A Christmas Party in the USA
12/13/2023 5:00pm
“A message from Susanna,” said one of the two goons that just finished pummeling Andrew.
“Don’t tell her not to cry for you, you controlling, misogynistic piece of shit”, the other demanded and spat on him.
Andrew didn’t know who Susanna was or why she might be apt to cry for him.
He lay bruised and battered in the snow looking up at the stars. So this is Christmas, he thought to himself.
It all began two Fridays ago when he came home from work and was notified, by his girlfriend Abby, that they would be going to her co-worker Larissa’s holiday party the following night. Andrew was not a fan of holiday parties, much less one thrown by that dimwitted bitch Larissa. To make matters worse, this was not to be a Christmas party but rather a “Swiftmas Party”, in celebration of Taylor Swift being named Time magazine’s “Person of the Year”.
“It’ll be fun,” Abby assured Andrew as she presented him with the Kansas City Chiefs jersey he would be expected to wear to the event.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I don’t ask a lot of you. You can do this one thing for me.”
Actually she did ask a lot of him. But he wasn’t going to get into that.
And so there they were the following night at Larissa’s party – the men all in Chiefs player jerseys, the women in Chiefs cheerleader attire. In lieu of Christmas decorations, poster size versions of each variation of the Time magazine cover adorned the walls, as did printed excerpts of Taylor Swift’s most profound lyrics. A giant cardboard cutout of Ms. Swift, in a sparkling bodysuit and sparkling knee-high boots, stood where one would customarily find a Christmas tree this time of year.
“This is such a great party,” said some dark-haired woman named Stephanie that Andrew had never met, “Tay is definitely in this room tonight. Physically she might be in New York or Kansas City but her essence, her spirit, is definitely in this room with us tonight.”
“Right?” Larissa said.
“I can definitely feel her,” Abby said.
Upon Abby introducing Andrew to Stephanie, Stephanie had asked him what his favorite Taylor Swift song was.
“Uh . . . ‘Party in the USA’, I guess,” he said.
“Oh my God!” Larissa said, “Abby, what the hell is wrong with your boyfriend?”
“A lot,” Abby replied.
“He says his favorite Taylor Swift song is ‘‘Party in the USA’?! What the fuck?” Larissa exclaimed.
“Andrew, you know damn well that’s a Miley Cyrus song,” Abby said.
“And not even a good Miley Cyrus song,” said Larissa, “pre-Bangerz, when she was still being controlled by the patriarchy.”
Things only got stupider from there.
“He’s dating the most beautiful woman alive, and who just happens to be a feminist icon – the Gloria Steinem of our generation, and he goes to a sleazy place like that to have some skanks dance naked for him,” Tammy said. She was referring to a recent occasion where Travis Kelce was seen wearing a t-shirt from a popular Vegas strip club. “Unh-uh, no way. That was completely disrespectful to Taylor.”.
“Guys are gonna be guys,” replied Stephanie.
“She’s had enough of those guys who insist on being guys,” Tammy responded, “John Mayer, Jake Gyllenhall, Harry Styles . . . ”
“Well I’m sure Taylor sat him down and gave him a good talking-to,” piped-up Larissa, “Let him know that sort of thing is just not acceptable.”
Not acceptable? Andrew thought to himself. He wouldn’t have figured Taylor Swift would have an issue with that sort of thing. At least not based on that music video he recently watched where she and Dita Von Teese were strippers. He rather liked that video – especially that scene with them bathing in giant martini glasses in their lingerie, their shapely legs lifting upward and kicking the air, splashes of gin ejecting from their toes, each then reaching down to retrieve the oversized olives from the bottom of their respective glasses and holding them above themselves as clear spirit, mimicking sex fluids, drizzled onto their supple bodies. Yeah, that was a good video all right. The song that accompanied the visuals he didn’t remember so much. He had most likely muted the audio, fearing it would have inhibited his ability to climax.
“He has been really good for her, you gotta admit,” Abby said, “I mean, have you ever seen her so happy?”
