with every christmas card i (don't) write...

let me preface this by saying that i fully support the right to send an annual christmas card. what i don't support, however, is that small (and/or large) percentage of people who abuse this right. everyone knows who i'm talking about here. they're the people who use the christmas card as an opportunity to write short novels about why their lives have been so fantastic for the last twelve months, and they do it to 1) make you feel inferior, and/or 2) make themselves feel better about living in places like kansas. if you're unsure of who i'm referring to, you're probably that person. you can double-check by asking yourself how many times you write the word "blessed" in the body of the card; the minimum is usually at least three times.

ordinarily the christmas card from hell is a non-issue for me; i've been giving friends and relatives the address of the dunkin donuts down the block for as long as i've lived in my current apartment. however, i was visiting someone yesterday and not one but TWO of them arrived in the mail. naturally we had to read them in a variety of dramatic styles including but not limited to oprah's "please welcome (insert special guest name here)" voice. (i highly recommend doing this as it helps lessen the unpleasant side-effects that christmas cards from hell tend to induce, which can range from migraine headaches to violent bouts of nausea.) and since i'd forgotten the true agony that is reading a ten page document about endless triumphs and impossible feats, i was slightly taken aback. i realized that these christmenaces must be stopped. and i realized that the only way to do that would be to one-up them in my own christmas card. so i got writing, and here is what i've got so far:

"well, can you believe another blessed year has gone by? how fortunate i am to have been so blessed; i can only hope you have been as blessed as i these last twelve months. and i bet you are wondering what i have been up to all year, so i will tell you.

i've had my fair share of adventures since last holiday season (perhaps most notably a hang-gliding excursion off the coast of narnia), but despite all the jet-setting, i've settled in nicely to the new york city lifestyle.

i live in the very first apartment in brooklyn (and possibly the world) to be constructed entirely from cotton candy (a material that is famously bedbug resistant, and which provides excellent lumbar support), and on tuesdays i play badminton with woody allen on the ceiling of the guggenheim.

my main mode of transportation around the city is the garfield balloon from the macy's thanksgiving day parade, but sometimes anna wintour and i split a town car when ballooning conditions are exceptionally windy.

with regard to my dietary staples, i have a magical banana split dispenser in my cotton candy apartment, so i mostly eat those all day every day. coincidentally, i also have a rare condition where i can't get fat.

in terms of intellectual growth, as of yesterday i am fluent in seventy languages, the most recent addition being xhosa. i've also discovered the formula for gold, and i'm currently in the process of single-handedly resolving the euro crisis.

i was recently elected mayor of new york city but i politely declined the offer. instead, i sing opera at the met and get manicures three times daily. i could keep going on and on, but i'm running late for a private tour of outer space that was arranged for me by justin bieber.

again, hope your year has been most blessed. blessed be. ta!"

i encourage everyone to write these kinds of christmas cards as a form of nonviolent protest. no more yuletide braggarts, thanks. oh and also, for the record, i only wish that your sneezes are blessed.