I Dreamed That I Had Insomnia and Sat Up All Night Watching the Insomnia Television Network Trying to Get to Sleep. When I Awoke, I Realized It Had All Been a Dream, Which is Remarkable Because Usually, I Don't Remember My Dreams.

     If you are still trying to score some last-minute Christmas gifts for that hard-to-please person whose name you haven't quite mastered but are pretty sure contains an umlaut, perhaps some of the many fine products hawked on the Insomnia Television Network will serve as inspiration.  Most are available for $19.99, which is one penny less than $20.00. In today's uncertain times, every penny is worthless and sits around in a jar doing nothing, but when combined together with ninety-nine other pennies and rolled up in a paper tube, has the spending power of 100 pennies, and then there's just no stopping it.

     Imagine for a moment that you are home alone on a cold winter's eve watching the Insomnia Television Network when, without warning, the power goes out and everything becomes an inky-black, which is another way of saying, you can't see your own hand reflected in the mirror 20 feet away. You'd like to think that a tree branch staggering under the weight of new-fallen snow has collapsed a power line plunging the entire neighborhood into darkness, but a quick glance out the window confirms that, in fact, you simply failed to pay the electric bill. It is times like these that the talking, glow-in-the-dark toilet paper roll doesn't seem quite the ridiculous conceit you considered it to be when first you saw it advertised on ITN sponsoring a program about urban survival for skinflints. To say that, at $19.99, it is a bargain is an understatement, especially when one considers that the item comes fully loaded with plenty of vocalized instructions ("under, not over!") and can be programmed to speak English, French, and Esperanto.

     Or suppose you are the meglamaniacal strong-man of a once-thriving republic that you have brought to the brink of ruin with your utterly idiotic economic theories designed principally to enrich you and your sycophants, and your 17-year reign of hypocrisy and terror is threatened once again by a pesky provision regarding presidential term limits in the nation's constitution. Time to dust off that old stand-by -- Ruling-By-Decree-to-Save-the-People-From-an-Imperialist-Plot. You've tried to tear up the constitution before.  You've tried and you've tried! But it's hours of mind-numbing work, and in the end, your knuckles ache. Now with the amazing Freedom Shredder (available at the ridiculously low price of $19.99), you can turn that old windbag of a constitution into confetti in time for New Year's without so much as pushing a button. Works on seditious newspapers and movie scripts, too!

     And speaking of making a name for yourself in the Fourth Estate, are you a homespun rabble rouser aching to speak truth to power -- the repressive dictatorships of the planet -- by leaking their military and diplomatic secrets all over the Internet, except that you're afraid of what the fascist rulers of actual repressive dictatorships would do to you if you ever tried any funny business like that, so instead, you hang out in aristocratic country estates and go after democracies with a tradition of an independent judiciary, an uncensored press, freedom of speech, and adherence (more or less) to the rule of law?  Then the Amazing Aura Fedora is for you. Just put it on and you will instantly feel the patented 'self-importance' ions puffing up your image almost overnight.  The secret is in the brim with the Triple-Flexed Naivety Flannel (TM).  You may not be accomplishing anything with your "work," but you'll sure think you are once you wear this chapeau.  Comes in Large, Extra Large, and Extra, Extra Large to fit all over-sized heads.  I suppose that, by now, I shouldn't have to tell you that it costs only $19.99, but I will. While you're at it, pick up a few extras for your insufferable friends and associates -- the ones who are still talking to you.

