Okay. I’m not a white male. At least, not predominantly so. And as I mentioned before, I’m in an environment right now where race is really important. See, Chinese men are not that physically intimidating. We’re not that tall. We’re not that built. We have exactly one thing going for us in a fight – that our opponent recognizes that there’s a possibility, no matter how remote, that we might know kung-fu.

She lifted me back into the seat with a wicked grin, and breathed, ‘Just don’t stop talking. Whatever you do, just don’t stop talking,’ and swallowed my manhood. I scrambled desperately through the darkened corners of my memory until I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed her by the hair and said, ‘Now bend over, and I’ll do to you what the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries wants to keep the Federal government from doing to the state of Alaska.

INDECISION NOW!′ isn’t a battle cry that’s going to rouse anybody’s blood. But I sometimes wonder if it isn’t the sanest one.

So a while back I spent a night in jail. Now, as for exactly what landed me there, I’d be so delighted to never have to go into any of the details regarding that. Besides, other people’s theories are so much more exotic and exciting than the reality. I’ve heard everything from ‘attempted terrorism’ to ’indecent public condescension.

She leaned into me, and I could feel her hot breath against my ear. ‘I want you to eat me,’ she whispered. ‘I want you to eat me like you’re an angry Alaskan grizzly and I’m Timothy Treadwell.

The good news was that we’d found Santa. The bad news was that he was floating in a giant tube of clear fluid, seemingly unconscious. The worse news was that he was completely naked, except for a festive red hat; his clothes and his magic sack were piled neatly in a darkened corner.

I was staring at one of the most famous images of Santa Claus of all time — one by Thomas Nast, from Harper’s Weekly, 1881.

The jolly old elf’s nose was red, but not from cold — rather, from the brutality of a dozen boxes of Kleenex. Mucus flowed freely down his cheeks, and mixed with tears of agony. She folded her arms, pursed her lips, and declared: “You’re not going out this week.

She sighed and stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Turning around, she nearly tripped over some of the help. “Man, you little bastards are everywhere, aren’t you?” she mumbled to herself.

And then the other guy will look really sheepish, and mumble that, okay, maybe he tried to make a run for it, and maybe he took a drunken swing at the arresting officer, and maybe he made a couple of off-color remarks about law-enforcement professionals, and maybe he’s been hiding from the cops ever since an incident a few years back involving a bleeding hooker, nine pounds of cocaine, and a soiled image of Tipper Gore.