Have a holly, jolly…oh, whatever!
It’s that wonderful time of year when holiday spirit is thick within the air.
Time to get out some paper and make my list of the gifts I’d like to share.
Friends and family, barber and postman, teacher and the newspaper guy
Secretary, dental hygienist, yoga instructor, there’s a lot I need to buy.
But it’s snowing and blowing, my driveway needs shoveling before I can begin.
Then the plowman drives by and with a wink of his eye the bastard plows me in.
Undeterred, I’m on the road and heading for the mall. There’s a Christmas song
On the radio: Alvin! Poor dude, how many years has he been getting things wrong?
These great old tunes really stir me up and bring back memories of Christmas past.
Before long I’m singing like Bing, Andy and Nat and driving entirely too fast.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a parking spot and give the gas a burst…
Whoa, goddamn it, lady, where’d you come from? I saw that spot first.
At last I manage to park (blue lot, section Z) and trudge along through the snow
Into the shopping mall and the nearest coffee bar for a cuppa mocha cappuccino.
With my spirit recharged, my head out of the fog, I’m ready to tackle the aisles
Of the world’s largest mall…or tallest…or deepest…whatever it goes on for miles.
I desperately need a restroom. My coffee, as always, has run right through.
Ah, there’s the john, but wait a sign: Closed for repairs. Well, bullocks to you!
But it’s okay, I do get to pee on a potted fig tree down by the Gap
Under the watchful eye of a mannequin sporting a fine winter cap.
Ok, I’m ready to shop – but where? – With so many stores I am clueless.
Just do it, I’m thinking. Nike is right. Take out your list and get through this.
Where is my list? I can’t find it. In my pockets there is only a peanut bar.
Then cold realization. No, no, this can’t be. The list. I left it in the fucking car.
No matter, they’re committed to memory these twenty-seven gifts of good cheer.
The trick is to find the bunch, have a little lunch, and get my ass out of here.
Item one on my list. Sorry. Sold out. Items two, three and four, same story, no more.
It’s late I’m told, the good stuff is sold, shoulda got here before, like, the Civil War.
Look, my son wants that Sims game and you’ve got the last box in your hand.
It would mean so much, see, the poor boy is, uh, dying, surely you understand.
It’s the thought that counts come Christmas morning, I think you have to agree.
Still what a pitiful sight it will be, twenty-seven gift certificates beneath the tree.
Well, that’s it. I’m done. Time to go home. This moment I will long remember:
I went to the mall and came home with bugger all on this 22nd day of December.
5:20:15 PM 
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