Feliz Navidad, My ASS!

Girls,

Happy Nuevo Año! Thank god December’s over! Especially that goddamned Christmas. I can’t stand Christmas.

First of all, I couldn’t buy any of the gidts that I wanted to buy, so that made it suck donkey balls. I’m not talking money of course, girls, you know about my six figures, don’t you? I know you know about my six figure new book advance biotch!

No, I went over to Target (because I never shop at Walmart - it’s run by redneck rightwing Nazis and it's so downscale) and all the Che Guevara CD cases I wanted to buy were gone! Yanked from the shelves by those goddamned Miami Cubans! I so badly wanted to pass those out as party favors to all my vapid chica friends as a tribute to Che, his free spirit, and his dreamy and rugged good looks. You know, like in my favorite movie, The Motorcycle Diaries. I wanted all my chicas to gaze at him and think of me. Especially with the iPod earbuds, what could be more chic than that? Or more of a refelction of me? But it was not to be, so off to the mall for for me. And trust me, I hate it, because abusing store clerks really wears me out.

The first place I went was Barnes and Noble. I made a bee-line to the "V's", to see my masterpieces, which are stocked in a section called ‘fiction and literature’ and let’s face it, my shit is studied by scholars in universities, so it’s certainly great literature.

But stocking me in a broad category that includes mere pedestrian ‘fiction’ is almost as insulting as being stocked under "Latina Literature", a racist device that book sellers use to keep down my sales. But worse yet, my books seem to have met the same fate as the Che CD cases, and all of it had been yanked, thank you Mr. Big, you fucking child-touching pervert!

Then I went to the toy store and things got worse yet. For one thing, my childhood favorite game of Marxist Monopoly, which dad’s best friend Saul Landau used to play with me as a kid was no longer in stock and the clerk at the counter could only stupidly reply with ‘say what?’

My gifted son, Hal 9000, didn't like anything I wanted buy for him either. So I just bought him two politically correct Barbie dolls with pink dresses to get him in touch with his feminine side because I don't believe in stereotypes. But the little bastard turned them into guns, proving once again that we live in a militaristic, imperialistic, penis-dominated society of hierarchy!

I don’t know how this stereotyping has gotten into him – the kid’s testosterone certainly wasn’t inherited from his daddy, who was a human jellyfish. So it must be that white racist society is seeping into his microchips at school. I'm not looking forward to having to beat the spirit out of the kid to keep him from going rightwing but I guess that's exactly what I'm gonna have to do.

So it’s out with the tree, out with the hammer and sickle garlands, out with the little Che-face tree bulbs, out with the Taco Bell leftover appetizers, out with the whole goddam thing!

Girls, after watching 12 straight hours of Sex and the City I've decided to make a change. I’m moving to New York!

Brickbat kisses,

Not Alisa