Your head's a big candy shell...hell, forget it. May Santa come driven by four bladed propellars, so I may know him by his smoky engines, and his painfully slow and non-standard radio comm. May he use beta to land on my roof, and may all of his elves change into khakis and come into the Officer's Club in groups of thirty or more, and all look to pay their checks with credit cards the moment they see me push away from the table.
Happy Holidays
Damn, that just about covers it. Don't forget the random minting of others.