I got a kick out of this recent e-mail forward from Natasha:

AN OPEN HOLIDAY LETTER FROM JESUS
Dictated to: Max Burbank

Hey, everybody!

It's me, Jesus. You know, Lamb of God and all. Sorry I haven't been in touch in a while: things have been crazy. You know how it is. Dad says "hi".

I just thought I'd write and wish everyone a Merry Christmas. I know that's not as fashionable as it should be - maybe I'm supposed to say 'Happy Holidays' - but I think it's okay to say 'Merry Christmas' to everyone. You don't have to be a Christian. You don't have to believe I'm divine. All I'm doing is wishing you well.

And just so we're clear, personally? I think putting a nativity on public property is pushy. Plus, it's a little embarrassing. You know how it is when company you barely know comes over and your mom hauls out your baby album? It's like that.

Anyway, to me this is a special time of year, and I just thought I'd take the time to remind you that, while I'm sure I said a lot of things that got written down and translated a lot of different ways, what I really meant was 'Be as nice as you can to other people'. And then try harder. Stretch a little. Even people you don't like. Actually especially people you don't like, because, come on, if it's hard for you to be nice to the people you like, you're already in trouble, right? That's the important stuff. And I just feel, at this time of year, that's the message I really want to get out. 'Cause it's my birthday.

You knew that right? That Christmas is my birthday? It's kind of funny, see, 'cause it's my birthday, but you guys get all the presents. See, those presents? They're supposed to be a symbol, right, of the gifts I got at my birth. The Gold, frankincense, myrrh, pa-rah-pa-pum-pum. You know. See, and all I want from you guys, right, is to hate each other just a little less, and I don't know, maybe try to cut back on the constant stealing and raping and killing and blowing things up. You know, you're always praying to me, like I'm going to do something about it. Well, newsflash: if you haven't copped to it yet, I'm not. Because I haven't killed anyone. See what I'm saying? You want that crap to stop, YOU need to stop it. And seriously, how much do you want it to stop? 'Cause most of the prayers I've gotten this last month are all "Please Make Dad give me a cell phone!", "I want a Wii!", Wii... what kind of name is that anyway? Do you have any idea how many sixteen-year-old American girls asked me to help get them a car for Christmas? A CAR?! HEY! I'm not Santa. I do NOT get involved in that, and if that's the kind of crap you pray for, you ought to be ashamed. It makes me sick, literally.

Gotta get more lights than the neighbors, gotta buy a High-Def TV, gotta drink like some kind of alcoholic PIG so I can STAND to be around the people I'm supposed LOVE, right?

You, you, you, you, you, you, you. It's all about you. Season of you.

IT'S MY DAMN BIRTHDAY!

Jesus wants some cake and ice cream. Jesus wants to pin the tail on the damn donkey, unwrap some cool stuff, and he wants to see a chocolate cake with real butter cream frosting somebody made, with two-thousand-eight candles out and he wants to MAKE A DAMN WISH!

Don't worry. I can blow them all out. Fed a friggin' multitude, I think I can blow out a few thousand candles. And I don't want that joke kind, the kind that light back up! I'll damn you to hell. Bet on it.

A birthday card, something. I'm sure it's too much to ask. I only got crucified.

Okay, look, In Barbara Mandrell's autobiography? She was born on December 25th right? And her whole life, her whole friggin' life, on Christmas there'd be two cakes. TWO. One for Barbara and one for me. That's nice, don't you think?

Barbara Mandrell. Mandrell. Country singer? The Mandrell sisters? The Barbara and the Mandrell Sister's show? With the puppet? The Sid and Marty Kroft Barbara Mandrell Puppet? "Sleeping Single in a Double Bed" Hello?

No. No. of course you don't know who Barbara Mandrell is, cause she wasn't popular in the last ten minutes. You barely know who I am and I'M THE SON OF GOD!!!

Sorry. Sorry. Mea Culpa, right? Mea Maxima Culpa. It's just, you know, I get a little blue on my birthday, what with all the fuss and all and Santa, Rudolph and friggin' Frosty, right? And none of that is even slightly about me, is it?

Screw it, though, you know. If I wanted a pity party I should have gone into some other line of work. OH! I heard that Nativity Story movie they have out is a complete snooze, so don't bother. I'm barely even in it. Can you imagine that? Make a movie about the Prince of Peace and then hardly even show him.

Anyway, sorry about the spaz attack. Just spare a moment or two to think of me while you're at the office party contemplating adultery, all right?

Happy Xmas.

Good night and God Bless,

Jesus
Wonderful Counselor.
Everlasting Father.
Prince of Peace.