Below is Part One of Buffalo Mud’s 2022 Festivus celebration: The Airing of Grievances: 

1. Bono—Promoting his book “Surrender,” the Irish crooner appeared on “The Late Show with Stephen Colbert,” and from behind his tangerine shades, like some Saint Augustine avatar, he blessed us with his mystical wisdom: 
   America is perhaps the greatest song the world has not yet heard. I’m really encouraged by this idea that America doesn’t exist yet. It’s the greatest idea the world has ever had, but I don’t think it’s here yet. And that’s an amazing feeling, that’s it just being written, and far from recorded.
   What the fuck does this even mean Paul (Bono’s his real name is Paul David Hewson)? Have you seen us? Do you know who we are? Trump? Marjorie Taylor Green? January 6? Go back to your castle in Ireland and write the seven-thousandth variation of “Where The Streets Have No Name,” and shut up.
2. The necessity to use positive uplifting language when people suck. Here’s some bullshit people get told when they suck: “Lots of areas of potential growth here …” and “Excellence is not an accident, it’s a process…” Streamlined: “Hey dipshit, get your head out of your ass”… or “Quit being a fucking moron”… Everybody knows a swift kick in the ass is the most effective form of instruction.
3. How did we do? Endless fucking calls, emails and texts asking for feedback on every minor interaction with the world—from your Uber ride, to your an Amazon order, to the slippery thumb of your Urologist. These were my “additional comments” after we got past the multiple answer scales from my recent visit to the urologist: “Could use a nail trim and linger less, but is really cute with a nice fresh scent.”
4. Fuckers determined not to help you. The sales guy at Verizon: “Yes…No…Phones don’t use SD Cards anymore… I don’t know. I was off last week.” Trying to get your car inspected at Valvoline: “It’ll be three hours, you might want to come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow: “Inspection guy called in sick. Come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow again: “It’ll be four hours. You might want to come back tomorrow.”
5. Will Smith—For years this guy went around like he was a cross between Muhamad Ali and E.B. DuBois telling everyone how to be a good husband, father and human. Then Chris Rock throws a C- joke at his wife and he answers with violence. And, now that he has something new to sell you, where again he is a superhero and cannot be defeated, he’s on the apology tour proclaiming his humanity. Get the fuck outta here Prince of Scam Air.
6. Dog Moms and Dog Daddies—You did not impregnate, conceive or birth a Golden Doodle. They are dogs. They walk on four legs, sniff asses and eat every piece of shit they come across. It’s nice that you love them, care for them and they look at you the way your partner did before they learned about your bathroom habits, but they are dogs—not offspring.
7. Climate Change Deniers—All you people who didn’t believe, voted and fought against guys like Al Gore starting in the 80’s. I hope you’re happy as we endanger police, fire and others charged with ensuring public safety as we dig out from another once in a lifetime storm. Only these storms aren’t once in a lifetime anymore. They’re everyday, all the time. And their cost has contributed to our national debt being thirty trillion dollars.
8. Person at Aldi’s who starts to fumble through their purse/wallet for their money/card only after everything has been scanned and is in the cart. Hey shithead—there’s a process here. Pull your means of payment out after everything is on the conveyor belt. Some of us have to get home and eat a whole pie to stave off the frustration of dealing with your inconsiderate ass. 
9. Our menu has changed—I never want to know my current balance. I want to talk to a person who can schedule/cancel my appointment, provide technical support, take my order or tell me I’m the biggest, best daddy she ever had.
10. Festivus posts a day after Festivus.

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United States, America— The price of war is something most people will never comprehend. The human toll cannot truly be conveyed by fleeting images on the six o’clock news. Sure, we may make small talk in line, waiting for a coffee or a chalupa – “Did you see the latest from Middle-East?” “Horrible, just horrible” – but those words are inevitably empty, until the day we ourselves become a casualty.

I am a victim in the war on Christmas.

I was not an active soldier; no, I am tallied as one of the innumerable civilians wounded in this cruel game of chess. A mere bystander, now forever scarred…

I was walking out of Walmart. It was a crisp December evening, the kind that makes middle aged white men feel like just maybe there still IS a place for us in this world. I was giddy over the deal I’d gotten on the Fast-and-Furious Director’s-Cut 9-movie-package. I had already opened my 64-ounce bag of buffalo jerky. And that’s when it hit me.

