22 December 2005

What If Santa Took Bribes?

If I could just raise enough money, I would make it a very Merry Christmas.

The breathtaking magical joy of Christmas starts turning to bat guano at around age 12, with your first bad gift. Whether it’s a CD you already own or an impossibly scratchy 100 percent fiberglass sweater, this rude awakening marks the beginning of the end.

Why aren’t there better gifts for guys out there? Where are our flying armchairs, our Jell-O guns, our water-soluble bikinis? I think it’s high time our lazy scientists got cracking: I want some cooler stuff for Christmas, and I want it now. Like, for instance…

A NASA hotel. Mach 2 elevators, gravity-free sex in every bedroom.

A decent bacon cheeseburger salad.

A free Ferrari test drive with every tank of premium unleaded.

Porn soundtracks as elevator music.

Time-reversal watches. If your pathetic pick-up line doesn’t work, push the big hand five minutes backward into the past and try something else.

Argument umpires. When your girlfriend momentarily flusters you, drags your mom into it, or flat-out seems to be winning, just make a T with your hands and a uniformed official will send her to her corner, while you’re free to punch a wall, call a friend for help, or knock back a refreshing glass of whiskey.

Girlfriend remote Use the fast-forward function to skip to the punchline of her convoluted story about that girl who hates her at work. Click to stop the flow of those pesky hormones. And with the automatic mute button, total relaxation’s never more than a quick thumb twitch away.

A New Briefcase Portagrill This common briefcase serves up some uncommonly good eats. Press a button in the handle and it instantly unfolds into a mini-barbecue grill, sturdy enough to handle eight burgers or 16 dogs. Comes complete with file folder oven mitts, condiment highlighters, and a cell phone that turns into a spatula.

Exciting new dress codes. Men: no more underwear. Women: nothing but underwear.

New Networks: Supermodel Wrestling, The Circus Freak Channel, and S&MTV.

The cheese bra. It’s a bra! It’s a brie! It’s both!

Beer from the faucet Electricity, cable, and water are piped directly into the house. Yet beer, another necessity, must be laboriously dragged home from the store. Why not have fresh icy lager piped directly into every house on the grid? (Come to think of it, that water utility may just have outlived its usefulness…

Automatic erotic indicators. Since women seem to agree that poor communication causes most misunderstandings between the genders, a harmless mineral added to the municipal water supply will now make women’s hair stand on end whenever they’re even remotely turned on.

Novelty “nipple” buttons on all double-breasted jackets.

A pay-per-view Regis Philbin suicide.

GSPS: G-spot Positioning System, for finding those really out-of-the-way places.

Car horns that sound like pissed-off cops shouting into bullhorns.

Female flashers. Everywhere. Clogging up traffic, disrupting the Super Bowl…

X-ray specs that work with movies and TV shows. Special filter blocks out all images of men, as well as Rhea Perlman, a.k.a. Carla from Cheers.

Sandblaster gun turrets on each side of your car. Some bastard cuts you off, he loses his paint.

Karaoke bar fights.

Office hammocks.

A Miss Mute Universe pageant.

Boxer shorts with three sides—outside, inside, and “otherside”—to reduce laundry by 50 percent.

The Head Strap–Potato Chip Feed Bag. There’s just not much on this ol’ ball of dirt that’s better than vacuuming an entire bag of potato chips into your pie hole as if they just dragged your ass out of solitary. The Chip Bag Feed Bag attachment frees up your hands so you can rip open another package while you’re still polishing off the first. No muss, no fuss—and just in case you overdo it, the PCFB also holds airsickness bags!

A celebrity theme park. John Goodman’s Bathroom Log Flume, Journey into Steve Tyler’s Mouth, and, just for the kiddies, Michael Jackson’s Pantyland.

A new hat for the Pope. We’re thinking a forest green John Deere cap…

A mood-stabilizer food additive for women.

Believable mock diamonds that snap into any engagement ring setting, so you can secretly hock the rock after she gets it appraised and buy your cable system’s total NBA package.

Tropical white-sand beaches in all 50 states.

The cooling equivalent of a microwave oven: a machine that can chill a warm six-pack faster than Richard Simmons can empty a Texas nightclub.

Virgin powder at every ski resort. But not on the slopes. Add this concoction to any ski bunny’s hot chocolate and she’ll forget every other man she was ever with.

A new letter,^/\^ , that can be added to any word, making it unspeakably obscene. As in,“apple pie^/\^.”

Intelligent computer “agents” that can automatically sense your boredom level and spice up whatever you’re reading online with minimovies of former members of Menudo cleaning prison toilets.

A forced retirement party for MTV’s aging tyrannosaur Kurt Loder. He’s feted by the music industry’s brightest lights, then walked out into a sunny pasture and shot in the back of the head.

More escaped pythons.

A new school curriculum that replaces the traditional three Rs with Roping, Rogering, and Rmartial Arts.

A high-pitched tone, discreetly folded into the opening theme of ESPN’s SportsCenter, scientifically designed to bring any woman to instantaneous orgasm, followed three seconds later by a deep sleep.

A State Department initiative to have all our nation’s municipal garbage trucked to Barbara Streisand's house.

Fire-breathing cocktails For decades scientists have worked feverishly in a mostly vain effort to shed their dork image. Now they just may have something: a drink that lets you shoot fire out of your mouth like a piss-drunk dragon. Unfortunately, our lawyers won’t let us run the recipe.

Live tigers roaming the streets.

A new game show in which contestants must swim across a piranha-infested pool to Prize Island, while audience members pelt the water with bloody chunks of chum.

