Bonus Party: It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like, Well, Christmas

From its first sentence, you can tell Cokesbury’s Christmas Party was written in a more innocent, less politically-correct time:

Every group of young people, every Sunday school class, and every society expects to have a party for Christmas.

It’s actually kinda cute, reading that sentence these days. You wouldn’t dare write such a thing today, for fear of offending someone outside of the everys mentioned because the exceptions are no longer content – or mature – enough to brush off this innocent Judeo-Christian all-inclusiveness and instead scream not for inclusion of their belief or non-belief, but for the abolition of what was believed and celebrated by

SMACK!

Sorry. Feeling a little persecuted these days. But still, you have to agree that sentence today would either be replaced by this:

Non-progressive, easily-offended conservative Republican young people (all three of them, two of them named Biffy), conscripted enrollees in parochial, partiarchally-oppressive Jebus-schools, and societies embodied by the cranky, evil-looking old people taking the Pledge of Allegiance as they begin their Christopher Mott Society meeting at the beginning of the Dick van Dyke film Cold Turkey expect to have a Christmas party in which they can espouse their evil, monocultural beliefs in order to perpetuate oppression of atheists, progressives and other open-minded folks who see Jebusism for the crock and fraud that it is, so they may as well celebrate stupidly. Because they’re progressively and morally and ethically bankrupt individuals who will die and go to hell, that is, if there were such a place, you know, which really isn’t a progressive thought, so let’s not even go there. But we’ve got a urinating dog and Bob Newhart! What could be better?

Or this:

[Embarrassed silence, feet shuffling, um, let’s not offend anyone by suggesting, you know, anything about Christ -- ]

SMACK!

I know. I suppose I’m feeling a bit persecuted these days. But on to the party:

Three nights before Christmas,

When all through the town,

Wise men and wise women

Will be looking around

For evenings of fun

And places of cheer,

Don’t look any further,

Come right over here.

For Thursday at eight,

The time has been set;

Bring a gift for another,

And see what you get.

Then, Cokesbury advises, “Give the address of the place where the party is to be held.” Don’t want people wandering the town searching in vain for your party now, do you?

Here’s the first game, a real corker:

The Doll Shop. All the even numbers are placed on one side and the odd numbers on the other. Two persons are selected from the even number group to be the shopkeepers, and two persons are selected from the odd number group to be the doll shoppers. After the game has been played for five or six minutes, depending on how much time the leader wishes to take up with it, a change is made, and the odd group become the shopkeepers and the even group the doll shoppers, and an equal amount of time should be allowed the odd group. The object of the game is to see who can have the largest number on their side when the time is up. The game proceeds in the following manner: The buyers come to the doll shop and say they are interested in buying some dolls. They do not want dolls that are too serious. All the dolls that they take must be laughing, giggling dolls. The shopkeeper then demonstrates the dolls, which are the persons on his side. They walk with stiff legs and try to imitate dolls. The purchaser asks questions about them such as, “Will this doll go to sleep?” “Does this doll say Mama?” The shopkeeper must demonstrate by making the doll say “Mama.” Any other crazy question may be asked by the shopper, and if the doll laughs he gets it. If the doll remains serious, he goes back to his side and another is demonstrated. After sides have been changed and the odd side has had an equal amount of time, a prize may be given to the winning side, such as a small jar of candy, or a bag of peanuts, or something that can be divided among the players of the group.

Or, they could just pull a Dick Van Dyke/Sally Anne Howes (so you don’t think I’m down on Mr. Van Dyke):



Bonus points to the shopper who can bombast as much as Baron Bomburst.

Now it’s on to a more sophisticated game:

Hang Up the Christmas Stocking. A mantel has been drawn on a sheet with crayons or lamp black. A place is marked for the stocking. Each guest is blindfolded and turned around and must walk to the mantel and pin the stocking the first place he touches. Five a prize to the one who gets the stocking nearest to the right place.

And this is why the Jebus-lovers are so feared these days. They get to five a prize, you know. I’m sure it’s a typo. I’ve never fived a prize my entire life.

Here’s another game sure to offend the atheists on your non-denominational winter holiday list:

Christmas Stagecoach. This is played like the game of Stagecoach. One person reads the Christmas poem, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” as the other players sit in a circle with all chairs full. The players are given words in advance, for example, house, mouse, reindeer, stockings, toys, etc. As the poem is read, the one who has the word must get up and turn around. At any time the person who is reading may yell “Santa Claus,” and when he does so all must change seats. If the leader secures a seat, the one left over becomes the reader.

(Yes, yes, I know the poem by Clement Clarke Moore is really called “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” but “Twas” is an alternate title, so don’t get all knotted up about it. I guarantee there’ll be other stuff you can get knotted up about here. This is, after all, the main, central celebration of the Jebus-freakin’ capitalism-lovin’ hypocritical hypocritin’ booger-beings.)

Of course, there are three ways you can do this game. You can do it straight right out of the Cokesbury Bible (I hope I didn’t offend anyone by using that word – straight – because I suppose folks could use it queer right out of the Cokesbury Bible . . . what? Why are you all leaving? Was it something I said?). Or, alternatively, you could do it in a way that makes people move whenever they hear an offensive word or idea in the poem. Or you could substitute the Larry the Cable Guy version:



Uncle Jessee. Whooooooo.

And yet another game:

Christmas Presents. These have been brought by each guest and placed on the tree and numbered. The number should be concealed, or perhaps it would be better to have the presents put in a basket and numbered by the leader and then have the basket brought in just before time to give out the presents. Of course there will be a lot of crazy presents. Nothing should cost over ten or twenty-five cents. As the numbers are called, the one holding that number comes up and gets his package and opens it and plays with it. This will cause a lot of fun.

Confession time: My family, for years, played a similar game, but with white elephant gifts specifically chosen for hilarity. The most popular was a pair of Argentinian underwear – a pair of yellow briefs – that appeared from year to year. Once they were used to construct Noah’s Ark. Another year they were artfully folded into a rosette. They did cause a lot of fun. This game is actually worth doing, folks.

Now it’s refreshment time. You already know, of course, what Cokesbury’s first suggestion is. Say it with me:

Sandwiches and coffee.

Or, alternately, Christmas cookies cut in the shape of stars. Or coffee and fruit cake with red and green candies. Or whatever it is that Jebus-freaks like to eat this time of year. Babies or something.