Literally.

Some secular hipster had tossed a stale fruitcake at the Salvation Army caroler on the sidewalk. It ricocheted off me and hit him in his chestnuts. Confusing me for the attacker, he cracked me over the head with his copper kettle faster than you can say Saturnalia. By the time the security guard made it outside a drunken Santa from the nearby Payless Shoes was already raining haymakers on me while screaming “Go back to Cuba you goddamn atheist!” I woke up in the hospital sore and confused, a doctor explaining to me that the jumbo candy cane had been removed surgically.

How did it come to this? Bill O’Reilly warned us, but we dismissed him like one more horny old Irishman who can’t keep his hands off the company merchandise. And now innocents like myself are bearing the consequences: I’m always looking over my shoulder. I have trouble sleeping. And when I do finally drift off, my dreams are haunted by images of Jerry Falwell and Richard Dawkins playing Russian Roulette. During the day the neighbor’s flashing Christmas lights send me into seizures, and I’m beginning to think that my hobbit figurines are conspiring against me. I’ve started a gofundme page for my hospital bills – please donate generously.

I’ve heard rumors of a military action against Thanksgiving. Hopefully clearer heads will prevail.In the words of Leo Tolstoy, “War – what is good for?” Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

Dave P. Zach, Senior Buffalo Mud Contributor and Kanye fixer.

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Kane’s story starts on Christmas morning in Crackerville, Ohio when high powered corporate lawyer Becky Woodward finds her husband Ned, dead on the floor of the family run inn from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Ned, a huge fan of the action movie franchises apparently shot himself while imitating the Keanu Reeves character, John Wick. 

Though distraught, Becky and her son Kyle try to keep the business going. Becky, however, doesn’t have the right temperament and often encourages patrons to stick things where the sun doesn’t shine. And, Kyle, who had just been elevated to master debater of the Crackerville High debate team and had a hot text relationship going with Haley Finnhosle, turns silent and dark. He also started to incorporate the murders of puppies and kittens into his Dungeons & Dragons scenarios. 

Then, John Steele comes into the picture. Steele is a drifter, with no known past and an even sketchier future. But, there’s that moment when he’s telling Becky how shitty her inn is, where their eyes meet for just a moment, and she tells him, “Then, you run the fuckin place,” (f-bomb bleeped) and throws the inn keys at him. 

Quite to her surprise he sticks around and does just that. Slowly he starts to turn the place around. As the inn regains respectability through the summer Becky and Steele’s eyes occasionally meet. She likes his quiet confidence and he likes the way her ass looks in a business suit. The sexual tension between them increases, but Becky is still mourning Ned. 

In the meantime, Steele teaches Kyle how to throw a football and he lands a spot on the Crackerville High football team as a backup quarterback. He also has words of encouragement for him after Haley dumps him for giving her chlamydia—”Wrap that shit up, son.” 

One night after an excruciating business trip Becky wants to unwind with some red wine while luxuriating in the inn’s hot tub. Only, when she walks to the back of the inn with her bottle of cabernet she finds Steele in the tub. After an awkward greeting, she says she’ll come back later, but he asks her to join him. Reluctantly, she does. Their eyes meet and finally . . . finally, they give in to their desires and make sweet love right there in the hot tub with five horsepower of pulsing hot, chlorinated water pelting their bodies. 

Steele and Becky eagerly pursue the relationship while Kyle begins to thrive. His Dungeon & Dragon scenarios return to killing trolls and stupid middle earth hobbits. And, after coming off the bench and throwing two touchdowns passes to lead Crackerville High to Thanksgiving day victory over hated rival Crackerville North, he wins back Haley. 

Outwardly everything is going well. The inn is booked to capacity weekend after weekend, with an ever increasing Yelp score. There’s talk of Becky becoming a full partner at her firm. But, even with all these good things happening, beneath the surface Becky is frustrated and unsatisfied. While Steele is a great, positive force in both her and her son’s life, he just doesn’t make her body sing. They begin to quarrel and bicker till finally on Christmas Eve morning Steele starts to pack his few belongings to go.