“I don’t know, she seemed pretty happy with Joe then one day they were just done, from seemingly out of nowhere,” Amy said.
“He just couldn’t handle all the attention she gets. Most men couldn’t,” Larissa said.
“Did you guys see that video of her at the game when she was yelling ‘Come on Trav!”? Abby asked.
“Oh my God yes!” said an effeminate Dracula-looking motherfucker, “I thought I was going to die, literally, just go totally dead, like go out and buy me a tombstone, I’m ready for burial.”
“That was so fucking adorable!” Stephanie said.
“I’m like totally ready to legally change my middle name to ‘Come on Trav’. Like for real,” Larissa said.
“They’re just so cute together, I’m so hoping they get married,” Abby said.
“I heard they’re engaged but are keeping it a secret,” effeminate Dracula said.
“Oh my God!” Larissa said, “What if they’re already married? Can you imagine?”
Having had enough of this shit, Andrew made his way over to the cheese platter that he and Abby had brought. That and a shrimp ring appeared to be the only food being served.
“So you’re Abby’s man,” said some asshole named Chad as Andrew attempted to eat a toothpick-speared cube of swiss cheese.
“Well that’s a rather sexist thing for you to say,” said Andrew.
“What do you mean?” asked the asshole named Chad.
“You referred to me as ‘Abby’s man’, so as to imply she owns me. Like I’m her property.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, though I strongly disagree that it’s sexist.”
“I disagree with your disagreement.”
“Had I said Abby was your woman,” explained the asshole named Chad, “that would be sexist.”
“But not vice versa?” Andrew asked.
“It’s about power. Oppressor versus the oppressed. Women have historically been, and still are, marginalized. Yeah, it might be slightly better these days, they can drive a car and vote and all. But society generally casts them into subordinate roles when they’re young then relegates them to mothers and housewives when they get older. Even on those rare occasions when a woman manages to pierce the glass ceiling, she’s still paid only seventy cents for every dollar a man doing the same thing would make. Men – specifically straight white men, on the other hand, have always held the positions of authority and they’ve generally used their authority to oppress rather than lift. So, if I say you’re ‘Abby’s man’ it’s obvious that she doesn’t own you because such a concept in our society would be utterly ridiculous – the whole Fido’s Paradox thing.”
Nope – not gonna do it – not gonna ask about Fido’s Paradox, Andrew thought to himself.
“On the other hand,” the asshole named Chad said, “If I say Abby is your woman, it’s reinforcing the social construct that a woman is essentially a man’s domestic and sexual servant.”
“Got it,” Andrew said and, absent a better alternative, moved back toward the center of the room where the stupid conversations continued.
“She was definitely the woman of the year this year, and most other years in my opinion,” said Tammy, “I mean, all the things she does for sick kids and hungry and gay people and women’s rights. It’s about time she’s been given her due.”
“It was really disgusting, a few years ago, when they made her share the cover with those me-too bitches,” Larissa said.
“I mean who even were those hoes anyway?” asked the effeminate Dracula-looking motherfucker.
“Just some fucking karens trying to leech on Tay’s glory,” Amy said
“All I remember,” Larissa said, “is Tay, the angel she is – epitome of all that is beautiful and feminine, way in the back while those fat ugly bitches were right up-front. I was like ‘what the fuck?’ Nobody even cares about those skanks.”
“Oh my God, they were so, so ugly,” Stephanie said, “But I guess that just shows how much grace Tay has, that she would allow herself to be photographed with those bitches, ugly and overweight as they are.”
“Well Ashley Judd was on the cover too,” Tammy said.
“Yeah, but she’s like wicked old now and totally washed-up,” Larissa said.
“True, very true,” Amy said, “It’s not like anybody gets excited for the new Ashley Judd movie.”
“I hear she’s a total lush,” effeminate Dracula said, “Like a falling-down-drunk-all-the-time lush.”
“Cuz she knows it’s totally fucking over for her,” Larissa said, “She should just put a graceful end to it like her mama did.”
“Oh my God, you’re so bad,” effeminate Dracula said.
