For this Monday before Christmas: a little culture, a little comedy...
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
(from Love's Labour Lost by William Shakespeare, playwright, 1564-1616)
Dear Lord, I've been asked, nay commanded, to thank Thee for the Christmas turkey before us...a turkey which was no doubt a lively, intelligent bird...a social being...capable of actual affection...nuzzling its young with almost human-like compassion. Anyway, it's dead and we're gonna eat it. Please give our respects to its family.
(from Bloom County by Guy Berkeley, writing as "Berke" Breathed, cartoonist, 1957 - )
Two views of Christmas. I ponder both.
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