Very bad Santa

This is the time of year I dread. It's not the fault of Christmas. It's that, you know, divorced, without the kid, and so on.

There are many more like me everywhere in various un-merry circumstances, depressed. So, I propose a few ways in which to alleviate the Xmas doldrums.

First, I suggest we dress up as Santa, approach strangers on the street, and whisper in their ear, "I'm not wearing any underwear."

I suggest that we all go shoplifting and give each other the things we steal.

I suggest we try to get 100,000 signatures to make playing "Little Drummer Boy" in any public place a felony.

I propose we leave Santa cookies laced with Viagra and cut Mrs. Santa's milk with Ambien.

I suggest we buy copies of "beloved" Christmas movies: Miracle on 34th Street, Love, Actually, A Christmas Carol and, of course, It's a Wonderful Life. Then we go outside, pour gasoline on them, and set them on fire.

I suggest we call up houses, ask for the kid, tell him he's Jewish, and hang up.

I propose we send "ten Lords a-leaping" to anyone in your community who is homophobic.

I propose that wherever it snows, we go to people's houses in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and urinate, letter by letter, "BAH, HUMBUG," in the snow. Women can try this, if they like.

I suggest we complain to authorities that when Santa says, "Ho, ho, ho," he's actually asking for a prostitute.

I propose that we all get together on Christmas evening and watch the clock go past midnight and sigh collectively in relief.

Well? What do you say? Anybody want to join me?