Christmas at the Huckabee's

CHRISTMAS AT THE HUCKABEES

Ole man Thompson, well, he was sacked out on the sofa by the fireplace. His trousers were undone, belly peakin’ from the pajamas under his suit. He’d ‘bout had his fill of the possum Reverend Huckabee shot fer supper. Thompson had nuttin’ to say to them other fellers; Governor Romny, Rudy Guiliani, Rev. Huckabee, the sorely disagreeable Ron Paul and mischievous little Tommy Tancredo.
Thompson had said his piece at the table before pitchin a fit and flingin’ mashed taters at everyone. Upset everyone, ‘cept Tancredo. He was sitting at the kiddie table, flickin’ away all them illegal Mexicans he said was crawlin’ all over him. Everyone was sure relieved when Old man Thompson flopped onto the couch, covered in a shawl and went to sleep. 'Sides, it was almost seven, and well past his usual bedtime.
Rev. Huckabee was standin’ by the door suckin’ on a corncob pipe and wittlin’ a stick. Romny was pacing at the toilet. Guiliani had been in there a while.

“Courtesy flush!” Romny banged on the door, drawing a nasty glare from Ron Paul, sulkin’ in the corner.

Was another one of them swelterin’ days. Rains hadn’t come in a while, conjurin’ memories of them dust bowl days. Fact that most folks were workin’ themselves to an early grave to keep up with dept, a-scared ‘bout retirement, losin’ their good payin’ union jobs with the health care, tradin’ that job for one at the Walmart, underscored the thought. There was war over the horizon, good boys and girls from the heartland dyin’, but the sound was drowned in the din of shopping malls stuffed with cheap Chinese stuff. The mall was open for Christmas, now that folks had to replace that cheap stuff regularly, ‘Sides they’d come to believe that shoppin’ was the way to keep America strong, no matter how much they had to borrow. Gotta have this or that or ya can’t get by. Out in front of the mall a disabled vet begged for change to make ends meet, dressed like a vagabond Santee Claus. He felt lucky though. Least he didn’t wind up in that overflowin’ cemetery on the hill. It all put Ole Huckabee in a reflective state of mind.

“I hear tell that the Mormons believe Jesus and Satan were brothers.”

“Gosh darn it, Huckabee,” Romny blushed for using such language. “There you go once more. Instead of attacking my faith concentrate on the real issues, like abortion and gay marriage.”

“And Mexicans,” Little Tommy Tancredo spouted. “Illegals and terrorists everywhere. Buy duct tape, buy duct tape! Congressman Keith Ellison prays to Allah! Security breach. We’re compromised!”

Romny banged on the door again. “Good lord, Rudy, giving birth in there?”

Romny put his ear to the door and thought he could hear a girl giggling, which didn’t make no sense since his wife was out of town. Huckabee only sighed and nodded to the New York Cop walkin Rudy’s bog by the curb.

“I suppose you are simply going to ignore the problem,” Romny complained to Rev. Huckabee. The good Reverend took a long puff from the pipe.

“Hope you ain’t got AIDs,” he said to Guiliani. “I’ll burn down that there toilet. I ain’t catchin AIDs from the seat.”

“Thut up!” the Mayor shouted from the bathroom. “I thurvived 9-11. I’m Americaths mayor for Chritht thake. By the way, Reverend, you’re going to need thome more toilet paper.”

“There’d be plenty if the Mexicans weren’t crossing the border to steal ours, or the liberals weren’t just giving it away. It’s going to bankrupt this…” The rumble of passing trucks cut him off.

“Sorry, didn’t hear ya,” said Huckabee. “Them trucks full of money headed for Iraq was too loud.

“I propothe a thpethial nathional toilet paper ID.”

“Don’t take my gun!” Tancredo grabbed a butter knife and backed warily against the wall, afraid of, well, afraid of damn near everything. Romny, more than peeved wrapped hard on the door.

“I am begging you, Guiliani. I am beginning to cramp up out here!”
Meanwhile Ron Paul grumbled from the corner, something about the war, economy, the co-opting of US national interest by a foreign government, and the environment, blah, blah, blah. Thompson was snorin’ up a storm, and Tancredo was tryin’ to scrap them invisible little Mexicans off his body with the butter knife.

“Mormons don’t use toilet paper.” Seems Huckabee had heard that somewheres, either that or he just made it up.

“”I’m as good a Christian as you!”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

Am not.”

“Am t…”

Guiliani cut them off. “Could we th-tick to the important ithuthes.”

“As governor of Massachusetts I have always supported the robust use of toilet paper. Toilet paper helped to make America a great nation. Not that really thin tissue-ee stuff in airport bathrooms, but good old America two-ply, that is soft against our national tushy. I want to assure the voters that my faith will in no way affect my position on toilet paper.” He smacked the door hard. “Light a match in there!”

“Lithen,” said Rudy, “we have to thop fighting each other. Imagine waking up with Hillary Clinton ath Prethident.”

Suddenly old man Thompson sat up straight and his eyes popped wide open. “Too many injuns spoil the stew. Gas. Sleep now. LINE!” with that he fell back to sleep again.

Huckabee nodded and realized Guiliani was right. If they didn’t stop fightin’ among themselves the country would go to hell in a hand basket. Gave him a fright to think Black folks might start believin’ they was actually equal, and a woman in the White House? Well, accordin’ to scripture womens is unclean ‘cause they bleed. Hell, youngins’ would be havin’ abortions in the mall. There’d be gay marriage, and innocent kids would be catchin’ it. And the war! Liberals might end it and isolate terrorists through international economic development, human rights agendas and diplomacy. There’d be nothin’ to wave the flag or to frightin’ folks with. Perish the thought.

“Guiliani’s right,” Huckabee strode over to Romny, now nearly doubled over in pain. Romny, sweatin’ bullets, stuck out his hand.

“Let bygones be bygones,” he said.
Huckabee paused before taking his hand. “Don’t got AIDs do ya?’