Santa Claus Vetoing All Requests for Paris Hilton Video

espite its popularity on Christmas wish lists the world over, Santa Claus called the commune offices this week to announce regretfully that he would not be fulfilling any requests for the Paris Hilton sex video this year.

The video in question features the 22-year-old hotel heiress engaging in several coal-worthy sex acts with then boyfriend Rick Solomon. While readily available for illegal download on the Internet, many had hoped for a handsomely packaged VHS or DVD copy they could proudly display in their movie collection this Christmas, a wish that Claus will be unable to fulfill for multiple reasons.

“Even if I approved of the content, I can’t even get my hands on the thing,� explained Santa. “They don’t offer broadband access at the North Pole, I’m still using this infernal dial-up connection. I can’t even download MP3s of the latest Christmas carols, it’s hopeless. Though from what I hear of today’s music, Santa may not be missing too much on that front, ho ho.�

Off the record, Santa expressed his concerns that hearing some godawful dance hit about Christina Aguilera getting fucked under the Christmas tree might shake his already strained Christmas spirit. Additionally, Claus wished to get the word out on several other hotly anticipated items he won’t be able to cram under Christmas trees this December 25th.

“The Gilligan’s Island DVD—that’s not even out yet. Just because I can breed magical flying livestock doesn’t mean I can time-travel here, kids. Have your parents check the street dates for these things before you send Santa your list next year, please,� the jolly fat man requested.

“Also, I’m not doing color picture phones this year,� Santa apologized. “My distributor in Korea said he could get me the parts but then he hit some kind snag with the displays and let Santa down big time. He can expect a big, dusty hunk of coal in his stocking this year, don’t worry. Though I sincerely doubt he’ll even notice, since most of those Asian countries don’t know Christmas from a crab cake. I stopped going to Singapore last year because everybody thought Santa was some kind of clown and they all wanted me to blow up balloon animals. Not that Santa minds getting a few fortune cookies on Christmas Eve, those can be a nice change of pace that go down surprisingly well with milk.�

Unfortunately, the Orient has not been alone in letting Santa down in recent years.

“Truth be told, some parts of Canada are even questionable these days,� St. Nick griped. “Last year I plopped down a chimney in Winnipeg and half the kids thought I was one of the X-Men, they wouldn’t shut up about wanting to see me extend my claws or shoot fireballs out of my armpits. None of those little children seemed too impressed with the old candy-cane behind-the-ear trick, either. I’m half inclined to skip Canada this year and see how much Christmas cheer their precious Wolverine brings them in my stead, the ungrateful little comic book geeks.�

Santa stresses that while full of good cheer and the Christmas spirit, most of his elves possess a third-grade education at best, and simply do not have the skills necessary to work with complex electronics.

“I thought it was bad back in 2001 when I had to have my elves dig up a bunch of old waffle irons and slap George Foreman decals on them,� Santa explained. “But now it’s just gone completely out of hand. Nobody wants a painted nutcracker anymore. Now it’s all Playstation 2 this and DVD burner that. I’ve had to farm most of my production work out to the Far East, and though small and well-behaved, I doubt those people are what most children envision when they think of Santa’s workforce.�

The resultant layoffs have hit the Christmas elf community hard, leading to rising levels of depression and substance abuse, aided in no small part by the North Pole’s harsh climate and the poor genetic tolerance for alcohol inherent in the Christmas elf population.

Due to rising tech expenses and soft sales of Santa-themed merchandise, Santa’s profit margins are razor-thin this year, children. Nice boys and girls can show their love for Santa by requesting less-demanding toys this Christmas season.

“Who wouldn’t love a little wooden toy train? That’s a classic. Those are pretty cheap to make, and we’ve got tons left over from the elf rehab workshops. Or how about a wooden dolly with a painted face? That’s pretty nice. And blocks. Kids used to have loads of fun with blocks,� Santa said, sighing distractedly.

Claus also wanted to stress with parents the importance of not arming their homes with high-tech burglar alarms and other security systems impervious to Christmas magic.

“Santa Claus doesn’t like to break a window, but he does what he has to do to deliver the magic of Christmas,� warned Santa in a stern tone.

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Just when I was about to hold out for more money on my show, Ho's!, they decide to cut back on my role. No joke—me! Clarissa Coleman!

The producers called me into a meeting, didn't even pay for lunch or meet me at Denny's for dinner, like I suggested, just had me into their office and told me they were cutting back on my role on the show. They think Ho's! has some real potential to be the next major thing on the WB and they don't want to screw it up by letting people think it's a Clarissa Coleman show. They said something about an albatross, but you can imagine I wasn't too hungry after hearing my job was in jeopardy. Don't get me wrong, I'll still be playing Ophelia, the white ho, but she's going to be cut back in the show until they see how audiences react.

I'm not counting on people storming the network, if you can call the WB that, and demanding more Clarissa. I'd do it, but that would be pretty suspicious, just me out there with a picket sign and bullhorn, they'd picked me out pretty easy. But hell, even a few letters can get me back to a major role on the show, and I know how to disguise my handwriting, I've forged enough checks over the years. In the meantime, I'm employed, sort of, but it looks like I'll have more time to focus on my screenplay.

