WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STEYER

 

December 4 is SANTA’S LIST DAY. Yours truly having been a good boy this year, what better time than now to make out my Christmas wish list and tell Santa that I deserve everything on it? That gives me three weeks to be naughty while the old fart is busy browbeating and driving his elves to peak toy production before D-Day (Delivery Day) — or should I say, before Delivery Night. The way I see it, it’s not my fault that Santa won’t have time to check up on me — he should be a more adept despot.

Just kidding,of course. I don’t really plan on being a bad boy from now until Christmas…. and to prove it, my list will consist entirely of wishes for someone much more in need than I — a child so spoiled and naughty, he may soon be locked out of his WHITE HOUSE (depending on who holds the key to the outcome). The name of that over-privileged child is Don-Don (known as THE DONALD by those in awe of him — and who isn’t?).

But why leave to chance the chances that my wishes for Don-Don come true?

If not upon a star, maybe I could wish upon a STEYER: Tom-Tom STEYER, the billionaire liberal activist, philanthropist, and Trump ingrate, for help in suggesting gifts that Santa (perhaps with coaxing from Mrs. Claus, who could probably use a Steyer-donated fur coat) might deliver to the needy Don-Don. But it seems Tom-Tom is too-too busy donating  to causes instead of Clauses, so I’m stuck doing the dirty work all by myself. Fortunately, I have a pretty good idea of the toys it will take to get little Don-Don to straighten up and fly right, see himself for who he really is, and mend his lying ways:

Here, then, is my Don-Don wish list to Santa (additional suggestions welcomed):

1. A self-administered lie detector kit which gives $ for every truth and an electrical shock for every lie.

2. Smelling salts and a first aid kit to recover from daily attempts (which Don-Don can never resist) to sneak lies past #1.

3. A game of Trump Monopoly, which is just like regular Monopoly except: only Don-Don and family can play, there are numerous GO-TO-JAIL spaces, and there are no GET-OUT-OF-JAIL-FREE cards. 

4. A bully pulpit, complete with a bully who calls Don-Don a “loser” whenever something doesn’t go Don-Don’s way.

5. Don-Don finds Jesus on Fox News, has a revelation that he’s supposed to do unto others as he would have them do unto him, takes the Golden Rule to heart, astounds the world, and gives Sean Hannity a heart attack.

6. A new law permitting any President named Trump to be above the law (but only with the approval of any Special Counsel named Mueller).

7. A Presidential pardon for himself, enough enablers to keep him in office two more years, and a country gone to moral indifference and re-electing him in 2020. Hey, how did that wish slip in here? Could it be written in the stars?

 

THRICE AS NICE AS ONE AND DONE

Boys and girls (or vice-versa), we are on a 3-day roll, and you are in the middle of it: Dec. 4 was Santa’s List Day, Dec. 5 is Walt Disney’s birthday, and Dec. 6 is St. Nicholas Day.

I certainly hope you made it unto Santa’s “good” list yesterday. Not only is it bad if you didn’t, but you’re running out of time to change Santa’s mind before he comes to town:

As for Dec. 5, what would visions of Christmas be like without Walt Disney having contributed to bringing them to life? But frankly, boys and girls, who remembers his birthday, because Walt has been dead for 49 years! Despair not, however, because his body is rumored to have been frozen and put in a vault, like a reel of disintegrating old film, awaiting restoration when science conquers death! Walt Disney, as you know — now that I’m telling you — is said to have been fascinated with death since killing an owl at age seven (referring, of course, to Walt — the owl’s age at the time is not known). Whether it was the same owl who-o-o is seen in this scene is also unknown….but, oh, what a hoot:

That leaves us with St. Nicholas Day, which is celebrated, appropriately enough in light of the above, not on his birthday, but on the day of his reported death, Nov. 6, 343 A.D. As I’m sure you girls and boys have been told, Santa Claus is really St. Nicholas….or, at least (given that he most likely would be too arthritic for the job at his age if he were still alive), his ghost. What better way to close than with a visit from the old boy himself:

IN WHICH I APOLOGIZE TO SANTA(?)

I don’t know how Santa finds time during this, his peak season, to read my humble musings (unless he has a surplus of elves helping him this year),but apparently he manages. Not only that, but he has found time to respond to two of my recent tomes in which I happened to mention him in a manner to which he has, for some reason, taken exception.

I refer, for the benefit of you unfortunates who have been less than assiduous followers of my every posted thought, to the posts of November 15 (PHOBIAS, SCHMOBIAS) and December 14 (THE AGE OF INNOCENTS). In the former, I used the term “Santaclaustrophobia,” and in the latter, I inferred there is some question as to whether the old boy even exists.

Now, far be it from me to purposefully offend the old fart with the beard-over-belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly, but — well, out of respect, perhaps I should address the sainted fat man directly:

Dear Santa,

I have been a very good boy this year — no, wait. Wrong year. I was re-living December 1942.

Dear Santa,

I am in receipt of you recent elf-mail threatening to leave a lump of coal in my Christmas stocking unless I apologize for certain inflamatory remarks in my posts of 11/15 and 12/14. Ho ho ho. That’s a good one, Santa — always making with the jollies. Surely, you can’t be serious.

Dear Santa,

Just got your second elf-mail telling me not to call you Surely. Ok, OK, I’m sorry. I apologize for everything. Now, about my Christmas wish list, how about making me rich and famous? If that’s too much to ask, I’ll settle for Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.

Love,

mistermuse

P.S. “You can’t fool me — there ain’t no Sanity Clause.”