Brother Wrap

Front Page: First things first. Merry Christmas like a sex machine.



I cannot begin to explain how much influence The Hardest Working Man in Show Business had on my political career. Let's just look at a telling chronology: I was not satisfying the needs of Not-Betty in 1962. Live at the Apollo came out in 1963. My confidence, glow, and vigor restored, I was elected House Minority Leader that same year. From there, the rest is history.

Gerald Art!: That's right - it's Christmas Day, and I've received two last-minute entries from my adoring fan(s) for my visual art contest. But instead of declaring a winner myself, I've decided to leave the determination up to you, gentle readers. Y'all have until the ball drops in Times Square for 2007 to vote in the comments section of this post. Please supply a brief rationale for your choice as well, or else we won't count it. I know that that probably disenfranchises a bunch of people, but I don't care. All four choices are displayed here:

(a) Gerry as Raptor Wrestler



(b) Gerry as Dreadful Pirate



(c) Gerry as Whistler's Mother



(d) Gerry as Himself, Dancing



Gerry's Corner: Today, I decided to see how the other 3% of the country lives and chose to pretend to be Jewish today. What is it like to not believe in the immaculate conception of Santa? I spent the day in Bethlehem, PA, also known as The Christmas City, probably because of the abandoned steel mill rather than because of its name, I'm assuming. First of all, it was forty degrees and raining. It was probably snowing and wonderfully brisk out, but as a Jew on Christmas, I could only see miserable weather. Then, every store was closed. Every single one. What the hell? As a Jew, I was offended that so many retailers would universally forsake my needs. For shame, melting pot of America, for you are truly a Christian nation on this day! By dinnertime, I was starving - they might as well shift the fasting holiday from Yom Kippur to Christmas! Fortunately, I found my whole congregation at one place: Eastern Palace Chinese restaurant, on Linden Street. Beef with broccoli never tasted so good. I pretended I was eating reindeer and that the red peppers were Rudolph's nose - boy, was that satisfying. To cap off the evening - before sitting down in front of the blog, of course - I called a few friends and showered guilt upon them for their celebrating and gift-giving while I'd been spending the day all alone.

Time to call it a night. Tomorrow, I'll do the Christmas stuff for real - I'm done being Jewish. Papa needs a brand new bag.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry