Oh, Santa, just admit it: After centuries of forcing your belly to jiggle and shake while children and grandparents tinkle down your leg, poke candy canes in your beard and yank the pom-pom off your hat, you must be ready to take someone out. Well, I have a proposal. This year, let’s forget about the mink earmuffs and diamond-crusted cutlery and focus on the other half of my list: people who should be shot. Please make it a Merry Christmas and a Happier New Year for us all and assassinate the following human dung heaps:
1) One-night stands who walk around your apartment in a T-shirt and no underwear with their boners bobbing in space like an alien tentacle.
2) Dates who burp up wet slop throughout dinner just like your deaf grandmother. What, they think you can’t hear it? That you don’t mind if they splatter half-digested au jus all over your $200 Chloe T-shirt?
3) Pantywipe “alcoholics” who won’t give up their A.A. jive for one night and at least order a drink so you don’t sit there all pink-nosed and fumbly like Louise Lush. It’s not like it’s wasteful—you’ll drink the damn thing.
4) People who leave stuttering, redundant cell-phone messages and neglect to state their business until around the five-minute mark. Hey, windbag! Are you trying to give me brain cancer? Where’s the fast-forward button on this thing?
5) Cab drivers who needlessly blast their horn when you’ve already reached the curb, just to prove they could’ve mowed you down if they’d wanted. Real Christian of you, asswipe! May an Olympic javelin sail through your windshield and skewer your skull.
6) Waiters—particularly waiters who scowl at you through the restaurant window, the one you’re using to check your teeth for poppy seeds. What the hell? It’s not like you’re in the restaurant; you’re on the street side!
7) Bartenders who skimp on extra ice. Little-known fact: Ice is frozen
8) Construction workers on lunch break who think it’s perfectly fine to whoop and throw their pelvises around as you stroll past them. Look, just because you’ve got excellent posture and spend $400 per haircut and slather yourself in sunblock before you’d consider going near a window doesn’t mean you’re willing to sleep with just anyone who notices.
Although it’s sort of nice to know someone does.
9) People who breathe down your neck at candy stores. You’re trying to hurry, but it’s hard to separate the delicious black jellybeans from the rancid stomach-acid flavors using a scooper the size of a shovel.
10) Over-Xanaxed subway passengers who appear unruffled by route-change announcements like: “Although this is a local train, we’ll be skipping the next 15 stops.” What’s with these yawning zombies? Did they not hear the guy? Or was 188th Street everyone’s destinations all along? Why am I the only one to yell “Fuck!” and throw my purse the length of the train?
11) Fire trucks that blast their sirens just as you’re hitting the punch line of a 14-minute blow-by-blow of the night your cell phone automatically dialed your mother in the middle of angry sex with your boss. Someone better be on fucking fire.
12) Butthole dates who call you “pottymouth” to remind you to be ladylike, which proves they don’t want a girlfriend—they want a mother they can screw. Blue bloods are so predictable. So are Catholics, Latinos, Estonians and Jews.
13) Dates who make disparaging remarks about your eating habits, as if it’s so weird to eat the lemon rind out of your Pellegrino, or the shrimp tails off his plate, or the crust off all the rolls in the breadbaskets. I don’t get how that’s rude. The bread’s free, right?
14) Thirtysomething women who still blame their sexual issues on some shit that went down in high school. I mean, please—who wasn’t raped?
15) People you dump because they start acting like lunatics: ringing your apartment 10 times a night, banging on the lobby door and leaving violent, slurring messages that clog up your cell phone and honestly scare the shit out of you. Only for some sick reason, you can’t get this guy out of your mind—so when you spot him outside the Cutting Room a year later looking all dark and brooding, you naturally agree to a drink, which turns into six or seven, and in no time you’re sort of in love all over again. But then he has to start reminiscing and get all revisionist on you, suggesting that he was the one to end things with you, as if you had been the crazy person to stand below your apartment window and shout, “I know you’re fucking someone up there, you philandering cunt!”, as if you had been the one to overturn garbage bins all up and down the sidewalk and blast your neighbors’ buzzers until the slick-haired Italian across the hall threatened to beat you senseless with his belt. Of course not. It’s not like you were the married one.
16) People who sneeze in multiples of three or more.
17) Pregnant woman in Ugg Boots.
And that’s about it, Santa. Hope I’ve persuaded you to Action Jackson all the renobs and fuckbuckets in the immediate area so the rest of us can sip our ginger-flavored Prosecco in peace.
PS: If Blitzer or Nixon get caught in the crossfire, a reindeer pelt would make a fabulous throw for my le Corbusier couch. But don’t go out of your way for my sake. XO.