Jimmy the Fetus
Notes from KC’s blogosphere.
Hey, kids, Jimmy the Fetus here, your guide to moral values in the Midwest, helping everyone see that what we learned in Sunday school really matters.
This guy named Brian in our history class thinks he’s really smart, and he says there’s no way Jesus was born on December 25. He says that something in the Bible proves that Jesus was born in the spring. But Brian’s family doesn’t even go to church. Would it be wrong for me and my friends to hold him down and Superglue his lips shut or something? He’s really annoying.
Your friend Brian is no doubt referring to biblical scholarship that proves that the “Star of Bethlehem” story has suffered from centuries of mistranslation. It turns out the Magi weren’t drawn by a star in the sky around the winter solstice but were in fact following the night lamps of a springtime caravan of Judean burlesque dancers. But hey, even wandering Persian clerics need to blow off steam now and again.
History has been kind to these “kings,” who were supposedly “adoring” the infant Jesus. Actually, after a long night of drinking, all three were vigorously denying that he was responsible when Mary indicated the baby’s father wasn’t around.
As for your friend Brian, just remember that smarty pants probably won’t get a date until he’s balding and in his mid-30s, which is about when girls his age suddenly snap back to reality. So there’s no need to amplify his pain. In the meantime, here’s an apt Bible quote to guide your holiday fun: “Samson went to Gaza, and there he saw a harlot, and he went in to her.”
Got a moral quandary? e-mail Jimmy at
Notes from KC’s blogosphere.
It’s a Wonderful Life is such a little watchwork contraption of a movie … there’s not a loose end in the thing.
Who’s the little bastard that tells Alfalfa that George and Mary are dancing over the swimming pool? Who has that kind of mad-on for George or Mary, and why? It’s the only bit of the watch that sticks out at a weird angle, and even then, you have to look more than a little obsessively to see it.
I think it should be Clarence’s opposite number. I think there should be a devil at work in Bedford Falls, trying to eat George’s soul as hard as Clarence is trying to save it. We could find out that the devil wasn’t only the guy that told “Charlie Othello”— swear to God, that’s Alfalfa’s name in this— about the swimming pool, but, like, that he’s all over Bedford Falls. He could be the liquor store owner that sold Old Man Gower the booze. Harry’s girl, that saw to it George had to stay in Bedford Falls, because Harry sure wasn’t. The kid that suggested they go sledding on the lake. The Man on the Porch that wrecks George and Mary’s first kiss. The cocksucker on Black Tuesday that refused to leave without his $242. The teacher that sent Zuzu home without buttoning her coat.
It’d be kind of funny, too, if The Rat was, you know, Old Pete Granville — the poor kid from the poor family that lived in that old dump of a house that all of those stuckup rich kids loved busting the windows out of with rocks.
I’ve seen this movie a lot. From “mattfraction.com,” the online diary of MK-12 principal Matt Fraction