“Can you spare a few coins for the less fortunate?” asks Santa. “Say, don’t I know you?”

“Oh, brother. I suppose you’re going to complain about my review of last night’s Neil Diamond concert.”

“I knew it! You’re the music critic.”

“Yeah, so what of it?”

“You’re the biggest critic in the country. Surely you can spare a few dollars for the poor. Come on, guv’nor. It’s for a worthy cause. What do you say?”

“A few dollars? Let me tell you something, Santy. I work hard for my money. It’s not easy seeing show after show. This week alone, I’m seeing Luther Vandross, Mary Black and Rollins Band.”

“But giving is what Christmas is all about.”

“Give? Give?? I give every day. Every time I sit down at the computer and write reviews for Kittie, Slipknot or Neil Sedaka, it’s like I’m giving up a part of myself.”

“But. . .”

“I spend every waking moment bleeding my thoughts onto the printed page, creating masterful critiques of shows like Jonatha Brooke, Craig David and Bruce Cockburn. And you expect me to part with my hard-earned money? Think again, Santa, baby.”

“By George, it’s Christmas, sir. Have a heart.”

“Oh, alright. Here’s a dime.”

“Thank you.”


“Well, what?”

“Is that all I get for my dime? Just a ‘thank you?’ Aren’t you forgetting something, Santy?”


“Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Merry Christmas?'”