Just as he’s zippering up his lone suitcase he hears a familiar voice from behind him: “You feeling lucky punk?” He turns around and sitting in a chair is Becky’s dead husband, Ned dressed up like Dirty Harry era Clint Eastwood. “Well, do you punk?”

Steele thinks ‘WTF,’ and turns to leave not sure what’s going on, but just as he is about to open the door Dirty Harry-Ned pins him against the wall and sticks the barrel of .44 magnum gun up to his chin and says: “Running away again, punk? Listen to me, you think you can come here without a pot to piss in, throw out all that quiet confident bullshit to win her heart and then just run away when the going gets a little rough? Well, not today . . . punk!

That is a woman full of passion and desire. Enough with this earnest, drifter bullshit. Tell her you want to lick every inch of her body, and then do it. Tell her you want to take her in the laundry room and in the the kitchen, and then do it. Tell her you want to make her body shake so hard that her sister in Toledo will feel it, and then do it.”

Steele blinked and Dirty Harry-Ned was gone. Not sure what just happened he, nevertheless, searched out Becky and whispered in her ear that he’s sorry and wants to make it up to her by licking every inch of her body. Instantly he could sense her excitement. Then, they make love all night long on the countertops and in the hallways of the inn. They took each other in the basement and in the bathroom. And, finally, with the sun coming up, their bare asses freezing on the inn porch, they heard the bells of Christmas ring.

As they untangled and pulled on their clothes, Steele saw over Becky’s shoulder Dirty Harry-Ned, leaning against a railing. He didn’t exactly smile as he holstered his .44 magnum. In his ears Steele heard his voice: “Good job . . . punk.”

Kane thought the script was a natural fit for the Hallmark Channel. However, the only feedback he received was a one word email that said, “Really?” with an eye roll meme.

Kane plans to pitch the story to Netflix and Amazon. 

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Arcade, NY—On the Saturday before Christmas, with darkness approaching, steady snow and thirty-seven deliveries left, rural FedEx Express driver Chuck Ollenburg’s Mercedes Sprinter slipped helplessly into a ditch off of Route 39 in the Arcade hills. Despite good tire tread, low gear and six-hundred pounds of sand bags weighing down the back end the truck was no match for mother nature. Thankfully, Chuck still had cell reception and was able contact his dispatcher and secure a tow…in three hours.

After running through a series of useless curses directed at all the lazy ass online Amazon and Wal-Mart shoppers Chuck quietly accepted his fate. Looking at social media he became thoroughly depressed seeing friends and family all gearing up for a night holiday cheer while he sat in this ditch, knowing he was going to spend Christmas Eve delivering the remaining  thirty-seven stops on his truck.

With nothing to do Chuck’s mind drifted back to his high school bedroom, where he was doing  one hitters, listening to Insane Clown Posse, while trying to do his Algebra homework. He remembered being really close to solving an equation using the Pythagorean theorem, but he just couldn’t work it out and instead of texting his math whiz friend Tommy Sargente, he did another hit, turned up the ICP and said to himself, When am I ever going to need this Algebra bullshit. He then tried to get Haley Smith, this girl he had his eye on, to return his texts.  

His revelry was broken by a tapping noise on the side of truck. Momentarily Chuck thought it was the tow, two hours early. YES, he said to himself.  But it wasn’t the tow, it was the nice Amish man whose ditch Chuck was sitting in. The man asked if he wanted to come, keep warm in the house while he waited for the tow. Sitting at this angle Chuck didn’t think it was a good idea to keep the engine running while he waited and accepted the man’s offer.

His name was Jacob Soltzfus and he was a clockmaker…a passionate clockmaker. After some delicious freshly baked bread and tea Soltzfus showed him his clocks. Chuck wasn’t much into clocks, but he did admire Soltzfus passion, even if it was for something as weird as clocks. This prompted another memory and a hasty exit from Soltzfus’ house.

He tried to fight it but walking down that long icy driveway Chuck couldn’t get another passionate guy out of his mind, his Uncle Joey, a Union Plumber. When it became apparent Chuck was a washout at school his mom got him an apprenticeship with his Uncle Joey, who was forever talking valves and water pressure and his Union brothers. He remembered a heated argument between Uncle Joey and his Dad which came to blows when his Dad insisted on using  pex instead of copper to redo their kitchen. He also remembered how he only lasted a week at the apprenticeship. The work was hard and dirty and the guys were merciless, asking Uncle Joey if he had any other daughters and if was she was going make sandwiches for the crew. The razzing was endless, but if Chuck had stuck it out, he would be a master plumber by now earning $150K a year.

