“It’s A Wonderful Strife”

“I owe everything to Laurie Kendrick. Please be with her, Dear Lord.”

“Laurie is a nice gal, God. Give her a break.”

“Please take care of my friend, LK. She never thinks of herself and that’s why she’s in trouble now.”


God: Hello Joseph. Trouble?

Joseph: Yes. Looks like we’ll have to send someone down. A lot of people are asking for help for Laurie Kendrick.

God: Ah yes, it’s her crucial time. We’ll need to send someone down immediately. Who’s turn is it?

Joseph: That’s why I came to see you, Sir. It’s that little angel. The nasty, vulgar one named Clarence–that clockmaker.  He refuses to wear clothes and has that incessant rectal itch.   We make him sit on his halo so none of us will get that funk.

Clarence (arrives while looking like a nebulous white tumor or bloodclot to the lullaby, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”) : You sent for me, sir?

Joseph: Hello Clarence. I know you’ve been waiting a while to get your real wings.

Clarence: Yes, people are talking. These cotton pieces of shit are fine for half-ass angels in training, but I want the real things. You know, them gossamer sumbitches and I have been waiting almost 300 years.  What the fuck is that all about, huh?

Joseph: Perhaps then Clarence, you can help this Earth woman.  She’s about to commit the biggest sin of all.

Clarence: You mean she’s going to take her own life?

Joseph: No, worse. She’s going to try to cook Christmas Eve dinner for her incredibly dysfunctional family at precisely 7:45 tonight Earth time.

Clarence: Then I better hurry. Can I assume then Joseph, that if I can assist this crazy ass bitch in successfully cooking Christmas Eve dinner for the ingrates that comprise her family, I’ll finally get my wings?

Joseph: Yes, you foul mouthed little troll…..yes, you will.



Laurie is out of work and has been since Halloween.  She never married; she’s a homely spinster who looks Donna Reed in a George Bailey fantasy of what life would’ve been like had he never been born.  The resemblance to the actress once known as Donna Stone, wife of a doctor and mom to Jeff and Mary, who would one day record “Johnny Angel” and be married parenthetically to coach, Craig T. Nelson,  is uncanny.   In fact,  she could also use a decent lip wax not unlike Mary all homely’d out as the dowdy, spinster Pottersville Librarian.


And because she’s been unemployed for so long, Laurie can’t afford to buy the items needed to prepare the Kendrick family Christmas Eve dinner.  Even if she could, her culinary talents are so lacking.  And if circumstances weren’t bad enough, her kitchen is filthy.   Corn and unidentifiable flora grow in the dirty corners of the floor.

And yes, all of these negatives; these stumbling blocks persist, in spite of Angel Clarence’s help.  He’s tried to intervene by showing her what that night would be like if the Kendrick’s had elsewhere to go.  They’d be far more sober and sated in terms of a festive meal.   But it has little effect on Laurie.  She’s still hell bent on feeding her family, even with no money and with her kitchen looking a lot like Julia Childs corpse  on a bender.

The clock winds down; the Kendrick family gets hungrier and drunker, and every second that passes, Clarence sees yet another opportunity to get his wings,  slip through his fingertips.  Clarence knows he needs to supplement Laurie’s income, but how?   He does the only thing he knows to do and that’s contacting Heaven’s gatekeeper and religious iconic patron of children’s aspirin, St. Joseph.

Joseph suggests rolling drunks.

Then suddenly,  just as Motel Kamzoil once warbled (from “Fiddler”),  a miracle of miracles  occurs.   LK’s friend, taxi cab driver (and in a couple of years, Dobie Gillis’ TV father) Ernie arrives with a telegram in hand.  He reads the following:

Mr. Gower cabled you need cash– stop.
My office instructed to advance you up to twenty-five thousand dollars– stop.
Hee Haw and Merry Christmas!
Sam Wainwright.

No one has a clue as to who Sam Wainwright is, much less Mr. Gower, but with the OK to advance LK 25-grand, a glorious Kendrick family Christmas  meal is all but a reality.

So, Clarence gave LK a little hit of some Angel Dust and that, plus the spirit of the season,  motivated her to clean her kitchen, do all the shopping, the  cooking and voila!!!

A sumptuous Kendrick Family Christmas Eve meal!!!  That’s my aunt Sissy Louise  Dawn Anna Roselyn in the flattering vertical striped sweater and her husband, Big Dave is talking to their youngin, Dale “Skeeter” Earnhart Kendrick.

We just call him Joyce.


Nothing says “festive Christmas meal” better than paper plates,  Styrofoam cups  and cans of beer.

After the family feed, everyone gathered round  the tree to sing Christmas carols.   Uncle Billy excused himself to take his annual post-holiday meal dump while  inappropriate toucher and “jail boid”, Uncle Bob held a very nervous and uncomfortable little Laurie in his arms.   She’s short, you understand.


Then, they heard  “a tinkle”.    And no, not Uncle Bob’s post fecal wiz/slash.    This was sound of an ornament on the tree.  That’s when Little Laurie told her way too touchy/feely Uncle Bob  that her schuul teacher taught her the  old belief that every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.

Just then, the entire family noticed a copy of the script from “Birth Of A Nation” under the tree.   Megan’s Law uber violater, Uncle Bob picked it up and Little Laurie clumsily opened to the forward, written by Norman Mailer.  Beneath that, what did the Family Kendrick spy?  A handwritten note from Clarence announcing he was now flyin’ high.



Atta boy, Clarence!




Then, the entire Kendrick clan drank some of Mr. Martini’s wine and that was followed by a lively rendition of Auld Lang Syn complete with full orchestra accompaniment and Hollywood backup singers, composed of women, a few baritones and several members of  Castrati,  Local #3957.


…………………………… ..………  ..THE END




  1. Merry Christmas! Whatever man, I’m praying to have my next Christmas in a trailor park with paper plates and whatever crap beer Josh drinks 😉

    (Sorry, the Canadian in me has to assume that my beer is better than his.)

    Oh and Happy New Year too!

  2. Well, I’m in deep shit. My wife (since March) has committed herself and I can’t find that damn piece of paper that has the phone number and patient number on it. She can’t call because our area code is long distance since moving to August, Ga. Was invited to meet with her doctor yesterday. Who just emigrated from India (at lease she talks and looks like the sidekick on Johnny Quest). She tells me that her book tells her my wife has a certain “condition” and I challenge it. I ask her how many schools textbooks has she read that were wrong. I tell her that even after several high and mighty PhD’s can look over a textbook and I still find errors and coming to tell me her book and passport is god?

    (Damn ants. Just had to kill one crawling across my computer screen. Wife made her first ever fudge for us and left it on the kitchen counter. We got back from three days in Alabama (don’t go there) and it looked like the LA freeway and I am still wearing Rambo headband looking for new ways to kill them. The bow and arrow was a little much, I couldn’t tell it I got them or not. Now I’m wondering if the neighbors would call the Cops if they hear a .45 go off.)

    So the wife is locked up, she can’t have anything I brought yesterday and all I got up for Christmas decors is a rocking Santa on a motorcycle. I got back from the “visit” yesterday and her damn dog shitted on the carpet, dragged trash out of all three trash cans, chewed up the padding I use to protect the stones in my knife sharpening kit I had left out on the coffee table. Who knew a small dog could scream that loud? He is no longer on the list to be “fixed”.

    But!!!! you did make me laugh to tears. Thank you and may your Christmas be better than mine. Love ya, LK.

    Big Al

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