THERE HAS NEVER BEEN COOTIES ON THE WALL AT MY HOUSE

The greatest dilemma of our generation is, what gift do you get somebody who has NOTHING and wants NOTHING?

Every holiday season this mystery crops up at my house and goes unsolved. I know this to be true because I am that somebody who has nothing and wants nothing. Family members and friends have sincerely tried to crack this case. Despite these failures, each year I still get inundated with different versions of their perception of my needs while my attic overflows with a plethora of uselessnesses.

To avoid being called an ingrate, I'm forced to humbly accept a multitude of tripe which are; upgrades of things I'm already satisfied with, clothes I won't wear and do-dads that I have absolutely no interest in, such as the mushroom brush fiasco of 2002.

A kind person close to my heart thought my love of mushrooms was going to explode into a thousand gastric orgasms when I was presented with a cleansing implement for my favorite edible fungi. Unfortunately, I recognized this kitchen gadget's lack of practicality and blurted my opinion. I was then vilified for coining the phrase, "I'd rather have the $2.99." Five years later however, I was proven to be right, we sold that bad boy at a yard sale...unopened in its original package, for a quarter.

If we trace back its roots, you'll see that I was not born with a trait for being difficult, it was learned, from my environment.

When I was five, TV commercials for a toy space station saturated kiddie programming. I coveted this baby and made sure I got the word out to Santa. Mr. Claus debated the worthiness of this contraption with his North Pole research team. When it was proven to fit down a standard chimney and discovered to be non-toxic...this Everest of playthings was left with one major hurdle; could a kindergartner poke his eye out with it? The argument raged well into the eleventh hour until Santa deemed it safe. So I got hooked-up.

Problems arose when the space station was attacked by the infamous Pencil-Necked Pin-Heads from the third moon of planet Xenon. Which means, I bashed this chintzy piece of plastic crap to smithereens within an hour of setting eyes on it. Despite my explanation of, "I saw it fly on TV," Kris Kringle made it clear that you don't throw big ticket items down the basement steps.

He then started a bland "lack of appreciation" themed lecture. He continued with only a trace sternness, "I had a lot of trouble getting that for you. Even me, good old St. Nick won't have access to a GPS for another forty years." Then as his emotion finally set in he closed with, "Me, Rudolph, Blitzen and Prancer were burnt-out early while taking the (expletive deleted), sleigh through a complex path to the last (expletive deleted) space station left in the (expletive deleted) universe. Moreover, he made it clear that in addition to needing thirty-two, 8-volt batteries, it took an inordinate amount of elf-hours to assemble...at a time when the brethren at the elf union were getting, double time and a half.

After I shrugged off the speech, I continued playing with the space station's splintered carcass. When Mrs. Claus saw how much fun I was having, she realized that laying the guilt-trip was not Santa's forte. She stepped in and as always, her expert use of this gimmick was deft, direct, seamless and everlasting. Like getting hit with a slushy snowball between the eyes, the effectiveness of her loud, embittered sarcasm was breath-taking. I suffered through her seemingly eternal verbal onslaught until my last iota of holiday spirit eroded away. But she did not stop. Mrs. C. would not be satisfied with me serving mere penance...she needed me to be scarred for life.

To protect my sensitivities and to avoid the possibility of future humiliation, I found it easier to NEVER want trendy items like; Mr. Machine, Mighty Matilda or the Combat board game, ever again.
IN 1960, IDEAL TOYS INTRODUCED THIS HI-TECH MARVEL. IN ADDITION TO SEEING MR. MACHINE'S INNER WORKINGS, HE COULD WALK AND MADE RINGING SOUNDS. DUE TO MRS. CLAUS' TONGUE LASHING, I NEVER INCLUDED THIS MUST-HAVE TOY ON MY WISH LIST. THESE DAYS, YOU CAN BUY AN ORIGINAL ON THE INTERNET FOR ABOUT $135.00.

My friend HJ had REMCO's aircraft carrier, "MIGHTY MATILDA." I can still recall its cool jingle set to, "WALTZING MATILDA." I was so jealous that when I went to his house that was all I wanted to play with. I even fantasized about it when I wasn't there. At about the same time, a moronic kid on my street intentionally swallowed a dime, nickel and a penny, (I told you he was a moron). Mrs. Claus made a big deal over this genius's hospitalization and tracheotomy. So when I considered all of Matilda's small pieces, it became a double no-brainer, to not ask for one of my own.
IN RETROSPECT, I COULD HAVE LIVED WITHOUT THIS ONE. THE PHOTO DOESN'T NEARLY MATCH THE 50-YEAR GRAND PICTURE OF IT IN MY MIND.

When I got a little older I really wanted the, "COMBAT," game. While playing it at another friend's house, my imagination ran wild as I invisioned my chest full of medals after heroically rescuing my buddies, single-handedly, from German Stalags.
THE GAME WAS BASED ON THE 1962-1967 TV SERIES, "COMBAT." I WISH THEY WOULD SHOW RERUNS BECAUSE I RARELY SAW HOW THEY ENDED...IT AIRED FROM 7:30 TILL 8:30, AT A TIME WHEN I WENT TO BED AT 8:00.

I wasn't the only kid who learned the hard way, not to expect much at the holidays. Apparently comedian Redd Foxx did too. He had a routine that included this line, "We were so poor that every year on Christmas Eve, my father would go outside. Then he'd loudly rattle and crash the garbage cans in the alley for my brothers and sisters to hear. Then he come in and and say that Santa was mugged and all our toys were stolen. After a few years of that, you just knew you weren't getting SHIT!"

So if you're struggling to find just the right present for me...forget it. I know that gift giving is a road paved with good intentions but please, don't bother. Do us both a favor and never confuse my love for cashews with a need for a cashew dispenser. And that cable-knit sweater imported from Scotland with the picture of the Loch Ness Monster...I can live without it. And most definitely, that two-year subscription to the Chia Pet of the Month Club would be wasted on someone with a limited acumen...such as my self.

What I really want is, peace on earth, an end to world hunger and a lifetime pass when they open a HOOTERS on my street. While such lofty desires might be out of your reach, I'll gladly settle for your continued readership of, "MORE GLIB ThAN PROFOUND." And if you want to get fancy, you can sprinkle on more criticisms, insights and/or encouragement.

BUT WAIT ! If you are ever in a retro-toy store...there was one other toy I dared not ask for because Mrs. Claus said it would mark-up her walls. I don't remember its name but it was from the early 60's. I did some computer research and checked vintage toys on the computer and EBAY. But I was armed with only a vague description and came up empty.

The outer shell of this hallow, plastic toy was the size of a baseball. It looked like a bug and had a pull-string mechanism attached to a series of suction cups hidden underneath. The idea was, you would hold it on a wall, pull the string and the bug would walk up.

So there, now you have something tangible that I don't have...and actually want. Don't worry, if you can't come up with the goods, I promise not to yell at you and make you feel so inadequate that you 'll require years of intense therapy.

Okay, I'll compromise with you, I'll settle for this toy's name, (HINT- I THOUGHT IT WAS A COOTIE...BUT I WAS WRONG).