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. . . that movie Lethal Weapon where the coked-up hot blonde jumps from that penthouse apartment to her death in the beginning. I know it's not really that possible, but every XXX-Mas because of that movie I now look to the heavens and hope for falling prostitutes. Or maybe you prefer a scene from Die Hard, whatever it's your Christmas; you choose the Hollywood tale that best encompasses it. But, I would like to take this time to tell you a little 100% and awesome personal Christmas story, I like to call:

"How Santa Got His First DUI".

Part 1: Where's Santa?

It was a Christmas about seven or eight years ago and I was visiting a friend's family in Northern California (the great hillbilly township of Redding to be exact). My friend often invited friends over for the holidays since she lived in a rather large home with just her mother. She was an only child and her father ran off with his secretary five years previous. I know, the pinnacle American nuclear Christmas family, right? Regardless, this family had up kept a family tradition of transforming their front yard into one of the town's largest Christmas displays. I'm talking a full sized sleigh and a team of full-sized life-like reindeer and enough lights to make the Pacific Gas and Electric company nut in their pants. Twice. And once in the morning.

Anyways, one day just before Christmas, the mother announced that the evening news was going to come to the home that evening and do a "feel-good" community report in front of the house. In conjunction with this, they had decided to have a costumed Santa sit in the sleigh and take children's present requests, just like at the mall.

After three Martini's I agreed to dress as an elf and act as the gatekeeper to let children walk to the sleigh and meet Santa. After they were allowed to enter "the Santa area" I would ask the parent the child's name and then radio it to Santa so he could appear really amazing and already know the child's name. This sounded like it could have been beautifully choreographed until reality set in.

By that I mean, apparently, reality arrived at about 5:30pm in the form of bad news. The man set to act as Santa ran a red light and was side swiped by a moving truck and was in the ER awaiting an emergency procedure. Immediately a few frantic phone calls went out attempting to find an overweight middle aged white man. You see, apparently he had to be white because the heavyset black guy next door neighbor had his offer refused as it would confuse the children. Only in America. Finally someone said they would be right there.

I heard among the anxious din echoing around the household that the landscaper, Rick, said he would be right there. He just had to close out his bar tab.

Let me pause there momentarily and let it set in.

I'll reiterate quickly. He just had to close out his bar tab.

Part II: Santa Hates the Gays. Loves the Booze.

As children began to collect in front of the house along the driveway and sidewalk Rick lumbered out of his full-sized truck and followed me to the kitchen to put on his costume and grab a beer. I recall wondering if I was too drunk at the time to go forward with this act, until I hung out with this guy. Standing next to him I was instantly sober by comparison. As he swayed left to right, his bloodshot eyes looked me up and down before he asked, "Why are you dressed as green faggot?" There was no need for me to reply because I didn't want to confuse Santa anymore than he already was and I just told him to pound his beer so we could get this thing over with.

Everyone was in place outside, we began the processes of the children meeting a Santa who knew their name and could occasionally say it without slurring. The news got their footage and almost appeared as though the entire thing would finish out without incident. That was until Santa needed a "two-drink" bathroom break. He returned even more loaded then before and tripped on his way back to the sleigh. There were only a few children left, so we tried to make a dash for the finish line and hope that nothing unusual would happen.

A small, rail thin girl of 6 years or so stood shivering in the cold next to her mother, her tiny mittened hand totally engulfed by her mother's. As I explained to her that she had to have her wish list ready because Santa needed to get back to the North Pole soon I opened the small gate and let her go to the sleigh. After inquiring her name from the mother, I whispered into the handset radio beaming to Santa's earpiece, "Her name is Clara".

What happened next immediately turned my stomach. Santa began talking with and in fact, overusing, the name "Samantha". The girl left the sleigh running back to her mother crying and sobbing out loud. I just stood motionless and unable to speak. Then, what happened next sent a chill down my spine.

The little girl looked up and said, "He is the real Santa! He knew my real name!" Apparently the little girl was adopted by her foster family and she knew that when she was a baby she was originally named "Samantha". The little girl was so impressed that Santa knew her real name that she was overwhelmed with emotion. I just thought to myself, that during the holidays people do find miracles in the least likely of places. Love and sincerity often slips into our lives through vehicles that we may not readily identify as good people, but sometimes it is true that God works in mysterious ways.

Oh, and speaking of vehicles. Santa decided to leave his sleigh but rather take his pick-up still wearing the costume immediately following the end of the evening's events. He was pulled-over and given a DUI 6 miles away and was subsequently booked wearing the red suit. I wonder if they let him take his mug-shot with the beard on?

And that children, is how Santa got his first DUI.