As the women and the effeminate Dracula-looking motherfucker continued to discuss the aesthetic shortcomings of sexual harassment and sexual assault victims, Andrew went in for some more cheese and a few shrimp. The asshole named Chad and the other guys in attendance were now engrossed in a side conversation, leaving the coast clear.
“I love what she said about Reputation,” he heard Larissa say, “that it’s a goth-punk moment of female rage gaslit by an entire social structure.”
He knew he should just stay silent but he couldn’t help himself. ”What the fuck does that even mean?” he said.
“You’d have to be a woman to understand,” Larissa said, “men aren’t gaslit by the social structure so you could never relate to that kind of rage.”
“No,” Andrew said, “it means nothing. Taylor Swift herself couldn’t tell you what that bullshit she said means because it has no meaning. It’s just some shit she said to make herself and her shitty bubblegum pop music sound sophisticated and nobody had the balls to call her out on it.”
“Uh, her music’s not sophisticated? Have you even heard Evermore?” Larissa said.
“No, no I haven’t. Actually, that’s probably not true. I’m sure Abby’s played it while I was around but it just wasn’t memorable. Because Taylor Swift sucks!”
“Andrew!” Abby shouted.
“Um, if she sucks so much then why was she Time magazine’s person of the year twice now?” Larissa said.
“That don’t mean shit. Hitler was person of the year back in 1938,” Andrew said.
“He most definitely was not,” Larissa said.
“Actually he was,” Tammy said, “But that was back when it was ‘Man of the Year’ and, when you have to pick a man, the pickings are pretty slim. Plus, way back in the boomer days, everybody was a racist and an anti-semite. I mean, it’s not all that much better now but at least we have people like Tay and us fighting for social justice.”
“Either way, trying to connect her to Hitler in any way is totally out of line,” Larissa said, “especially with all she’s done to fight racism and protect transgender youths.”
“She definitely fits Hitler’s model for the ideal aryan woman,” Andrew said, “And she does kind of uphold that model as the standard for beauty. Plus she’s BFFs with the jew-hating Hadid sisters. And let’s not forget that MTV Award she stole from a woman of color. Well, maybe she didn’t steal it, MTV gave it to her. But the right thing to do would have been to refuse it and call-out MTV for not awarding it to Beyonce who rightfully deserved it.”
“Don’t you even go there,” Larissa said
“Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time! One of the best videos of all time!” Andrew said then immediately found himself ducking to avoid the glass Larissa threw towards his head. Though missing him, it hit effeminate Dracula dead-center in the face, knocking him backwards to the ground.
“Flaubert!” she cried out then rushed to him.
Andrew wouldn’t have guessed the effeminate Dracula-looking motherfucker’s name was Flaubert but it sure didn’t surprise him when he found out it was.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Abby said to him.
“Me? I didn’t throw the glass.”
“You killed him! You killed him!” cried Larissa. She was on her knees hovering over Flaubert who was unconscious.
“One, you killed him, not me, and two, he ain’t dead. He’s probably gonna come-to with a nasty concussion and I’m guessing you broke his nose. You should really consider getting him to the E.R.”
“You’ve been very disrespectful this whole evening,” a dickbag named Derek said, “You owe an apology to not only Flaubert but to everyone here and to the spirit of Taylor Swift.”
“Oh blow me,” Andrew said.
“So . . . ,” the dickbag named Derek said, thinking his response carefully, “I, myself, am not a homosexual so I’m not going to blow you. I, of course, have no objections to homosexuality and I believe there’s nothing more beautiful than two men expressing affection for one another through sensuality. But I am going to have to exercise my consent authority to deny your request.”
“You know that, what you just said, makes you a homosexual, right?” Andrew said, “If you find nothing more beautiful than two men expressing affection for each other through sensuality that makes you fucking gay.”
“Oh, I see,” the dickbag named Derek said, “You weren’t actually requesting I fellate you. You were just responding to me in a vulgar, homophobic, and generally inappropriate way.”
“Yup,” Andrew said.
