In the grand spirit of the holidays...

I'd like to be the bloated santa overdosed on heroin found in a phone booth in Times Square. I'd like to dress up as one of the apostles, rig myself up a stand out of steel rod and leather straps, put myself in place of one of the figures and eat a cyanide capsule. I'd like to paint my naked body white, dawn golden wings, and impale myself ass first atop a giant urban christmas tree, bleeding to death out my ass and then freezing solid. I'd like to be delivered in a box with a big red bow, to the happiest family in America, then watch the horror in the eyes of the children as they rip open the box only to see me draw my last breath and expire there, under the tree. I'd like to go out in style at a grand ball, drinking cup after cup of punch I'd poisoned only moments before, then die screaming bloody murder at the podium, "Its poison don't you see! Damned fools all of you! Merry Christmas!" slowly sinking, wailing... dying. I'd like to be discovered three days after Christmas, in a public restroom, having died trying to pass the parts of a plastic baby doll stolen from the manger of a nativity scene on Christmas eve. I'd like to be pried from the grating of a semi, having descended onto I-75 with a red light on my nose. I'd like to be discovered dead, humping a great bible, having slammed my penis in it repeatedly, and then bled out upon the words of the lord. I'd like to tear headlong into a troop of reindeer, forcing myself upon their females until the males rip me to shreds, my corpse the next morning coated in reindeer shit and vaginal fluid, rammed to death by mighty horns. But most of all... I'd like to be sliced and diced and cut into pieces and distributed inside a thousand fruitcakes, to be delivered late to people that hate fruitcake, all across the land.

Merry Christmas to you all.