In case your wondering, the Christmas play Satan organized was a smashing success.  Although attendance was mandatory, I'd like to think that the evil bastards down here would have come anyway.  It's not like there's anything else to compete for attention down here.  After the last show we had a cast party/orgy.  I'm not sure if it was planned to be an orgy or if an orgy just happened (like it does at Rob Lowe's house).  All I know is one minute I'm talking about the Bush administration with Don Knotts, and the next thing I know we're double teaming Helen of Troy.  I don't remember her being in the cast, but whatever.
 
If I gave a shit about deadlines (after you die, you tend to adopt the 'fuck it' philosophy for pretty much everything) I might feel a tad guilty for not having my New Year's blog on New Years but fuck it.  Thanks to consuming vast amounts of alcohol, weed, and some green capsules Hunter Thompson gave me, I lost track of the last three days.  I remember fighting dinosaur.  Well, all that is in the past and I'm glad 2008 if finally over with. 
 
Of course, it's not like time really matters down here.  We're talking eternity, remember.  What's a year? We don't have any calendars down here, but usually every year around Christmas we get a fresh bunch of suicides.  I haven't met any of them because if they off themselves on a holiday, they're probably lonely or weird or something.  And you know they're just downers anyway.  Although it's hard to understand the logic.  I know life sucks but it certainly beats this place, double-teaming Helen of Troy with Don Knotts aside. 
 
Before I keep rambling (Hunter said that side effect would last for quite some time, but at least the dinosaur went away this morning) I should get to my resolutions.  I know, I know, what's the point of making a resolution in hell, right?  Well, these resolutions aren't for me.  They're suggestions for those still breathing on earth.  When I was alive, I could actually enforce resolutions, like including hjs for casual Friday.  If you didn't follow it, I could have you killed.  Or your family.  Or anyone that consides you a friend, or hookers that gave you a discount.  While we're on the subject, you know how you can tell if an Afghani woman is a hooker?  She doesn't cover her feet. 
 
Ok, let's get to the resolutions:

Dane Cook: stop doing what you think is comedy and try to end up in a vegitative state.  Don't kill yourself though.  I'd prefer to hate you from afar.

Lindsey Lohan: Keep drinking, girl.
 
George W. Bush: never hold office again

Maury Pauvich: more paternity tests, less men that look like hot women

Clay Aiken: Keep drinking, girl.

Sports Broadcasters: stop acting surprised when you end up putting a big dick on camera when you do lockerroom interviews after the game.
Sean Salsbury: I probably spelled your name wrong, but fuck it.  Don't send cell phone pictures of your dick to women anymore.  They weren't interested when you were remotely relevant in the early 90s and they certainly aren't now.

Dick Cheney: shoot more friends in the face, (more means all)

Owen Wilson: Try to be in a good movie

     Normally, I never really celebrated Christmas that much.  Sure I would get Uday and the other one some real guns for our Jew hunts, and the Mrs. would make ginger bread infidels, and then we would cuddle up in front of the big TV and watch our favorite Christmas-time movie, Cannibal Holocaust.  Timeless.  Once it was over, I would tuck the kids into their beds, tell them their favorite bedtime story about the three little Arabs and the big bad Satan, then the wife and I would have anal sex, like young Christian teens thinking it doesn't count.  Got some news for you, Nathaniel and Rebecca: it does.  It so, so does.

However, it turns out that the Devil is really into the festivities.  Who knew?  So, in keeping with the Christmas spirit, the Lord of Darkness has decided to direct a pageant this year.  It is the manger story, and I am completely honest when I say that this might be the absolute worst idea I have ever heard of.  (#2: recycled toilet paper).  The show is already cast, and the roles are as follows:

Joseph: Jim Morrison.  You know, this may sound surprising, but he's not really that bad.  Obviously he's drunk, and once and a while we have to stop him from mounting Mary, but other than that he could easily be a regular on Two and a Half Men.  The only difference between him and Charlie Sheen is syphilis and a pulse.

Mary: Olympias, mother to Alexander the Great.  Yeah, I didn't see that coming either.  Her acting is somewhere between straight to DVD sequels of American Pie and any soft-core Cinemax movie on after 11pm, except for Diddler on the Roof.  That one rules.  Incredible stunts.

Baby Jesus: Five years ago, there was a baby in England that actually went on a killing spree and took out fifteen people, most of them full grown adults.  He was never caught and died when he tried to wrestle a hyena at the zoo.  He was three and a half.  He's Jesus.  He usually shows up late and has a poor attitude, but we leave him the hell alone.  I don't care who you are, you don't fuck with a baby like that.  He aborted people.

The Sheppards: Don Knotts, Barry White, and John Belushi.  When Olympias holds up the baby Jesus, Barry White is supposed to sing a rendition of Sweet Child of Mine.  Unfortunately, due to his soothing and highly arousing voice, however, he can never finish because by the time he gets to the chorus, everyone is fucking each other.  Except the baby, who for some reason ends up choking Don; afterwhich Belushi always ad-libs that the reason the Sheppards are late is because they have sore Knotts.

The Three Wise Men: Albert Einstein, Aristotle, and Madame Curie.  She stuffs. 

In case you're wondering that role I am playing in the story, I am the inn keeper that tells Olympias and Jim Morrison that there is no room at my inn, but if they want, they can have their baby on my spare fouton in the back.  We don't have mangers in hell, only foutons.  I am taking this role very seriously, and have consulted a number of acting instructors down here to help me prepare, including Stanislavsky and director John Ford.  He's told me I remind him of a mentally disabled Kirk Douglas. 

The performances are Christmas Eve, Day, and the day after that.  Also on Christmas Day, we have our Secret Satan (not mis-spelled) Party.  That's where we call give Satan a present, and he promises us we won't be raped for at least a day.  He's never kept that promise, but hey, if Christmas is about anything, it's hope right?