Merry Christmas From the Czech Repubic!

(By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)

Merry Christmas and bah humbug, as one of my literary heroes was famous for saying. Well, as you can probably guess, my kid brother Cecil and I are still stuck in the Czech Republic or the former Yugoslavia. The word we're getting from back home are that things are still a little too hot and that now would not be a good time to come back. 

     Actually, I'm getting all this from my baby girl, Bertha. When I called home yesterday, it was difficult hearing what she was saying. Melissa Etheridge was blasting in the background and I could hear deep-voiced women moaning loudly. I deduced it was Sappho Security, the outfit Bertha hired to protect her in our absence. At least their loud moans and groans assured me they were working very hard and that she'd be in their strong, capable hands.

     Cecil and I are making the best of it during the silly season, although the mayor gently broke the news to me that Cecil was barred from entering the village for the duration of our stay on account of him continually breaking into the changing room of the local boy's choir. I tried to tell the mayor that it wasn't Cecil's fault that he always had a fascination with boy's religious costumes as well as junior high wrestling outfits. But all Hizzoner could do was helplessly stretch out his hands and show me his brilliant smile with nearly half a dozen teeth.

     In the village we live in, and I still can't pronounce the name of the damned place since it's made up entirely of consonants and diacritical marks, they're renowned throughout the Czech Republic as being the nation's capital of goat cheese, which, considering goat cheese is their number one export, is quite a distinction. In fact, Trader Joe's is their number one customer and, were it not for them, their top exports would be sexually trafficked women and extras for John Wick movies.

   The natives here have an odd way of celebrating Christmas. Apparently on Christmas Eve, it's customary for them to fondle the genitals of male reindeer. Or, at least that was what we were led to believe by the locals who I've never seen do that. In fact, they were laughing and pointing at us while Cecil I pleasured their ruminants earlier tonight.

     But as strange and different as village life in the Czech Republic is compared to Manhattan, there are still some similarities, enough so that Cecil and I don't feel entirely like fish out of water. What originally looked like villagers with pitchforks and torches, like something out of an old Universal Frankenstein movie, turned out to be local carolers.

    And, perhaps out of appreciation for my brother and I revitalizing the local economy during the holiday season (We've already bought enough goat cheese to restock Trader Joe's), they decided to make the abandoned sex doll factory where Cecil and I are currently staying the first stop on their caroling tour. 

     Of course, they're singing them in their native language so the carols are at once unfamiliar and familiar. They know we don't belong here and that we miss New York City. But, in the spirit of Christmas, they're opening up their hearts and land to us and they're very good at making us feel welcome.

     I just wish one of the carolers wasn't that one-footed, middle aged guy with the crutch who looks an awful like Melania Trump.