I saw this in the Post on Sunday and it seems to fit in here:
http://www.nypost.com/seven/12092007/gossip/cindy/its_pc_on_earth_for_st__nick_91703.htmIT'S 'PC' ON EARTH FOR ST. NICK
December 9, 2007 -- THIS year's going to be tough sledding for Santa. With all the political-correctitude around . . . oy, the season will not be good for poor Santa.
For openers, he's lost a few elves. Previously he had a non-union shop. Santa's helpers just signed on with a handshake. Came the Patriot Act and such paperwork - mother's maiden name, birth date, Social Security number, picture ID, name of your nearest munchkin. Resisting this invasion of privacy, some old-timers grumbled "Kiss my mistletoe" and headed home to Elfville.
Also there's the Equal Opportunity folk. Accusing St. Nick of chauvinism. I mean, I've always liked the old geezer - although, personally, I think Nicky could use a little makeover - but the truth is his workshop is male-dominated. When's the last time you heard of any elfette? Elfess? Elfix?
I have also informed Santa: You better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why - immigration is another issue. Dude, be sure everyone at the North Pole has a green card.
Any leprechaun, pixie, gnome, fairy (pardon the expression) or tinseltoe who entered this country through a hole in a fence in Texas - even if for a good reason, even if just to deliver clean underwear to Britney - must first report to Lou Dobbs.
Another thing. Santa can't screw around anymore. In the old days, after a hardworking night he could meet his buds and knock off a pint of eggnog or something without the missus knowing it. Now, not. Mrs. Claus has a GPS. She not only knows whether he's been naughty or nice, she knows where he's been it.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Not this Dec. 24. The noise-pollution police are on the job. No honking horns, no blaring boomboxes, no keeping Chelsea residents up all night with drunken holly-jolly caroling. Anti-noise people are talking a real silent night.
Then there's the animal-rights situation. The ASPCA, involved in monitoring the safety and health requirements of Central Park's carriage horses, now want to check that Santa's reindeer don't work more than an eight-hour shift. Let's face it, Santa's heavy-duty. No lightweight to schlep around. It must be determined that these reindeer are getting their whale-blubber breaks. And then there's health benefits. HMO or not, Donder and Blitzen need time off to visit the antlerist of their choice twice a year.
Understand, even if the military grants The Big Man special air lanes Christmas Eve, travel is no longer easy. His sleigh could be backed up on the tarmac. He could be number 42 for takeoff. And that belt buckle could trigger the metal detector.
And those boots are not for walkin', they're for pullin' off to make sure he's not bearing presents from bin Laden. And he'll have to remove that jacket so security can frisk him for Chinese-made toys. And Gifts Without Borders wants him to know if he's packing bottles of fragrance over three ounces. He'll have to use FedEx. And big belly or not, this dude has to buckle up or the NYPD nails him.
I don't know what his white fluffy cuffs and trim are made of but I'm telling him right now if it's ermine or rabbit, he's got a problem with PETA. They'll throw red paint on his suit.
And where in New York can he park? Or, in this green era of solar energy, find as many chimneys as he needs? He and his bag of goodies may have to learn to shimmy through glass heat-retaining panels. And, Santa, whatever you do, shut off the cellphone. Shimmying down chimneys while talking on a cell could get you a $100 fine.
Face it, we all know everyone's down on fat people. It's fie on calories, cholesterol and carbs. So, any kiddies out there planning on leaving Santa the usual plate of cookies, forget it. Leave him tofu. Yogurt. Rice cakes. A nice piece of lettuce. We are talking a slimmer, svelter Santa baby. Santa-lite.
Also, no excuse for mistakes anymore. If the little girl down the street wanted twinkly earrings from Judith Ripka and instead got a rag doll, he'll have to report to Human Resources. There's now e-mail and Internet and even if the old guy's on the road he can get her message on his PDA. Can't say anymore he didn't get her letter. Can't blow it anymore.
He also may have a discrimination problem. No more asking the kid on his lap, "Were you a good little girl?" Must now be, "Were you a good little PERSON?" Besides, there are no good little girls today. Today it's Paris, Nicole, Pam, Tara, Lindsay, Britney, Kim.
And gone, gone, GONE must be his famous greeting "Ho, ho, ho." Even if he was sleeping all summer, surely by now he's heard the trouble Imus got in for using that word. Maybe he'll say "Hi, hi, hi" or "Hee, hee, hee." Maybe even "Ha, ha, ha." But "ho" is a no-go.
I think we also have to talk wardrobe. Enough already with that one outfit.
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