           Time's running out. St. Nick is almost here, and you still haven't gotten anything for the student in your midst -- the one who appears to be on the conventional career path leading straight to the life of quiet desperation that H.D.T. warned us all about when people used to read things that had more than 140 characters in them. How about a grogger?  No, not the thing you swing at Purim to drown out every mention of "Haman" (and if you're celebrating Christmas, the odds are pretty good that you don't make a habit of swinging groggers on Purim, anyway).  No we're talking here about a handy little gadget that looks like a portable electronic game (the kind that always causes young people to walk into lamposts while playing) but secretly spritzes warm milk through the fingertips to make their owners groggy (hence the name in case you have not, as of yet, picked up on it), so that they can't stay awake in any of their classes, and end up flunking out of school.  And why, pray tell, do we want them to do that?  So that they can create the next essential phenomenon and become billionaires at the age of 25, that's why!  They'll never have that opportunity if they stay in school reading nonsense like:  "Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. The droghte of March hath perced to the roote."  Just ask Sergey Brin or Larry Page or Mark Zuckerberg, or Michael Dell, or Bill Gates, or Steve Jobs, or Meg Whitman. (Actually, don't ask Meg Whitman).   Here's a business proposition:  If you pick up one of these little toys and succeed in setting the next wildly-successful drop-out on their way, I get 20% of whatever they give you as a gift when they hit it big, because I turned you onto this, and you never would have even thought of it if it hadn't been for me.  The price for the grogger, if you act now, is (dare I say it?) $19.99. Forego the one that fits on a key chain; it's a rip-off.  Don't even think of thanking me for this tip. Twenty per cent is all I ask, and then, as far as I'm concerned, we'll be all square.

   Well, I hope there's something in this list you can use to bring holiday cheer to somebody in the world.  But if you are not inspired, you can always come back here for more ideas.  I have a feeling I'm going to be up all night.

   Merry Christmas. And G-d Bless us, every one!

The War on Santeria

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Political Correctness? You be the judge. Here are the facts: American retailers increasingly default to the bland and meaningless "Happy Holidays." Why? They don't care about us.

Don't believe it? Try this little experiment. Go to Sears and buy a snowblower. And while they're gift-wrapping it, the first thing they'll say is: "You know, most people don't get snowblowers gift-wrapped because they're too huge and it's incredibly impractical and a waste of paper and kind of taking advantage of our free gift wrap policy." And the second thing they'll say is: "Thank you for shopping at Sears" [After you pay-- not before!]. And the third thing they'll say is: "Happy Holidays." That's it.

Not: "You're the man babalorisha." Not: "You go, you priest of Ifá." Not: "Have a very pleasant Lukumi ritual." None of these. Just "Happy Holidays."

But it's not just Sears. Take Wal-Mart, for example. Go there and buy some rifles and some bullets, and a few hatchets and hunting knives and something to club seals with and a Jonas Brothers CD, and while you're at the checkout counter, after they say: "Having a little party? Ha, ha, ha." They'll say "Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart and Happy Holidays," but not: "Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart, and may you be like the diviners of the Orishas." God forbid!

Or if that doesn't convince you, go to Jos. A Bank and buy one suit and a SECOND ONE FOR HALF PRICE! (Results reproduced at Gentleman's Warehouse proving their scientific validity). And after they say: "The sales price doesn't include alterations which are $75 extra, and it doesn't include these cuff links, which are the only things that go with it ($65), and it doesn't include these suspenders ($25), and it doesn't include these fake Brooks Brothers shopping bags which we sell so that your friends don't think you're so cheap that you get all your suits at Jos. A Bank," they will be certain to say: "Happy Holidays." Try getting them to say: "Go in peace, Father Who Knows the Secrets." But don't hold your breath or you will die.

Not convinced? OK. Go to Valvoline, and after they say: "the next time, you shouldn't drive your car for 13,000 miles on bald tires before you get the oil changed, because that's not good for it," and then after they say: "Do you have any coupons today? No? It's OK to throw out the coupons from Fortune Panda, but the Valvoline coupons are valuable," and then after they say: "Turn the wheel to the right. To the RIGHT! The RIGHT! THE RIGHT!!!Ok, back it up. Whoa! Stop. STOP! STOP! Can't you hear me? OK. Now come forward SLOWLY and turn it to the Right. NO, THAT'S THE LEFT! Ok. There you go. That's it. OK, you're good," and then after they say "Thank you for coming to Valvoline," they'll say Have a nice day and Happy Holidays." They'll never say: "Hope you receive Orunmila soon."

What's this all about? There's only one word for it: C-O-N-S-P-I-R-A-C-Y-T-H-E-O-R-Y-M-O-S-T-L-I-K-E-L-Y.

What's the solution? Fight back. The next time some store clerk wishes you "Happy Holidays," respond with: "Sure thing, Babalu." Atheists hate that.

[Note: No animals were harmed in the creation of this post].