The holiday season is upon us, which means two things: first, it is now impossible to turn on the radio without hearing horrible pop covers of already horrible Christmas songs performed by artists whom God never intended to collaborate. After listening to Mariah Carey shriek out far too many key changes on “All I Want for Christmas (Is You)” while sitting in holiday traffic for five hours, I have decided that I am writing my own holiday song. It will be called “I Hope Your Kidneys Don’t Get Stolen This Christmas,” and it will be an instant classic among black-market organ traders and urban myth aficionados alike. Here is a sneak preview:

I hope your kidneys don’t get stolen this Christmas,
‘Cause come Kwanzaa, they’re gonna be mine,
I’ll slip you drugs and when you are unconscious,
I’ll excise your kidneys and leave you in a bathtub full of ice.
Singin’ kidneys, kidneys …

Second (lest you forget I’m listing things), the holiday season is all about maintaining relationships, which means that it is the perfect time for apologizing for past transgressions and making amends. Traditionally, Christmas is a time to let bygones be bygones, to forgive and forget, and to use endless trite phrases in lieu of original content.

As a columnist with a devoted readership of, oh, at least two or three people, I’ve angered plenty; as someone with little sense of propriety I’ve angered many more. In the spirit of Ruben Studdard, whose song “Sorry 2004″ comprised a blanket apology for every mistake he was going to make in the subsequent year, I would like to use my last column of the year as a forum for extending the olive branch to some of the people I have offended in 2004.
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