Secret Santa

                I want to play a rousing game of Secret Santa.  In this game, I will give a gift to a number of people who have made my list.  Let’s get it straight up front that “making my list” is not necessarily GOOD, (though it could be) a good thing.  I will not name names, because that would be rude (and would thus ruin the Christmas Spirit). 

To _____:  I want to bake you a big, fat chocolate cake full of Viagra.  After you enjoy the luscious chocolate dessert, I will inject you with dopamine, serotonin, and Armani Aqua di Gio (for aesthetic reasons).  Merry Christmas to me. 

To _____:  First, I will go to the weird Asian store at Oak View Mall, and I will buy a samurai sword.  I will then oil it with the venom from a poison tree frog, then I will cut your fucking head off in one fell swoop.  You won’t even see it coming, so it can’t be considered unusually cruel or unusual.  My gift to you (and to the rest of the world) is that once your head is gone (and you are stone-cold dead), you won’t be able to open your obnoxious mouth ever again. 

To _____:  I give you the gift of cotton balls.  100 of them.  They will all go in your mouth at the same time, and you will have to decide whether to swallow or salivate or just wait.  You will be on stage so I can share this fine gift of silence and choking on the words you are unable to say anymore with the rest of the people who fucking hate the sound of your voice.

To _____:  I wish for you to be set in the middle of South-Central L.A. with your iphone and your $1,000 coat and your stupid, bedazzled ass-pocket jeans in the middle of the night so you can see that you don’t really matter.  Your ability to bullshit suburban idiots will get you exactly nowhere in the ghetto.  Have fun!  Call me when you’re bleeding out rectally from all the new friends you’ve made in jail. 

To _____:  Here’s some duct tape.  Cover all your holes.

To _____:  You’re super cool, because you take drugs and tell everyone about it.  So my gift to you is a needle and a balloon full of heroin.  When the drool is coming out of your mouth as you slowly die, I want you to think of my friend who died with the needle still sticking out of his vein and wonder whether you’re still as cool as you think you are now. 

To _____:  Since I know you are such a good Christian (at least when you’re in public and people are listening to you pompously orate about your special relationship with Jesus Christ), I give you a Quran.  You can either read it or shove it up your ass – I don’t see the outcome being any different. 

To _____:  I am going to donate you to an African family.  At least a sheep would have a purpose in Africa.  They could eat you or shave you and then you wouldn’t be such a fucking doormat piece of furniture, bleating for no reason.

To _____:  I love you.  SO MUCH!  So I give you a year in the Peace Corps to see what people who really have to suffer look like.  You’re a spoiled cow.  My gift is self-actualization.  Drink it in. 

To ______:  Thank you for being the only person today to say “I appreciate you”  today, even though those words were never said.  Sensory candles, a candy cane.  It’s the little things that make me happy, and it’s the little things that make me want to kill people with a machete.  So my wish for you is lifelong happiness and the pursuit of knowledge. 

To the rest of you who I love and admire:  I want to give the gift of the better version of myself.  Although I am adamantly opposed to New Year’s Resolutions, I would like to  vow to live my life the way I preach it; hopefully culminating in the relocation and reinvention of me.  Or my gift to you will be my own death, because I’d rather live than settle.