From: com%"jeremy@apple.com" "Jeremy Bornstein" 13-DEC-1989 11:01:00.82 To: Joel M Snyder CC: Subj: an xmas story Received: From ARIZVM1(MAILER) by MRVAX with Jnet id 0719 for JMS@ARIZMIS; Wed, 13 Dec 89 11:00 MST Received: by ARIZVM1 (Mailer R2.02A) id 0717; Wed, 13 Dec 89 11:02:59 MST Date: Wed, 13 Dec 89 09:55:46 PST Reply-To: Jeremy Bornstein Sender: Mmytacist Mmanufacture From: Jeremy Bornstein Subject: an xmas story X-To: weird-l@brownvm.brown.edu To: Joel M Snyder From: "jeremy" December in northern California. I live in an apartment complex with swimming pools, saunas, jacuzzis, washing machines, a billiard table, and a weight room, few of which I use regularly. Tuesday I was coming back from the washing- machine room with my steaming laundry hoisted over my shoulder in a cloth sack. I wore a Charlie Brown sweater in red and blue along with a blue cap to keep my ears warm. As I began to mount the stairs to my apartment, I saw a little boy and his mother about to enter their own apartment. I had seen them before, but had only talked to the mother briefly. She was very shy. "Are you Santa Claus?" the boy asked. "Mommy, is that Santa Claus?" The mother started to answer, but I broke in: "There is no Santa Claus, kid. No Santa Claus, no God, and no President of the United States." The kid turned up to his mother, whining "Mommy!" His eyes were beginning to tear. "Don't be an idiot," I admonished him. "Only little babies cry." The mother glared at me and started to say something. "Timmy, you know that's not true..." I broke in, "do you know what's in this sack, kid?" Fighting back tears, the little kid said hopefully, "presents?" "Stop being stupid. I told you I wasn't Santa Claus." Renewed tears from the little boy. I had to speak quickly so the mother wouldnUt interrupt. "No, this bag contains the bodies of little kids who just couldn't wait for Christmas and who kept asking their parents for worthless toys. Finally, their parents called me up and I killed them in their sleep. Here," I said as I pressed the bag of laundry up against him, "the bodies are still warm." The little anklebiter screamed and began to clutch his mother. "You monster!" she gasped as she fumbled with her keys, trying to open the door. "Guess what?" I asked the kid. "Stop!" (the mother, still fumbling, dropping her keys, said.) "YOUR parents told me about YOU," I said, "and SOMEDAY, IUm going to GET you when youUre SLEEPING!" "WAAAAAAAAAA!" Sobbing, grabbing his mother's leg as she inserted the key into the lock and opened the door, riding along on her leg as she entered the apartment. I pushed in behind them. "In fact, maybe I'll just do it right now, while you're still awake." "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" screamed the woman. She darted out of sight behind a corner, her son not far behind. When I rounded the corner, she was holding a large serrated knife. I laughed. "Oh, did MY parents tell YOU about ME?" I asked as I grabbed my bag and leapt out the door. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, TIMMY!"