beat ’em, enhance ’em,

“So from now on,” Bob concludes, “please don’t wish me Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings, Merry Everything or other insipid phrases. Wish me a Merry Christmas because that’s what I’ll be wishing you.”

Jewish survival strategy

Bob’s Jewish heritage clearly differs from my own. My ancestors, back in the good old days, celebrated Christmas Eve by bolting their doors and playing cards deep into the night, the better to avoid being contaminated— not to mention killed— by the excessive Yuletide spirit outside. In fact, I’m here to tell this story only because, over many centuries, my ancestors devised a simple survival strategy: Whenever you hear people talking about the Prince of Peace, the Lamb of God, or the King of Kings, drop whatever you’re doing and run for your life.

Am I bitter? Perhaps a little. But surely no more than my friend Bob Gardner was when, recently, President-Elect Trump bypassed him in favor of an alcoholic womanizing Princetonian to run the Pentagon.

So, in contrast to my conservative friend Bob Gardner, I, in the best woke liberal fashion, have devoted my declining years to expanding America’s winter holiday celebration. Since Bob insists on republishing his Merry Christmas exhortation every December, he leaves me no choice but to respond in kind. If my updated Christmas carols below sound familiar, that’s because they are. These songs appeared in this column last December, and I guess they’ll continue to appear here in future Decembers, if only as a response to Bob’s appeals.

Neglected atheists

Yes, yes—I’m well aware that Jews, Muslims, and Blacks already have Hanukah, Yalda Night, and Kwanzaa and consequently need no help from me. No, I’m thinking of two other marginalized groups that each December must stand quietly on the sidelines while everyone else is singing, stuffing stockings, lighting candles, spinning dreidels, and shoving overweight men in Santa suits down chimneys. How can folks of good will like you and me grant these outsiders the blessings of diversity, equity, and inclusion?

The first such excluded group, obviously, consists of nonbelievers. To relieve their suffering, I have composed a series of “Christmas Carols for Atheists and Agnostics” that will enable these doubting Thomases to join in the season’s festivities with all the gusto of their Judeo-Christian-Muslim neighbors. Imagine what a joyous day it will be when these apostates can sing along with the rest of us, albeit with slightly different lyrics.

For example:

‘Joy to the World’ for Atheists and Agnostics

Joy to the world!
A brand-new faith
Is sure to make our day.
We’ve 40 different creeds
For our religious needs.
So now there’s 41,
Which makes it much more fun.
(You’d better go out
And buy yourself a gun.)

Joy to the world!
We’ve found a faith
That looks beyond this Earth.
They care about your soul
And now they’re on a roll:
For your eternal sake
They will burn you at the stake
Or load you with stones
And drown you in a lake.

He rules the world,
And there’s no vote.
Dissent is not his style.
They’re spreading his appeal
With missionary zeal.
So why don’t you convert?
If you don’t, you could get hurt
And wind up beneath a great big pile of dirt.

An even larger marginalized group consists of television sports addicts whose customary viewing habits are disrupted each December by all the special Christmas season programming. The following carol, as re-worked by me, reassures these outcasts that they are not alone, while offering them plausible hope for the future, even on Christmas Day itself.

‘Good King Wenceslas’ for TV Sports Addicts

Good King Wenceslas tuned in
To his television,
Though he knew it was a sin,
Sure to cause derision.
“Yuletide songs and eggnog spray
Always drive me crackers.
So I’ll spend my Christmas Day
With the Green Bay Pa-a-ckers.”

“Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou knowest, telling:
What’s this fight on my TV:
Louis vs. Schmeling?”
“Sire, it’s a classic tape,
Just the best they’ve got, see?
’Cause a Black man made folks gape
When he decked a Na-a-zi.”*

Herschel Walker came to call
On the Feast of Stephen.
Urged the King to hit the mall,
Though the score was even.
“Let’s do something kind and pure,”
Said the King’s friend Herschel.
So they went to feed the poor
At the next commer-er-cial.

*Footnote: The cause of truth in songwriting requires me to mention that the often-maligned German heavyweight boxing champion Max Schmeling (1905-2005) never belonged to the Nazi Party and resisted Hitler’s efforts to exploit him as a symbol of Aryan racial superiority. On the contrary, Schmeling retained his Jewish manager throughout his career, boldly refused the “dagger of honor” award offered to him by Hitler, and saved the lives of two Jewish children by hiding them in his Berlin apartment. To the charge of abusing poetic license, I plead no contest.

Merry Chr— I mean, happy holidays.

Enjoy Dan Rottenberg’s newest book, The Price We Paid: An Oral History of Penn’s Struggle to Join the Ivy League, 1950-55. You can also visit his website at www.danrottenberg.com