The Story of the Christmas Angel

I am so angry about the juvenile shenanigans of Congress as they cobble together the health care reform bill that I could spit nails. The Republicans are acting petty and stupid (if all the better argument you can muster is a filibuster, you're intellectually bankrupt), and the Democrats are acting greedy and irresponsible (in order to buy the support of Senator Ben Nelson, my tax dollars will provide full, permanent federal funding for Medicaid eligibility to everyone in Nebraska below 133 percent of the federal poverty level). I wish I had enough coal, gravel, and sawdust to properly fill all their stockings. I don't know how any of these miserable excuses for public servants can look at themselves in the mirror.

So...

In order to get over my anger and get myself centered once again in the holiday spirit, I have decided to share with you the heartwarming story of why, when we decorate our Christmas trees, we always put a little angel on the top...

It was many, many years ago, and it was a very difficult pre-Christmas season at the North Pole. Santa was far behind schedule with toy production: his latest shipment of toy components from China was contaminated with melamine and lead paint and had to be rejected; the Elves and Toymakers Union Local 001 was on strike for improved working conditions; the French government had denied overflight rights for his sleigh; and his security guards had intercepted two suicide elves dispatched from Gaza by the Hamas government to disrupt his "infidel and unislamic" activities. The latest hay delivery contained some spoiled hay, and the reindeer were flying around the North Pole and relieving themselves everywhere. It was the wrong time of the month for Mrs Santa, and she was haranguing Santa for not paying more attention to her legitimate needs and wants. Santa retreated to his office for some peace and quiet, hoping to catch up on his bookkeeping, but his quill pen broke and spread a huge blob of ink across the columns of numbers in his ledger.

Santa threw the broken quill into the wastebasket and put his head in his hands, ignoring the constant ringing of his phone and the chanting of the striking elves parading under his window. Suddenly, the door to his office flew open!

There in the doorway stood a beautiful little angel, holding up a gorgeously decorated tree that twinkled with lights and ornaments and beautifully wrapped little gifts. The angel looked at Santa, her big eyes bright and shining with love, and gently asked,

"Hey, Santa! Where should I put this tree?"

I love that story. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. And it reminds me of what Congress is giving us for Christmas.

Have a good day. Stay warm.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo