Here’s a brief list of things I wouldn't mind having for Christmas Hanukah Yule Kwanzaa Winter Solstice the Winter Holidays when Heck freezes over. If you haven't finished your shopping already, you may wish to consider obtaining for me one or more of the following:

001. Tenzil Kem, a.k.a. "Matter-Eater Lad," elected Leader of the Free World, King of the Moon and Mars, and Protector of Venus.

002. Horseshoe crabs on the menu at every McDonald’s on Earth.

003. Free coffee. Everywhere. All the time. And only the good stuff. No funny business.

004. A sane redesign of the female reproductive system and the prostate. And an apology from God for external testicles. Also, I want my retinas installed front-ways instead of backwards, and this time with no blind spot.

005. A public acknowledgement from the White House press secretary that my dog, Bacon, has a better grasp of foreign policy than the current administration. That should also come with a six-figure income and a cabinet post for the dog, who is presently unemployed.

006. Dryer lint recycling. I have a huge sack in my garage, just waiting....

007. A belt-mounted emergency kit filled with Thorazine in "patch" form. With free refills.

008. Or better yet, in "tranquilizer dart" form. And a sniper rifle with a two-mile range and a properly calibrated scope.

009. And a comfy perch on the top of the Washington Monument.

010. The same immunity to food poisoning that dogs have. I mean, seriously. If I could live on road kill squirrels, I could save thousands of dollars per year.

011. Moldova. And Montenegro. With a cool monorail system connecting them.

012. An explanation of the United States' fascination with dental perfection and that orange plastic stuff that masquerades as cheese. I know there's a connection.

013. Genetically modified grass that screams when I cut it. I've seen this advertised on bumper stickers.

014. Absinthe dispensers replacing water fountains in middle schools. Just get it over with.

015. Credit cards for all five-year-olds. Just get it over with.

016. Mandatory classes in high school detailing how to look cool while smoking. It's not as automatic as you might think.

017. Twister to replace (American) football. Completely. But keep the cleats, helmets, and body armor. They'll be necessary.

018. Everything I do and say recorded in detail and broadcast omni-directionally into deep space. As a warning to them all.

019. Cellos to replace all handguns out there on the streets. But if you hit the right notes in just the right way, you can still get a burst of auto fire.

020. Cellos (with attendant cellists) also to replace all car stereos that cost more than $300, not counting that satellite radio crap. Alright, these cellos can shoot bullets, too. I see the need.

021. I want my foreskin back. I promise I'll take better care of it this time. Better care than the current owner, at any rate.

022. Ditto for my tail.

023. A button on the remote control for my entertainment system that will instantly stop the heart of whoever wrote the crap the big glass box is throwing at my head at the moment I press it. From there, evolution will take its course.

024. Pope Palpatine to finish his journey to the Dark Side.

025. Idi Amin's liver, sautéed with onions, on a fine china plate, with fava beans and a fine Chianti.

026. The United States Constitution, with the Bill of Rights and all Amendments, re-released in comic book form so every legislator, judge, and government executive can understand it. All part of the "No Bureaucrat Left Behind" educational program.

027. Candy that actually delivers electric shocks when you bite into it. Just get it over with.

028. An eraser that will erase anything.

029. A form of space travel that isn't, at the heart of it, essentially steam-powered.

030. A dollar euro for every semicolon I have ever used (correctly) in my life.

031. A computer that works instantly when you take it out of the box and turn it on and does everything you need it to do without ever beeping or displaying an error message or covering the screen with pop-up windows that tell me I'm a winner.

032. For that matter, I want to actually win something that doesn't actually cost me something every time I get a pop-up window that tells me I'm a winner.

033. A key on my keyboard that will instantly stop the heart of whoever is responsible for whatever pop-up window is on my screen at the time. From there, evolution will take its course.

034. A spoon that even Uri Geller can't bend.

035. Bulletproof lederhosen. For my superhero outfit.

036. A pen that will write on absolutely anything. From anywhere.

037. The voices to either shut up or make a lick of sense.

038. A teen subculture that has absolutely nothing to do with the kind of music they listen to.

040. Instant whiskey. Just like Kool-Aid. Only the good stuff. No funny business.

041. A bank that understands that they are earning money with my money and therefore they owe me money every month instead of the other way around.

042. Regular doses of money to put into that bank account would be nice, too.

043. Big doses.

044. Artificial colorings and preservatives to be injected at birth. Just get it over with.

045. Ejector seats ... in congress. And the Supreme Court. And the Pentagon. And, of course, the White House.

046. An off switch for inertia and friction.

047. An acknowledgement from Stephen Hawking that my "universal void pressure" theory of gravity is right. Dammit.

048. An acknowledgement from Stephen Hawking that my "distance = phase angle" theory of ... um ... distance, I guess, is right. Dammit.

049. Michael Jackson to finish his journey to the Far Side.

050. All my stuff neatly organized and put away where I can find it and use it anytime I like.

051. Using my "expanded" definition of "all my stuff", which possibly includes some of what you think is your stuff. Plus some other stuff.

052. A hot air balloon shaped like an anvil. For my commute to work.

053. All your base.

054. The Lost Secrets of the Ancients. In particular, the Lost Secrets That Pertain To Where They Buried All The Valuable Crap.

055. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming soccer fans in Europe.

056. Carrot Top's dignity. Wherever it is, I'm sure it's in pristine condition.

057. An actual can of Hormel Spam for every bogus and worthless e-mail I've gotten since 1985. I have a use for the black hole as soon as the pile collapses in on itself.

058. Universal solvency.

059. The idea of the Foreskin Fairy (like the Tooth Fairy, get it?) ripped completely out of my brain, leaving no traces. And stay out from under my pillow.

060. A dollar hundred yen for every bad band name I've ever come up with.

061. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming NASCAR fans in South Carolina.

062. The patent on Dial-A-Tan.

063. The High Score.

064. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming science fiction and fantasy fans at conventions.

065. An acknowledgement from Stephen Hawking that Han shot first. Dammit.

066. An infinite supply of evangelist repellent.

067. The Nobel Prize in Dada.

068. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming paparazzi at the Academy Awards.

069. A spell checker with a larger vocabulary than mine. That also includes all the words I like to use.

070. A grammar checker that actually understands English grammar.

071. For that matter, I'd like a spell checker. And a grimoire checker to go with it.

072. An actual @#&%!*^ day off.

073. To relive my past life as a merken salesman. (Go ahead, take it to Google. Click the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button.)

074. To bring the word gleet back into popular knowledge and usage. (Go ahead, take it to Google. Click the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button.)

075. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming spellers and grammarians who read my crap on the Internet.

076. A return on my investment.

077. Timothy Leary's liver, sautéed with onions, on a fine china plate, with fava beans and a fine Chianti. And a week or two to come down from that.

078. Richard Feynman's brainmeats, stir-fried with crumbled bacon and scrambled eggs and Vietnamese chili paste, over cilantro and brown rice, washed down with a bottle of sweet potato shochu. Just on the off-chance.

079. Hunter S. Thompson's gall bladder and bile duct, served with certain herbs and perhaps a choice cactus fragment or two, pickled in half-mescal, half lime juice as a kind of ceviche. And a lifetime to come down from that.

080. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming The Fear, The Bugs, and The Heebie-Jeebies.

081. A small but significant share of the profits from any band that succeeds with one of the three above names.

082. Some idea of how and when my car became, for the want of a better word, undead. And the patent.

083. The word reality strongly enforced in reality shows. From there, evolution will take its course.

084. A typewriter you can milk.

085. A backup battery for my motivation.

086. A bridge from Southern California to Hawaii, made out of duct tape so we know it'll hold up for a little while.

087. An explanation for Pinochle.

088. No more "art" cars that are simply rolling ghetto-sled junk heaps with shit hot-glued all over them.

089. Deep-fried ketchup on a stick presidentially declared a vegetable. Just get it over with.

090. An end to it all.

091. It doesn't have to be right now. I just want to know when.

092. So I can gloat.

093. To be the first in line for bungee jumping from the International Space Station.

094. All the Moon Pies. I'm not ashamed.

095. An intercontinental ballistic pug launcher.

096. The Nobel Prize in Explosives.

097. A larger place to hide the bodies.

098. A whip and a chair, suitable for taming street performers who want to enrich your cultural life by including you in their act.

099. A revolving door into the Afterlife, with a well-paid, competent, and loyal bouncer on each side.

100. A bucket each of phlogiston, aether, ectoplasm, orgone, and dark matter.

101. Enough rope.