Last week at the pharmacy I said, “Merry Christmas” to the cashier. The guy says to me, “Not everyone celebrates Christmas. Happy Holidays is politically correct.”
Queens is a diverse place and I’d feel terrible if I’ve offended people by saying “Merry Christmas.” So, I set out to ask my multi-ethnic neighbors what they thought. To make it fair, I wanted to survey everyone: Italians, Poles, Spics, half-breeds, Filipino She-Shes, even Curryboys, everyone.
I decided to start on home turf and ask Christians first. I went to St. Joseph’s church, where I’ve attended my whole life. I bumped into Sister Catherine and Sister Alice. The funny thing about this duo is that Alice is flat chested while Catherine has a huge pair of tits. I can’t help but think that when these two joined up, Jesus was simultaneously disappointed and cumming in his pants. Anyway, I asked their opinion on being respectful.
To my surprise, Alice said that if you’re unsure, go with Happy Holidays. I didn’t hear Catherine’s response because I was transfixed by her two humongous crucifix pillows. As I stared at them, I couldn’t help but think that Jesus would’ve taken comfort in his death, knowing someday he’d be sandwiched between those two heavenly tits. In that moment, I’d have happily taken Christ’s place on the cross.
Thanking the sisters, I already felt less offensive. Leaving the church, I bumped into old Scott Rosheberg. I immediately thought to myself, “This cheap kyke bastard will tell me if he’s offended by Merry Christmas.” I’m glad I asked because he prefers Happy Holidays. I’ve seen Scott around my whole life but I guess I been in a cultural bubble. I don’t even know what the guy does for a living. I suppose I just imagined it’s him sitting counting shekels under a candlelit picture of Golda Meir, then standing over him a bigger Jew looks at his watch while tapping his foot. I’m sure there’s more to it than that.
I moved on to the area where the Chinese live and sell stuff. I warmly refer to it as Whoretown. I knew just who to ask: my buddy Yellow Dave. I call him that because he looks like my white friend Dave. If there’s anyone who can tell me what Orientals find offensive, it’s the chink who keeps me neck deep in shrimp-fried pussy. He warmly told me his family celebrates Christmas in a secular way but philosophically he’d consider himself Taoist. He also prefers Happy Holidays! It was nice to have a conversation with a guy I’ve only known transactionally. Humility and vulnerability are most certainly the keys to togetherness.
I love homos because they revitalized the neighborhood and priced out the blacks. Larry The Queer is a guy I’ve known forever, he sells me all my hats. He’s also my go-to for problems like this and Larry’s the reason I stopped calling gays cum-boys. He told me he loves Christmas but Happy Holidays is more culturally sensitive. “Cum-boy or not,” I thought, “he was right on the mark.”
I would’ve kept asking around but it was obvious I’d been wrong. From here on out, Lonny’s greeting his neighbors with “Happy Holidays.”
On my way home, I stopped at the bodega for scratch-offs. I tried out my new greeting on Ali and Yasser. We got to talking and it turns out that in their country, Yemen, the government tells everybody what is and isn’t politically correct. That sounded a lot easier, you wouldn’t even have to think about it. We really connected. Unfortunately, I had to get out of there because those two smell like a sauna full of pubic hair.
Walking home I felt different. From now on I’ll be sensitive to everyone — living in brotherhood with gooks, mulattos, dirty ginzos, hairy kykes, dykey gamers, robey dotheads, kimchis, hospital sluts, fritzy krauts, stabby cholos, squarehead homos, and monkeys at the zoo.
Until next time,
Lonny from Queens