"You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry. You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why -- Santa Claus is dead."
Yes, ladies and germs, I'm sorry to have to report that the age of innocence is over. The Guru of Gifts, the Prince of Pretty Packages, the Sultan of Stocking-Stuffers, the Nabob of the North Pole is no more. Tattoo his red nose and call him Stone Cold Steve Claus.
While there is no question that Jabba the Jelly Belly has squirmed in and out of his last chimney, chomped his final chocolate chip cookie and kissed his last Mommy underneath the mistletoe, there is a great deal of controversy about the cause and time of death.
Some people argue that he never had a chance to grow up and bring Christmas cheer to billions of other children, because he died as a toddler, falling into an unguarded swimming pool when his parents "just took their eyes off him for a second."
Possibly, he was the victim of random gunfire, or even more tragically, shot deliberately by one of his classmates at school.
On the other hand, it is just as likely that he was one of more than 100 babies thrown out with the rest of the trash in a U.S. trash bin. There is also the possibility that he was killed by overzealous, under-trained police officers when he waved a candy cane at them.
Others are just as adamant that the Righteous Reindeer Rider turned into an American statistic when he became one of 2,600 people to die in this country while operating a vehicle and using a cell phone at the same time. A price, by the way, that Americans apparently find reasonable for the convenience of bullshitting on the go, since they violently resist any effort to pass laws against the practice.
Speaking of resisting regulation, legions of health professionals declare without a doubt that the Chief Chimney Cherub died from second-hand smoke. Apparently, he should have stayed outside on the patio.
Military intelligence (snicker) claims that the simple fact of the matter is that the Bearded Bubble of Joy became collateral damage when a reconnaissance aircraft mistook his sleigh for an enemy missile ... no, wait, it was when he accidentally entered a "no-fly zone."
U.N. record-keepers insist that the Wizard of Wishes died for the same reason that millions of his fellow world citizens die every year: his gender, youth, religion, race, sexual preference, place of birth or over-exposure to reality TV. OK, I made the last one up.
It is easy for some people to deride efforts to correct problems occurring in far-off lands. These are the same people who also resist changes in demonstrably dangerous practices in this country -- the "it's my right to do whatever I want" crowd. They describe themselves as "compassionate," but that compassion only seems to be directed to their own kind: people who believe, think and act the same way they do.
Using the guise of helpless sympathy, this crowd tells anyone who will listen that they really feel sorry for all the suffering and dying in the world, but "we can't save them all." In other words, victims of hatred and violence just aren't worth the effort.
Oh yes, they are. They are ALL worth the effort. Every person on this planet deserves a decent shot at being whatever it is he or she can be. All of us need a chance to have -- and to be -- a Santa Claus.
That is the real spirit of Christmas. Happy Holidays.
Terry Moore is a graduate English student. Reach him at limerick@asu.edu.
