Trash Or Nawl: The War On Christmas Is Real, and it’s actually about the Eagles

Welcome to Trash Or Nawl, a weekly column to help you weed through the Internet Muck. To do that, I’ll be breaking it down to a helpful binary: Is something trash? Or nawl? Topics here will involve sports and whatever else the hell I say is sports or sports adjacent. I’ll do my best to make sense of what’s going on each week, but the thing to remember is no matter what I say, most of these things are still trash.

You might say this is simplistic, and hell yeah it is. This is how I make sense of the chaos. Professional grade hating restores power to my powerless stupid fan hands. I give a middle finger because I’ve given up clapping.

Trash or Nawl criteria: We will pick a topic. We will breakdown why or why it isn’t trash. You can agree, you can comment or tweet your disagreements. Or we can fight. Really, it’s up to you.

Today is another special edition of Trash Or Nawl. Honestly, y’all should just get used to every edition being a “special edition” because I’ve been special all my life. Shouts to my guy Mike Beasley. Today let’s discuss y’alls fave stupid ass, pagan-face ass holiday, Chrimuh.

Lemme tell you jerks about the War on Christmas. No, it’s not whatever the Sweet Potato in Chief, Donny Screwball, is whippin up in the Conservative Palace today for all you GOP All-Stars. The War on Christmas is one we’ve always known. We go back and forth about it every year, but this is the real one, the actual War on Christmas, one that has nothing to do with what the Starbucks barista says to you when you get that shitty latte.

The War on Christmas is actually the War Against the Philadelphia Eagles, because allegedly in 1968, Eagles fans booed Santa and threw snowballs at his holly-jolly ass.

EVERY STUPID YEAR YOU MCASSHOLES GOTTA POP SOME SHIT ABOUT A WEAK ASS SANTA GETTING PELTED WITH SNOWBALLS. IT AIN’T MY FAULT IF YO WEAK ASS CITY DON’T ADD VIOLENCE TO YOUR FUN.

This shit didn’t even happen. If you believe this you either from Dallas or you the Feds. (Note: To any Feds reading that, I have committed no crimes.) Philadelphia gave this country democracy and battle rap. We’ve never waged wars against dudes who aren’t even real. Matter fact, this whole argument is some inception shit. Leo DiCaprio ain’t coming to my house for the holidays and neither is this argument. All hail St. Nick Foles, the patron saint of Mt. Dynamite on Napoleon, may his reign last until the true red-haired messiah comes back to us. Ah-Men.

Verdict on Santa: Trash

Verdict on Philly: Never Trash

In the following order, these are the only acceptable Chrimuh songs:

Everything else you and yo family listen to is garbage. So warm up that dry ass turkey, get them canned cranberries and fruit cake poppin for Yung Barbz and the suburban homies and have a jolly 25th day of a random month we decided was litty.

Verdict on Songs: Immaculate

Verdict on Fruit Cake: Hot Trash

For once, ima side with all you lame ass “JOURNALISM IS DEVOID OF OBJECTIVITY” twitter losers. There’s nothing wrong with reminding the world about some bangers. Migos does it all the time. If anything, it’s a measure of the humility you have because you coulda just reminded everyone for 300-plus days about bangers, but you’re like “nah, y’all got bills and shit to worry about.”

If you wanna pad the stats, collect a rack, or rep the set by getting these 35 tweet threads off at 1 a.m., I’m not stopping you pimp. I am, however, not reading that shit. Do you know how much Westworld I’m not caught up on? Do you know how much air is not being used fully if I read your work? C’mon, man. Why would I waste this unlimited data plan on that?

But. Y’know. Power to ya.

Verdict on Doin Ya Thang: Hell Yeah, man. Do that thang.

If you disagree with these verdicts, comment below. As stated earlier, you can agree, comment, tweet through your frustration or fight. Really, it’s up to you.