How appropriate, during the season in which we celebrate the glorious nativity of our Holy Savior the Christ-Child, that I found my-self the proud papa of my own sweet little son! Giddy over the blessed arrival of N. Aeschylus, I vowed that the Zweibel clan's annual Christ-mas pageant and talent exhibition would be especially lavish. I instructed my man-servant Standish to assemble the finest entertainment in the Republic and to set up the old Nativity scene props. It would truly be a Yule to remember!
Unfortunately, the affair proved a disaster from the start. Shortly before the jubilee was to begin, I received a cable from my sweet-heart and mother of my child, Miss Bernadette Fiske, saying that she and the baby would not be able to attend the festivities, as her town was thoroughly snowed in and no trains were able to depart. It was a keen disappointment, as I was hoping to see both little N. Aeschylus and Miss Fiske for the very first time, and I wanted the little shaver to play Baby Jesus in our traditional Nativity pantomime tableau. But instead of canceling every-thing, I simply filled in for my son, and as I took my place inside the straw-filled manger, I declared the festivities open. "Bring on the entertainment!" I commanded.
The first act was none other than my own eunuch, Sandy, who performed the beloved and poignant carol "O Holy Night." But rather than moving us to tears, Sandy's disturbingly girlish soprano only managed to pierce every-one's ear-drums. I knew I should have mailed that eunuch back to Araby or where-ever he's from ages ago!
The second performer was a lady who billed her-self as a "performance artist." As she recited a lengthy diatribe about the "unfair patriarchy" and "systematic oppression of women," she stripped naked and proceeded to smear her-self with candied yams. I was out-raged. She completely stole her act from Fanny Brice! I remember seeing this exact routine in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1917. I stopped the act short and had her hauled off the stage through the use of a elongated cane.
The third performer was a comic monologuist, but the moment he began talking some gibberish about the poor quality of "air-line food," I promptly ended the festivities. Another Christ-mas ruined, and I blame this, as I blame all misfortune in my life, on the American people. Screw you all to the last man! I hope you all choke on your figgy pudding!