An American Christmas.

A coalition formed by me and other people who shall remain nameless are rallying for another visit to American soil by our favorite expatriate, the ever-smoking and ever-smokin' Miss Gibson. Granted, we of the Coalition to Reunite Miss Gibson with American Soil, or CRUMGAS for short, realize that she was essentially just here and that it's difficult for her to continually visit. Nonetheless, Miss Gibson seems open to hearing the coalition's arguments in this regard.

So, telling her why she would benefit from another visit this year, I, speaking on behalf of the coalition, sent her this e-mail yesterday.

Miss Gibson wrote that it was brilliant, and I truly believe that one day soon Miss Gibson will realize all that we have to offer her here and return to America.

Here is the missive, explaining why Miss Gibson needs a little American Christmas right this very minute:

Because, Miss Gibson, you're an American, and America is the land of the free. And Christmas is better here, for Americans celebrate Christmas the way it was intended. In excess and surrounded by commercialism. Christmas here is a lovely time, a time spent going into credit card debt and surrounded by your fellow friends who also don't want to go visit their stupid parents. Christmas is a beautiful thing here in America, the land of opportunity where you have the opportunity to receive lots and lots of gifts.

Imagine you, me, Black, Crystal, all holding hands behind some lovely, gigantic tree, lit with all the colors of the rainbow, at some tacky shopping mall somewhere. We'd be there singing non-religion-specific carols, and you guys would all be ice skating. And I'd be standing at the side of the rink, standing as an example to you all of how we crippled people mark the holiday - gleefully watching as dozens of able-bodied people fall down.

Children laugh more in America. The sky is better looking here. We've got homeless people who let us feed them during the holidays so that we can feel better about ourselves. Do your homeless people do that for you? Do you even HAVE homeless people?

We're not all high-falootin' and snooty, like the British. We call our false figure of Christmas worship "Santa Claus" because we decided it was catchier and less religious than "St. Nicholas." We have sales, crowded stores and angry parents getting into physical altercations over who grabbed the last Tickle Me Elmo off the shelves at Wal-mart.

It's tradition, Miss Gibson. It's garish, ugly tradition, and it holds a place in your heart and soul, just like it does in mine and all the other spoiled American children who grew up holding a Teddy Ruxpin or a Cabbage Patch doll alongside our yuppie parents in the '80s.

It may not be pretty. But it belongs to us.

You belong here for the holidays, Miss Gibson. Black and I want you around.