Let’s take “World Peace” off the table; it ain’t happening, and certainly not this year. Asking for world peace in 2018? Why don’t you ask for hairy lizards, or a non-humiliating end to Brexit, or bowling balls made of fudge and promises? This coming year will be rambunctious at best, decoherent at worst. Ill winds blow, Enthusiasts, and it doesn’t take a weatherman, etc.
And absolute power over all. Let’s remove that from the list as well, as it’s not going to happen and I don’t even want the job. Can you imagine it? Being king? Think of the paperwork. The meetings! Have you ever seen a briefing book, Enthusiasts? Thick binders full of facts and figures and single-spaced memorandum on places you don’t want to go, people you don’t care to meet, and concepts so boring that one of them is called quantitative easing. That would be part of being the king in 2018: you’d have to make some sort of decision on quantitative easing. And whether AI deserved rights. And cleaning up the Pacific Trash Gyre. Oh, and the Middle East. If you were named king of the world, then you’d have to deal with the Middle East, and if Jared Kushner couldn’t solve the problems over there, then what chance do you have? Now, if someone offers you the chance to be king and a Time Sheath, then you should absolutely jump at the offer. Being the king of the world in the past was a sweet gig: feasts and armies and big thrones made of gold–lapis lazuli would be involved–and crowns and you could chop heads off. Now? In 2018? King of the world is the opposite of a sweet gig. Telling people what to do was a lot more fun a couple hundred years ago.
So what does one ask for on a Christmas so dire?
I have pared my list down, Enthusiasts, to two items: money and whatever. Let us discuss each.
Money is delightful; I don’t know if you’re aware. Having it makes you better than those that do not, and it is almost as nice to have in your pants as a boner, but more useful. Far more problems can be solved with cash than with an erection. Money can create a forest, did you ever think of that? The very trees felled to make the bank notes transformed back into themselves. Buy the land, the seed, and spread and till and water and nurture: in just a few decades, a mighty wood will rise. Now, I will certainly not do that with any moneys you might see to giving me for Christmas, but I still think it is a fine idea to hit up the Donate Button.
Whatever is also lovely. Some of you live in places where whatever is legal, and you can walk into a shop on the Main Drag and choose between this whatever and that whatever. Oh, how a man stuck in a swamp envies you. It is an errand, whatever! You stop at the library, and then the dry cleaners, and then the post office, and then the shop that sells whatever. The door goes TINKadink and there is a counter and a cash register and an attractive and pretentious young person who attends to your needs. There are different strains of whatever, and varying delivery methods, and everything is weighed and sorted in front of you so there is no tomfoolery. Mingus is playing on the shop’s stereo, or Buck Owens. The whatever is lovely this year, and pairs well with a Valpolicella.
So: this is my Christmas list, Enthusiasts: money or whatever. If I am worthy of a gift, then please send it in either of those manifestations. If, in this dreadful year of bottomless pits and mountainous monstrosities, this bullshit has provided a moment of solace and you’ve placed me among your loved ones, then hit the Donate Button or send me an e-mail full of euphemisms. If not, keep reading for free.
Although, you know: two fucking novels (almost) and all the little bullshit is worth something.
Now you’re just begging.
No, I was haranguing. Much worse.
I hope you have a tombstone Christmas.
You’re a loathsome toad.
Regardless: Christmas is the season for giving, Enthusiasts, and I should be on top of your lists. Hit up the Donate Button. Or whatever
And to all a good night!
You should die in your sleep.
God, I hope so.