Back in his truck looking at social media again he saw a pic of Uncle Joey and his third wife enjoying Christmas poolside in the Bahamas. He also was part of a group text from his old math whiz buddy, Tommy Sargente. who worked cyber security for the FBI. Sargente was at his condo in Florida with Haley Smith and they were announcing their plans for a June 2018 wedding. In the pic showing off the engagement rock, Chuck couldn’t help but notice that Haley was just as beautiful as she was in high school.

Just then, as a heartbreaking depression was settling over Chuck, he received a message from his dispatcher saying the tow was delayed and it would be another hour or more until they could get to him. Taking in this latest bit of bad news a hushed calm came over Chuck and he quietly began to weep as he mused about his life choices.            

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Buffalo, NY—An unemployed forty-three year old restaurant worker from the Old First Ward, John Dunphy, alleged mental and sexual abuse against himself in Buffalo Civil Court last week. In the filing before Judge Leronda Williams the plaintiff, who was also the defendant, cited hateful, self-esteem crushing speech emanating from his own head and unwanted sexual advances committed by his hands on himself, including both groping and stroking, resulting in ongoing mental anguish.   

Audio of a recent exchange between Dunphy and his mom Toni, at their O’Connell Street home was captured on a cell phone and submitted as evidence. The exchange centered on a plate of  freshly baked Christmas cookies, which were consumed by Dunphy. On the recording Toni Dunphy innocently asks John if he ate the cookies. After saying he accidentally knocked the plate on the floor, Dunphy confesses in a testy voice, “Yes, I ate them. I ate all the cookies and drank a half gallon of milk too and I’m not sorry.”

In reassuring tones Dunphy’s mom responds by telling her son it’s alright, she could bake more, giving rise to  Dunphy’s combustible self-hatred, “I knew you’d say that, ‘it’s alright, don’t worry, everything is fine.’ Well, everything’s not fine. I’m a monster with no self-control. Everybody else can have one or two cookies, but not me, I have to eat the whole plate, It’s the same with pizza and hot dogs. Everybody else can have one or two, but not me, I need five or six because I’m a pig and a lout and a loser,” he could be heard screaming.

Court papers also explained Dunphy’s penchant for strong women and his lack of self control, which was backed up by the cell phone audio as well, “And you know what I did after I ate all the cookies mother? I turned on Judge Judy and diddled myself till I was all sloppy. Dilly Dilly to me. I know, I can just change the channel when I get these urges, but when I do, you know what happens?…Joy Behar is on CNN, Kathie Lee and Hoda are pounding wine on Today and goddamn Amy Farrah Fowler is everywhere. And, when I turn off the TV, that waitress from the Wayside, Doris jumps into my head or Shirley, the Rite Aid pharmacy assistant, who suffers no fools, comes to me and the result is always the same, loathsome diflement at my own hands followed by rounds and rounds of brutal self-hatred.”

Without really looking up from the papers before her Judge Williams noted, since this ambiguous thing called justice, rather monetary compensation was being sought, she was going to rule in favor of both the plaintiff and defendant with a referral to the State Mental Health Board, where Dunphy could find resources to address his ongoing problems.

Hearing the ruling Dunphy shot up from his seat and pounding the table with his fist yelled, “I don’t want a stupid referral, I want JUSTICE!!!”

At which point Judge Williams also stood up and from behind the bench said, “Excuse me, this court has ruled and JUSTICE, has been served Mr. Dunphy. You will take your referral now and get some help.  However, if you choose to continue with these disrespectful outbursts I will have you locked up until which time you can conduct yourself properly in these chambers. Do you understand me?”

Dunphy just stood there with his head down, while Judge Williams repeated herself, “Mr Dunphy, do you understand me?”

After a moment Dunphy looked up with a big smile on his face threw his arms up in the air and triumphantly yelled, “Yes, yes, I understand. And Judge.will you please spank me…I mean, marry me?”

Annoyed court staffers then escorted  Dunphy from the courtroom as he continued to proposition Judge Williams and yell “Dilly Dilly.”        

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