Growing up in the 90s, I looked forward to coming home and being able to see Home Alone every Thanksgiving weekend since it began airing on television. I enjoyed watching it yet again when it aired on and around Christmas. Being named Kevin, it was virtually impossible for me to not think I was Kevin McAllister and that if I wanted to I could take on burglars if they ever broke into my home.
For too many Christmases, those burglars in a different form as Dick Cheney (Harry) and Dubya Bush (Marv) have threatened our homes whether we liked it or not. They have wanted to steal our freedom and all the money we have which allows us to live that freedom. They took it because they think it belongs to them and they will use anything even Jesus to win it from us if that’s what it takes.
And this year, again, they’ll take it right out from under our noses.
It’s not hard to imagine at all watching Home Alone with Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern replaced by Cheney and Bush.
Dick “Harry” Cheney drives around in a van snarling with that grimaced look on his face muttering curse words and saying, “Bah humbug!” He drives around with Dubya “Marv” Bush and Dubya tells him all these ideas for things that can be done to knock off people---how they are going to make their mark. He comes up with a nickname for the kind of bandits they are the same way he has come up with nicknames like Turd Blossom for Karl Rove.
Sticky bandits? Nope. Wet bandits? Nope. How about the Jesus bandits? Yes, that’s it and then Dick Cheney will hit him with a crow bar for being dumb, retarded, and unoriginal.
Like Joe Pesci, his gold tooth will glisten as he repeatedly tells the prodigal son to go f*ck himself.
In the same way that Bush talks to us about two or three jobs being uniquely American or asks is our children learning, when he runs into us while looking for the best targets to knock off, Dubya “Marv” Bush will poke his head out and say something like, “Santy don't visit the funeral homes, little buddy.”
I imagine myself in this movie. I imagine myself putting up booby traps for Bush and Cheney to get caught in. I imagine myself declaring, “This is my house. I have to defend it.” I imagine coming up with sly remarks like, “'I’m over here you big horse's ass, come and get me before I call the police.”
Burned. Torched. Wounded. Knocked Out. And Demoralized…I imagine relishing every moment that I keep these burglars from ruining Christmas for me and my family.