Cell phones that “ring” with the sound of human flatulence.

Still more escaped pythons.

Wall-to-wall “speaker carpet.”

Shorter Oscar speeches. Change #1: Nominees speak as long as they like—provided they can juggle live kittens without dropping one. Change #2: A mystery sniper.

Personal robot pals you can make fight each other to the death.

A supercaffeinated soft drink so powerful, it lets you speak to the dead.

Free pet pygmy marmosets issued to all laid-off workers. That way at the exit interview, when they ask you what your plans are, you can say, “Oh, I don’t know. Guess I’ll just hang around the house awhile and play with the pygmy marmoset.”

Artery Dranex. Sure, dieting’s for pansies—but a multiple coronary bypass is painful and expensive and leaves a nasty scar that nobody will believe is a shark bite. But wait! With Artery Dranex, you can eat whatever you want! Just knock a big swig back after each buttery blockage-builder—we guarantee it’ll scour your pipes and leave them cleaner than Nicole Ritchies panties. (Note: Some tough-to-cork anal hemorrhaging is normal; just deal with it.)

New crayon colors You know when you’re coloring and you need a green crayon? And all you can find is Seafoam and Dune Grass? How about some names that mean something to us, like Gunmetal Gray, Jugular Spurt, and Twinkie?

Wandering-eye facilitators. Never-more will your dinner date peek over her menu and catch you checking out the waitress’ ass. Gyroscopically centered false retinas will give the impression you’re focusing on the one you’re with, allowing you to check out her competition with impunity.

More U.N. pie fights.

Liquid television Nanotechnology will make Squeeze TV a possibility. Pick up a can and paint a watchable TV anywhere you like. Slather a little square on your girlfriend’s belly while she’s sleeping—just wipe it off before that noisy test pattern comes on.

Ejector seats at movie theaters controllable by a majority vote.

Invisible water pistols.

The triumphant return of wearing the shrunken heads of your enemies on a string around your neck.

An HMO that’ll agree to cover “elk thighbone penis extension” without raising a big stink.

Hillary Clinton, dressed like a conquistador and armed with a flamethrower, in the WWE.

The Eternal Hero. In the kitchen of tomorrow, scientists will refine the bread machine concept. A simple countertop device will produce a never-ending salami-and-provolone submarine sandwich.

The Translate-Her. Similar to earpieces worn by U.N. diplomats, this device translates female talk into whatever the speaker really means. So when your girlfriend says, “Who were you on the phone with when I tried to call?” you hear it as,“I am a little sensitive about my recent weight gain.” Guaranteed to cut ballgame-eating arguments in half or your money back!

Have we mentioned even more escaped pythons?

Non-removable KICK ME signs, for guys like that dickhead at work.

Saturday Night Live will be funny at least twice a season.

All your girlfriends will be better-looking than the president’s. Oh, wait, check that one off…

Get Out of Doghouse FreeOn his wedding day, and on every anniversary thereafter, each man will now receive one Get Out of Jail Free card that he can redeem for total automatic forgiveness for one sin. Can be used as issued, or stockpiled for use after week-long bachelor parties.

Here’s the pitch
New baseball rules

Are we really going to stand by while our hoary old national pastime continues to lose ground to faster, more exciting, more modern sports like arena football and chick hoops? That’s commie talk, friend. A couple of buzz-generating new rules should keep baseball at the top of its game. We have a few modest suggestions:

*Change #1: The first baseman will now be provided with a battle-ax.

*Change #2: Third base will be hidden somewhere in the stadium; baserunners must find it before being tagged out.

*Change #3: Pinch hitters may be used at any time, but they must be rip-roaring, stinking drunk.

*Change #4: New penalty for balks: Baserunners advance one base, and pitcher is boiled alive.

We don’t mind the rules. We’d just prefer to make our own.

Society is a pair of pants, and laws are a rock-hard boner. They prop our institutions up. Some proposed new ones.

* Offices will open at noon on Thursdays due to National Poker Night every Wednesday.

* New office policies: As a greeting between business acquaintances of different genders, the handshake will gradually be phased out in favor of passionate mouth kissing. Excessively heavy or otherwise-unattractive businesspeople will simply not be told about the new trend.

* Valentine’s Day will be shifted to February 29, leap day.

* Weekends will no longer be arbitrarily set at two days but will last as long as you can continue drinking at a pace equal to one beer per hour.

* A five-dollar bounty on domestic cat furs.

* New laws regarding assaulting French people. Punching a Frenchman for no reason will still remain illegal—we can’t revert to barbarism just because we don’t like someone’s snotty attitude or cheese breath. The statute of limitations for this crime, however, will be reduced to four picoseconds.

* The Hendrix version will be adopted as the official national anthem.

* The 65 mph speed limit will become a minimum, not a maximum; the nation’s highway patrols will enhance existing rules with exciting new “bumper car” rules.

* Nonviolent female offenders will be sentenced to clean our homes and offices in bra-and-panty chain gangs.

* Whining, gossiping, and excessive shoe accumulation will be classified as misdemeanors, punishable under the above statute.

* It will be legal to harness kittens for their anti-gravity propulsion properties.

* Legal medicinal marijuana. Not just for glaucoma, but for hay fever, the common cold, bad hair days…

* National holidays for sports playoffs and James Bond movie premieres; and five too-hungover-to-go-to-work days.

* Supreme Court hearings decided by vicious, eye-bursting slap fights.

* Registering as a Republicans entitles you to one night with the Bush twins.

* Traffic-court decisions to be determined by Joker Poker.


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