CHRISTMAS LETTER 2004

Dear Friends:

Has it been a whole year since we all “decked the halls?” Well, by golly, it has. And the Yule log is crackling again, so it must be Christmas, eh? A joyous Noel then, to you and yours. And a happy Chanukah and a merry Kwanza as well. And let’s have a Festivus for the rest of us. And to all you Muslims, well, whatever. Enjoy your Iraqi elections! And for you atheists---hey, I know---go Eagles! There’s something we can ALL agree on. I mean, Donovan’s the man, right? And what do you think---is that really his mom in the Campbell’s Chunky Soup commercials, or is it actually Kurt Warner’s?

But I digress. I know you’re anxious to hear what the Kubacki family has been doing this year.

Have you seen the naked pictures of me on the internet? Fore and aft? It was my therapist’s idea, of course, and I was shy about it at first, but now I see the beauty of it, or perhaps I should say the beauty of me. I LOVE my body now!! We should all love our bodies, shouldn’t we? Because like---that’s where we are, right? All the time. In our bodies. I mean 24-7. And 365, too. Anyway, consider the pictures a little Christmas lagniappe kind of thing for all my friends, right there at duckisnaked.com. I love you guys!

The pictures-on-the-internet decision was a huge spiritual breakthrough for me in 2004. I walk around naked in the house all the time now. (Stop over anytime and see!) I have a whole new confident attitude, even when I have clothes on, and it’s helped me all over the place, like in my militia, where Jeff and Bubba made me a Lieutenant Commandant and put me in charge of the militia affirmative action program in a ceremony we had out at the dump with a case of Milwaukee’s Best, some RPG’s and a bag of Doritos. You know---the works! So if you know any African-Americans or French people or homosexuals who want to join up and get ready for the day when Hillary comes to take all our guns away, well, I’m the guy to see. (And don’t forget---you can see it all on the website.)

Moondog too has had an awesome year. The so-called “road rage” case is completely over now, and she got her car back and everything. (Nuns just think they OWN the Roosevelt Boulevard, don’t they? I mean---be honest.)

Also, the Bebe-Afghanistan campaign is starting to take off for Moonie in a big way, and we couldn’t be happier. We have all had to face the fact that she’s in her late 20’s now, and the runways of New York and Milan are full of fourteen-year-old anorexic heroin addicts. We all get older, even Moonie. She’s just not a fourteen-year-old anorexic heroin addict anymore. So when the December issue of Vogue-Kabul, featuring her 12-page veil-and-thong layout, sold out in three hours, we were like totally---ka-ching! What can you say? It’s a universal language, I guess. Everybody likes blondes.

And finally, of course, there’s Tex, or as he now likes to be called, Jesus Finnegan. And, you know, I couldn’t be prouder of him if he were my own son, rather than Rick Mahorn’s. A lot of teenagers today are sullen and uncommunicative, but I’m thrilled Tex still talks to the “old man,” and I love our little chats, even though some of them take place down at the Roundhouse, through the plexiglass.

Like the other day, for example, I was in the kitchen when he returned from his rehearsal for the Christmas play (oops---I mean the “Winter Festival”) at school. He’s playing the role of Che Guevara. Anyway, it was about 7 o’clock in the evening, and he had been gone all day, and he looked a little tired.

“Hi, honey,” I said. “Would you like some noodles?”

“WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO STOP INTERROGATING ME, YOU FASCIST,” he replied, casually slamming his fist into one of the kitchen cabinets and shattering it into a thousand pieces.

What a night that was! He’s fourteen now, of course, and doesn’t have as much need for his parents as he used to, but I still cherish the “quality time” we have together, like we did that night, as the doctor set his fractures and applied the cast. We had some laughs, I’ll tell you!

2004 has been a super year for Tex (I mean, Jesus), and it seems he’s finally come out of his “shell”---you know, the phase he was going through last year that those doctors referred to as “psychotic catatonia.” What a bunch of quacks! With school, and rehearsals, and his bowling league (team name: Bowling For Columbine), we don’t see him nearly as much as we’d like to, but I guess every parent feels that way. And then there’s the “nuclear experiments” he and his pals are always working on in the garage with that Pakistani guy who works at the convenience store. (Don’t ask me! It’s WAY over my head.) Where DO kids get all that energy? That’s what I’d like to know! And where can I get some?

So with another great year at our house coming to a close, it’s Wassail to ye and all your kin, whatever your creed or height or sexual orientation or, you know, even if you lost a couple of toes in an industrial accident. We here on Coulter Street send you our love. Long may you wave! Merry! And Happy! Live long and prosper! May we all start jogging and really get into shape! May we all be transported back in time for an instant so we can say that thing we should have said to that girl or that guy or that boss or that judge or that creep on the subway! May we resist the urge to be clever, and be kind instead! Surf’s up, dude. It always is. The big ones are crashing on the shore. Hang ten, or eight, or whatever you’ve got. Shalom.

And be sure to visit the website.

Love,
Michael, Sandi & Tex

Copyright2004Michael Kubacki