Another beard trimmer, my parent's favor over my other siblings, the hot item this year, renewal of my faith in the true meaning of Christmas, meaningful things, snow, the ability to not ruin what I already have, a skateboard, but I would trade all of this if I could just have you. But that's not happening either.
-A fantasy football championship. I'll be getting two. (Rebello, I'm calling you out for fantasy baseball 2006.)
-Smallpox, thanks to the miracle of vaccination.
-A Johnny Damon jersey, because I don't root for money-grubbing traitors.
-My swerve on, because my parents just bought a new couch and I haven't had time to bore holes in the cushions.
-A My Little Pony, because I already own the entire set.
-The Queens of Comedy on DVD, because I've seen Holocaust footage that's funnier.
-Off my ass, because that's what Federal holidays are for.
Scott Stapp's mullet in a limited edition hand-carved wooden lockbox, a crack rock from the Moon, Pioneer subwoofers that fit into the rims of my car, an Xbox 720, my GED that got “lost in the mail” 7 years ago, a signed copy of the Bible from God, and an instant replay of the Resurrection from Christ.
All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth…back from that bastard who hit me in the face with a shovel last week, but how would he go about wrapping them?
I also probably won't get the other stuff I asked for: peace on earth, good will to all lesbians, or my dignity. Now leave me alone, there's a party going on in my cubicle involving me, some moonshine, and the copy girl with the lazy eye and limp. I hope all your New Years suck.
E. Mike Tuckerson
Christmas often reminds me of a high school girlfriend—mostly because of the lie about “giving being more important than receiving.” So, to challenge the spirit of giving, here's a list of things I am sure I won't be getting for Christmas:
Music: “A George Bush Christmas” featuring Kanye West
Literature: “War: What Is It Good For?” By Saddam Hussein
Video: “How 50 Cent Saved Christmas” on Disney DVD
Miscellaneous: FEMA Funding (for my new yacht), any mail sent through New Orleans (period), any traces of the Fourth Amendment, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I don't rule these out entirely, but let's just say I've reinvested my faith in something more wholesome, like former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's “Healthcare For Hookers” program. I can't define sainthood, but I know a good cause when I see it.
-Denim pattern Chuck Norris Pajamas.
-An autographed picture of Ali wearing that thing I sent her.
-Tommy James and the Shondells' greatest hits on cassette tape.
-Nick and Jessica to forgive each other and give it another shot for the good of mankind.
-To become the next American Idol.
Tiffany diamond earrings from the entire cast of Prison Break, Eva Longoria's hair extensions, the Chicago Black Hawks (allowing all the players to be at my sexual disposal). But the one thing I really want for Christmas the most but will never get: the ability to tell a guy I'm chatting with at a bar that I'm a comedian and not have him look at me like I'm a bag lady, frown and ask if I'm there looking for a husband, or reply with, “and by comedian, do you mean a clown that makes balloon animals at kids' parties?”
An autographed Marilyn Manson t-shirt signed by the devil, a bottle of hair gel, a pound of regular, a visit from Xzibit to pimp my '96 Corolla, and a Christmas card from the guy who robbed me at the bank last week…ungrateful bastard.
Sex, coitus, intercourse, vaginal penetration, doggy-style, 69, midget 3-way, mediocre roadhead, an innocent handjob, an intense dry-humping session, heavy petting, cuddle session, make-out session, meaningful conversation at a bar, shaking a girl's hand, and a video iPod.
An exhaustive, and 100% accurate top ten list of things I won't be getting for Christmas:
#1 – Anything
#2 thru #10 – See #1
You see, fans, I'm Jewish. I know you must be saying to yourselves “A Jewish comedy writer? What are the odds of that?” But it's true. Allow me to enlighten you as to what this time of year means for me:
All my goy friends are broke right now, meanwhile, I did all my necessary shopping in a dollar store. My manager at work bombards us with a never-ending stream of goddamn Christmas music. I swear to god, if I hear Jingle Bell Rock one more time, I'm going to retaliate by sacrificing an adorable kitten to Vul-Kar, the tiki god of Fireball Island. Stores are crowded, TV is glutted with crappy specials, and none of my booty calls are available.
I know, I know, you're thinking: What about Hanukkah? Well, I'm telling you right now, Hanukkah is a damn fiction, at least in my family. There's no 8 days of presents, there's no Hanukkah Harry, and there's no decorating a bush. At least not in the literal sense.
But Christmas isn't all bad. There's a steady stream of free cookies and candies at work…plus a party with an open bar. I totally make the most of the mistletoe tradition, sometimes hanging it from my belt buckle, not entirely in jest. Finally, Christmas day, when nothing is open, and I have no familial obligations, is a great day to sleep in, get drunk in the afternoon, and play video games all night.
So, with this in mind, Happy Birthday, Jesus. Sorry my ancestors were a bit mean to you. If ever you're in my neighborhood, we'll get together, turn some water into wine and some wheat into marijuana, and party, k?
Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Winter Break from all of us at PIC!