I could still demand more money, but I've learned my lesson the hard way. It's just like when the little red-haired kid was quitting Diff'rent Strokes and they were looking at me to take his place, me and Arnold, who had to be like 31 at the time. I thought I'd play hardball, but learned my lesson pretty quick. I was only 5 at the time, what do you expect? But I've grown wiser over the years. I'll wait till my job is a little more secure to ask for more money, my own trailer, and a limo service to take me to the show everyday.

I'm going to start looking for work anyhow. Or make it less of a secret that I've been looking for work all this time. Working in TV has never been my favorite thing anyway, and being fired from every show I've gotten in the past ten years has encouraged me to spread my wings and try other things. Hell, I've even looked at theater, since theater producers probably don't know I've got the kiss of death on me right now. And if they do, I hate to do it, but I'll just change my name. Just for the stage—I'm not giving up box office gold like "Clarissa Coleman" for all of my real work.

There's a lot of good plays out there, I hear. The Odd Couple was based on a play, and I think so was What's Happening? I would write my own, but the special effects in plays really suck. I like writing dialogue, but my screenwriting teacher says I have to give the characters who aren't me dialogue, too, which seems like a great big hassle. How am I supposed to know what other people are going to say? I could make them all me, but then I wouldn't have anyone for the giant shark to kill. Or the space people, whatever. And I'm not sure how all that would go over on the stage. Besides, I got my screenwriting career to focus on, I can't go giving myself other things to do.

It's all temporary, I know. Things run hot and cold in this industry, and the industry's been cold on me for, say, 15 years now. But they'll warm up again. Even if I don't get any more work to keep me busy over the summer, I've got my sci-fi conventions and stuff to occupy me. You can always make a little scratch and keep your name out there by attending those things. Plus, that Sulu guy tells some awesome stories, when and if he shows up. Maybe I should see if he's got any screenplays he's looking to cast. I can still play pretty young, too, between 17 and 28, my agent says. That's perfect teen sidekick material, if any of you are making a new super-hero movie. I don't mind dressing like a boy either.

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Goddammit! Another V-Day, come and gone.

According to nebulous website statistics, one in five Americans is single, but as we know, polls taken at pornographic sites are debatable. The truth is probably somewhere in between—all my neighbors are married or in serious relationships, yet nobody at the commune can maintain a significant other for more than a week. All I know is, if those estimates are anywhere near close, that leaves a lot of pissed off people who spent last Valentine's Day stewing in their homes.

Somehow another Valentine's Day passed and I survived, and more over, I didn't get drunk and call up any ex-girlfriends on the phone. Sure, I browsed the internet looking for the loneliest blogs I could find, just for company, then I searched for a while to see if anyone else remembered that show Tales of the Gold Monkey, but that isn't really on topic. What's important is I maintained some level of dignity by keeping my indignity within the walls of my apartment.

There are different arguments about Valentine's Day, I suppose. Some would say it's a soulless commercial enterprise driven by the almighty dollar to shill tiny greeting cards, flowers, chocolates, and chalk-flavored hearts; others are retarded, and disagree. These fucks are hopelessly whipped by whatever gender's genitalia they're dating.

Whoever first expressed the need for love, for one human being to find that special connection to another and build a lasting relationship with, is a total schmendrick. If he had been born in another era St. Valentine probably would have gone on to invent the dog whistle, another device with more espoused about it than proven. So what if a dog comes running when you blow it? Have you ever seen a dog that didn't come running to a person? They're stupid dogs. They see people and want to lick them, for whatever dog reason mandates.

Likewise, I say love is a myth. If I believed in the devil I would propose he started it as a way to complicate what could have been party city for sexual relationships in this world. You don't see animals exchanging phone numbers or discussing long-distance relationships. They know what they want and they don't confuse it with their self-esteem or worrying about how a partner reflects on them. It's not a coincidence either that animals don't suffer from broken hearts, depression, midlife crises, weight issues, or impotency—and I've seen enough websites to verify it.

I don't claim to be a genius; I may only be a seven-inch pixie with a surly attitude, but I can tell right from wrong. People who are not in relationships are miserable. People who are in relationships are miserable. If you're lucky enough to catch people during that brief period of ignorance when they think they are going to be in a relationship and find excitement in their partner and are fresh from loneliness enough so they dread going back to it, then you'll find them happy. The intelligence of dedicating your life to seeking out that one-to-two-week period in a life that lasts about 80 years, give or take cigarette consumption, it's not the brightest way to go.

Not that I have an alternative at this point. Or, I do have alternatives, but they usually end up with me getting drinks thrown in my face. I'm not advocating we drop the whole "love" deal right off the bat, but I say it wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea to re-evaluate the idea of monogamy. Elvis Costello asked what was so funny with peace, love, and understanding? That's a big question, with lots of possible answers. I'm only asking what's so wrong about paying money for sex a couple of times a month? Both you, the column reader, and the potential jurors out there I might be seeing next month.

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