To the editor:
Once there was a powerful prince with a dark soul who ruled his subjects with an iron fist and a crooked heart.
His name was Prince Black Friday and he was sovereign lord over the country called America.
Prince Black Friday believed worship was due him by all those over whom he reigned, so he continually devised ways to glorify himself to capture the adulation and affection of all the pawns on his national chess board.
Prince Black Friday was a master of illusion and delusion and corporate confusion and could cast a magic spell like a fisherman casts a net to easily catch all manner of mortals dragging them aboard his ship of fools to a breathless death.
The prince was nothing if not cunning so he contrived and invented and mandated a holiday in honor of himself — a day each late November on which subjects throughout his entire empire must rise very early in the morning and travel to houses of worship called malls to prove their allegiance to him.
He commanded them to rush to these malls on the final Friday in November and wait on their knees in the pre-dawn cold and dark until the Prince’s faithful servant, Big Bargain, opened the doors for the worshippers to enter. As soon as the rabble crossed the threshold of the mall a deep and funky spell fell upon them and diseased their very souls with a lust for shiny junk.
The Black Prince’s pawns, beckoned by the siren song of Big Bargain, traversed the mall in frenzied madness offering sacrifices to corporate under lords appointed by PBF — under-lords named Best Buy and Toys R Us.
Sacrificing all their green paper and silver discs in acts of worship the subjects were rewarded with lustrous trinkets called dishwashers and flat screens and iPods and Playstations. They took these home with them to tell others how bowing their knees and hearts to Prince Black Friday had yielded a big bargain.
Every year, a jester in PBF’s court named Media posted bills throughout the kingdom proclaiming how successful the holiday was so it would grow and grow.
And the under lords praised and adored the black prince for getting them out of the red and into the black – hopskippety quick and clickety clack, re-railing an economic train wreck and getting it back on track.
With that, the dread lord with the sick soul, iron fist and corrupt heart delighted in all this as the King of Christmas, invisible, gazed up from his manger in Bethlehem tears trickling down his innocent baby cheeks.