I'm sick of being politically cor rect about my festive season and having to say "Happy holidays" instead of what I really mean. Well, this year I'm taking back my traditional holy day. I'm gonna celebrate December 25 the way it was in days of old with antlers on my head and deeds of great fecundity.
In the era of the Roman Empire, this cold, dark time of year was cause for a seven-day party called Saturnalia that culminated in a giant public orgy. Those were the good old days before the rise of Christianity and its "war on Saturnalia." Since then, the holiday's been flipped from a fertility fest where everybody has sex with everybody else to a bizarro cult where sex is apparently not needed at all not even to conceive a saviour.
For 20 centuries we've been giving the nod to the whole ludicrous virgin birth story, hiding our genitalia as best we may, while the only orgy has been that of rioting shoppers in their frenzy of purchase.
It will be easy enough for me to take back the old ways in the privacy of my home. I will drink and eat a lot, and as a nod to the fest's reversal of rules, I will tell my children what to do and they will do it.
If I behave myself, my partner might allow me to wear those horny antlers alluded to earlier. The more salacious elements of the occasion, however, are still a mere fancy.
But dream with me for a moment. Picture a public Saturnalian Sexmas held at some giant venue like the Rogers Centre. Wouldn't that be a healing moment in our sexually blocked culture? Let us see our flimsy skins and trust our lust. Let us know how very, very variant we are. We'll have gauntlets of penetrations, mistletoe everywhere, lubricants that sparkle with holiday cheer.
And on multiple banks of couches, like teams of rowers, organized Satyr Nail Ya teams will copulate synchronously for communal climax in a record-setting daisy chain, the air loud with orgasms.
I'm sure all applicants could be keenly sorted through to make sure this is all not only sensual but consensual. And of course it will be safe what tinsel did for Christmas, latex will do for Saturnalia.
And imagine the time we'll have later in the snow, going lewdly door to door singing brash sex carols (Saturnalia rhymes so nicely with genitalia) while continuing to copulate with strangers through our specially designed snow pants.
Of course this need not interrupt or subvert any of the normal functionality of our modern culture. Afterwards, celebrants could return, as in days of old, untainted and unashamed, to the rigours of globalism and monogamy with no questions asked. What happens at the Rogers Centre stays at the Rogers Centre. Io, Saturnalia!