“You know, I really think you should probably leave now,” the dickbag named Derek said.
“And I think you should go suck a cock,” Andrew replied.
“You need to go now friend,” Tammy’s husband Anthony said, “Before we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Andrew asked.
“The kind of problem that’s going to have you lying there right next to Flaubert.”
“Andrew, we’re leaving!” said Larissa before making an apology to the room.
The drive home was silent, though Andrew could clearly tell that Abby was seething and just waiting for the right opportunity to unleash on him. He kind of didn’t care. Truth-be-told, he never really liked her. He wasn’t even sure how they ended-up together this long. She was an acquaintance of his sister who had introduced her to him while he was still grieving the loss of his fiancée Beth, a victim of the Fields Park Strangler. They were drunk and horny that night and one thing led to another. The next thing he knew they had been living together for three years.
Shortly after walking through the front door of their home, Abby discontinued the silence.
“I can’t believe you embarrassed me in front of my friends like that!”
“They kind of embarrassed themselves, don’t you think?” he said.
“You always gotta stir-up shit! And then you start-up with the homophobic remarks. Taylor really hates that!”
“Well good thing the bitch wasn’t there.”
“You’re a sonovabitch you know that?!”
“Get hold of yourself Abby. Taylor Swift don’t give a flying fuck about you and your stupid friends! You all live in a goddamn fantasy world!”
“My stupid friends?! Fuck you, just fuck you!”
“You’re friends are stupid. All of them. I’m sorry but it’s true. And, you know what? You’re pretty stupid too. And so are ‘Swiftmas parties’. And you know who else is stupid? Taylor Fucking Swift!”.
She slapped him across the face.
“She’s stupid,” Andrew said, “Taylor Swift.”
She slapped his face again.
“Stupid!” he said.
She slapped his face another time.
“Stupid! So so stupid! Taylor Swift is stupid!”
She jumped on him and he fell to the floor. She punched him and punched him, screaming “I hate you! I hate you! You sonovabitch!”
He managed to rollover and knock her off of him then get back on his feet.
“You piece of shit!” she said as she made her way back onto her feet, “Get out! Just get out! Get out now!”
“This is my house Abby. My name’s on the mortgage, I’m the one who pays it every month.”
“I don’t give a shit! Get out or I’ll start screaming at the top of my lungs until the neighbors call the police! I’ll do it! I swear I’ll do it!”
“Fine, I’ll leave. And while I’m gone I’m gonna buy all Taylor Swift’s albums. Not the stupid re-recorded Taylor’s versions, the originals. Not because I like them any better but because all the money will be going to that Scooter Whateverthefuckhisnameis!”
Abby grabbed a ceramic Christmas tree from the end table and threw it at him but it missed and hit the wall, breaking into multiple pieces.
“I guess I’ll be going now,” he said.
And now it was Christmas night and he was laying there in the snow after a merciless beating. His teeth were broken, his nose bloodied, his body contused. He suspected he had at least one broken rib. He shivered and it hurt terribly.
Attempting to distract himself from the pain, he looked to the sky. It was clear, filled with stars, and seemed to have an unusual blue glow. The shimmer of one especially bright star amongst the seeming millions caught his attention and he found himself staring into it, mesmerized. He thought he could hear the sounds of a distant choir coming from it. He listened closely, trying to recognize the tune. But he couldn’t, much as he tried. It was just too faint. Suddenly his attention was broken by the sounds of footsteps in the crunchy snow. He saw a hooded figure moving toward him. The Angel of Death? He thought to himself. Not quite.
Standing above him, throwing the hood back, the shadowy figure revealed itself as none other than the billionaire pop princess – Time magazine’s person of the year.
“War is over, if you want it,” she said, “War is over now.”
Before he could say anything in response, the stiletto heel of her boot came down on his scrotum like a hammer. He screamed, a mist of blood and spit spraying from his mouth.
She laughed then walked away singing.
“And a Britney song was on
And a Britney song was on
And a Britney song was on . . .”
I knew that was her song, he thought to himself, tears freezing to his face.
SKANLYN 