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Christmas memories whet Carmine’s appetite!

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I’m madder than a skunk who accidentally sprayed his den when the wind blew too loud over the fact that this past holiday season I had Father Carmine (Believe it! He’s my priest) whispering in my ear to avoid the deadliest of the deadly sins — gluttony — while my nephew Anthony was preparing the seven fishes on Christmas Eve, which in my family somehow has been upgraded to 13 fishes!

Look, you all know the ol’Screecher can suck in krill like a humpback whale off the shores of the Rockaways, what with the baleen-like teeth I had my dentures designed as and my over-sized tongue, but that doesn’t mean — wait a minute. In fact, I guess it does mean that I’m in for an eternity of suffering because of all the sinning I did on Earth when it comes to putting tasty things in my mouth and, eventually, on my hips.

So you can understand why I’m so pig-biting mad about all the bad news I’m forced — forced I tell you — to read and watch and listen to horrible stories on the news and in the papers and on the radio when I’m supposed to be enjoying my time on earth so I won’t feel so bad when I’m doing time in purgatory!

So I’ve got one word to describe this week’s column: Bah humbug!

That’s the way I feel every time I wake up in the morning and get bombarded with bad news from the second I pick up the newspaper delivered to my door. All this bad feeling has gotten me so upset, I’ve even coined a new word to describe the garbage I’m forced to put up with: “Grues-news!”

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Carmine, you’ve done it again! It’s these short bursts of geniusness that keep me coming back to your column week after week after week!”

And to that I say “Your welcome!”

I’m sure youse know this feeling that outrages your senses. What in the world is happening to our world? “Grues-news” is not only happening, but spreading because it implant seeds of discontent to every sicko out there; with this indelible message: go out with a big bang!

As more and more innocents fall victim to these crazies, our leaders are getting worse and worse (if that is at all possible) and its obvious that something’s gotta be done as of yesterday to thwart this administra­tion’s stranglehold on law and order.

Where is Commissioner Tom Selleck when we need him! Can we borrow his toughie cop son and ADA daughter? Heck we’re so overwhelmed by crazies lets grab the whole Blue Blood family!

Meanwhile I’ll take the Red Bull by the can and propose that for every grues-news horror published, equal coverage be given for every good news happening, so that Charles Bronson vigilantism be emulated to regain our city from these peaceful freeloading protestors who are obviously not working full time, all the time and with the vim and vigor of someone that gets paid time and a half and then double-time for overtime. Enough said!

I’m switching back to a jolly topic to spotlight my nephew Anthony’s 13 fishes feast scooped up from the seven seas that we devoured Christmas Eve, with everybody taking home what couldn’t fit in their giant fridge.

I’m sure you’ve seen the menu on all the channels, but allow me to rethink, rehash, and remember what causes Christendom’s annual phenomena of indigestion. Beautifully set tables greet you with appetizers and drink. Two-thousand years ago, everyone flocked to the stable to adore the Holy Family and the infant Jesus in the manger and since then the world has never been the same.

On Christmas Day my son-in-law Michael was tasked with serving tons of food to add to the belly what hadn’t been digested the night before.

Again huge appetizers, salad and bread started the lifting exercise of bringing fully laden forks to your mouth while your eyes scanned the table to re-activate false “starving” hunger pangs. Vicious cycle isn’t it? There are no such things as calories during Christmas feasts, because the joy of the holiday miraculously burns them up before they can turn into fat. Paraphrasing the gladiator motto “We who are about to diet salute you with Brioschi and Alka Seltzer libations.

Hoping your belly’s shrink in the New Year!

Screech at you next week!

Posted 12:00 am, January 11, 2015
Read Carmine's screech every Sunday on BrooklynPaper.com. E-mail him at diegovega@aol.com.
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