Of course, the true meaning for many at this time of the year had nothing to do with a birth in Bethlehem that changed the world. The main concern 2,000 years later is being first in line to bust through the doors to get that Black Friday flatscreen TV for $4.95 and screw the world.

Once again, there was no lack of Christmas shopping horror stories. This is the one that caught my attention. Two men in West Virginia got into an argument over a parking space at a department store. The argument led to one man getting knifed in the arm right down to the bone. What says Merry Christmas better than a traditional knife fight in a parking lot? After all, if I’m not mistaken, I believe that Joseph knifed the owner of the inn when he refused him and Mary a room and sent them off to them to the manger.

On second thought, I may have gotten that wrong.

We don’t often find many good news stories lately but one actually did pop up recently. It was found in the Language Sciences Journal, which is not exactly a piece of literature that many sit by the fireplace reading for fun and non-profit. The report said that two American psychologists claim that people who swear at a high level of expertise are not necessarily stupid as previously thought. Those who could come up with a high number of swear words in 60 seconds could also come up with a high number of animal names in a similar 60-second period.

I’m not exactly proud of my great repertoire of profanities and the vast combinations. If you could see me now, my face is red as I go down through the list. But I am proud of the animal names that I can reel off with Jack Hanna any day of the week. I am so grateful for this report because now I can use my skills and reel off animal names in the place of embarrassing swear words. I admit that using animals are not as effective and colorful in expressing outrage at the injustices of the world but it doesn’t add to the verbal pollution that pervades our darkening world.

For example, let’s say that I drop a pen onto the floor and now I’m faced with the insult of bending over to pick it up. Any one with a warped sense of outrage like me knows that this event deserves a rip roaring bout of profanity. Rather than use a plethora of disgusting vernacular, the new me can now choose to use my vast wealth of animals names. Looking down at my dropped pen I can let loose with, “You are nothing but an ” aardvark, armadillo, anteater, behemoth.”

Man, oh man, if you only knew what that really means you would blush. Especially that I threw in behemoth in combination with aardvark. Believe me that is a profanity winner that is very very naughty.

This is how it could work in the future. If you’re a Buffalo Bills’ fan, I think you can make use of this revolutionary method of expressing profane thoughts in a civil manner. Let’s say it’s 2099 and the Bills have finally made the playoffs for the first time this century. Their artificially intelligent robot running back Artoo Doodoo is about to cross the goal line to win the Super Bowl. There’s no time left on the clock; there’s no one around AD, as they love to call him, and just before he crosses the goal line, a bolt comes loose in his F230 TH Borium Titanium leg. This causes his leg to fall off, which makes him lose his balance and fall to ground, where he fumbles the ball out of bounds and the game ends in another defeat for the Buffalo Bills which is their fifth Super Bowl loss.

Well, no doubt, the anguished Buffalo fans deserve to let it rip so this would a be a good one to use. Write it down, dear reader, for your great, great, great, grandkids.

It is at that moment when all Buffalo Bills fans scream in 2099 profane frustration, “You dirty, caterpillar, dinosaur, ferret, eel, giraffe!!” which is extremely foul language of unparalleled vile.

The devastated Artoo Doodoo is then forced to live the rest of his artificial life with the infamous humiliating name of Artoo D Don’t. But, at least, the late Scott Norwood is relieved of his burdensome mantle of being the greatest Bills’ goat in history.

Just when I was beginning to feel good about my green conservation efforts, we received another report card from National Grid. Thanks a lot guys. Our report card mark is sort of like getting a participation trophy in T-Ball. We got a GOOD.

Whoopdedoo! At least we beat out our wonderful neighbors who made us look great. Their report card was so bad they didn’t even get a grade of POOR. They got, “Hey, Buddy, what are you trying to do? Use your electric heater to melt the polar ice cap?” Thanks, guys. I’m sorry for poking fun at you but this is a battle that involves the survival of the fittest.

I think I know why we got a mediocre 45 ranking. It’s my wife’s fault. I blame it on her new electric mahjong set. That’s got to be it. It wasn’t good enough to flip the mahjong set case open manually. Now she has to charge it up every night so she can use a remote to pop it open. Then she can push another button and the tile racks unfold themselves.

There’s no more twittering the tiles to scramble them by hand. Now there’s an electric hand that takes over so the ladies can rest and prepare their strategy for day of heated mahjohnning that’s ahead. Thank God no one has to actually throw the dice. Now we’ve got that electric hand to do that. With those high tech electric powered tiles, the ladies no longer have to verbally call out such commands as, “2 crack, 5 bam, 6 dots.” The electric tiles speak for themselves.

I think this report card nonsense is leading to this scenario. We’re going to have an artificial intelligence monitor in our homes named Gridlock. And Gridlock’s going to approve or disapprove of our various requests for electricity.

Do you want to use a light to read? You’re going to need attain Gridlock’s OK. “Hey, Gridlock, I want to turn on this lamp so I can read another award winning column by that fantastic writer at the OBSERVER who makes me roll on the floor with laughter.” And then Gridlock will offer you a choice. “You’re such an idiot, but if that’s the way you want to waste your electricity allocation on that doofus, have at it. But be forewarned. You only have 200 kw remaining for the month and if you want to read what that fool calls writing, then I’m not authorizing 4 watts for your night light . What’s your choice?”

“Hey, no problem, Gridlock. Let there be light. That nitwit ain’t worth an electron.”

Nin Privitera is a Fredonia resident. His column appears the second Sunday of the month in the OBSERVER. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com