I may not know when you’ve been sleeping, or when you’ve been awake (pesky restraining order!), but I’m pretty sure some of you have been bad, which makes me one degree from Santa and more than capable of taking over should he need a year off. (I’m only five degrees from Kevin Bacon and climbing.)
Granted, I’d be more of a lady-style Santa, and lacking the Civil War beard, the infinite presents, and the overly perky, in-house laborers. Also not very Santa-ish: I possess only a passing interest in monochromatic velvet suits, and according to a friend, my complexion is “whiter than an albino fish’s belly ohmygodmyeyesthey’reburning.”
Yes, Virginia, that was a dig on Megyn Kelly, the Fox News personality who recently asserted St. Nick is/was white, despite the historical character’s birthplace: he’s Turkish, man. Tell Mommy to stop kissing Santa Claus — I’m gonna find that beautiful man with the hazelnut skin and lick him.
Sorry, I just blacked out there for a minute … what were we talking about? Oh yes, that growing panic swirling in your head because you’ve been bad. I know what you did last week and it was not shopping for prezzies for Dad, or Uncle Ken, or Auntie Jane, or That Sonuva whose name you drew in the office Secret Santa pool. It’s all coming to a head now, ain’t it?
You have no time. You have no ideas. And you’re sitting there right now, at the bar, with a Jame-o in one hand and a blank shopping list in the other and you are tripping your tits/balls off with pure, unadulterated fear. Are you wishing for an out? Would you rather be in traction than surrounded by family, empty-handed on Christmas Day?
If that’s the case, Friendo, I have two thoughts:
1. What’s wrong with all of you? This season is about kith and kin, and the spirit of the Griswold Family Christmas, and the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there! Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave? O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! Play ball!
2. If shouting that dramatically in front of your entire family with a fifth of Jack in one hand and a dangerously-empty highball glass in the other doesn’t turn things around for you, I present you the perfect, last minute solution to gift giving: Sky Mall catalog.
Grab a piece of paper and mark out four different columns. The columns are divided thusly: 1) Name. 2) How much are you gonna spend on this person? $3? $15? $50? $150. 3) Present from the Sky Mall catalog that costs that much. 4) Free Column for doodling the name of your current crush, using hearts to dot the i’s. (I call Turkish Santa.)
Now tell Dad he’s getting a Bigfoot garden statue, Uncle Ken the Flair Hair visor to hide his baldness, a Pet Ramp for Aunt Jane’s dachshund so the little dude can climb into bed and watch “Pride and Prejudice” with her, and a Universal Pillow Remote for That Sonuva whose name you drew in the office Secret Santa pool. Tell them it’s in the mail and then go find another bottle of Jame-o, because your glass is empty, pal.