Making a List, Checking it Twice
Bah Humbug. I almost totally forgot that Christmas is this Friday, have no idea when Hanukkah started, and couldn’t name the principles of Kwanzaa if Maulana Karenga threatened to falsely imprison me. Still, I’ve found enough holiday spirit to give gifts to folks both naughty and nice. I think they’ll be somewhat useful to the receivers. It’s the thought that counts, right?
I’d give Tiger Woods a box of condoms and Kobe Bryant’s phone number. Woods was definitely naughty this year, and he probably has everything he ever wanted. Still, these gifts might be useful to him in 2010. Gotta stay protected, gotta get those endorsements back at some point, right?
The Heisman, an Emmy, a Tony, and an Academy Award nomination would go under the White House Christmas tree for President Obama. The black vote and the Nobel were two things Obama got this year that he probably shouldn’t have. I might as well continue the theme.
I’d give Caster Semenya two giant middle fingers to flip off the IAAF. The organization has offered to pay for Semenya’s “gender surgery” should she need it. Despite my friend Moya’s best efforts, I’m not well versed in human sexuality, gender identity, and such, but I do know that this is incredibly problematic and probably not the best approach. Maybe the IAAF should take that surgery money and use it on some books or an expert or three to educate themselves so that they can stop looking like morons.
Self-hate does not look good on you, Sammy Sosa. In fact it makes you look really ashy. Here’s Tyler Perry’s cork solution. Use it before he does. Oh, wait. That’s like different sides of the same coin, isn’t it? Nevermind. (In the new year, I’ll resolve to pump the brakes on the Tyler Perry hate.)
I’d give the makers of the swine flu vaccine a copy of I Am Legend on DVD. I have a philosophy: Try to avoid any and everything that reminds you of a Will Smith movie. I refuse to get involved in situations that would require The Fresh Prince to save me. That said, does anyone know a reputable German shepherd breeder?
I’d give the “gift” of marriage to my GLBTQ peeps. I suppose at this point gay marriage is as elusive as finding a Tickle Me Elmo on Christmas Eve. So the gift seems fitting. Besides, maybe if I gave it to you, black people wouldn’t be blamed anymore–not for this, anyway.
I’d give all my Monopoly money to GM stockholders. With enough blue $50 bills I can improve the things I own. Can you?
In exchange for my life back, I’d give the folks who created Twitter 60 extra characters. Sometimes, 140 characters just isn’t enough.
To Elin Woods, one word: HALF.
If I had it, I’d give the world not peace or the end of hunger, but the secret recipe for Jermaine Jackson’s hairstyle. One of the worst things about Michael Jackson’s death wasn’t the fact that my friend, Maegs insisted on saying “Jermajesty” as often as possible, but the fact that I had to stare at that structure known as Jermaine Jackson’s hair. Seriously, how many jars of gel does it take? And how much confidence must one have to leave the house looking like that?
Happy Chrismahanukwanzakah. You know. If you celebrate.