The holidays have arrived. Glittering lights abound. Shoppers bustle about, their cheeks rosy with cheer. All along the cobbled streets, the wafting smell of roasting chestnuts. Church bells ring.

Ah, December in Paris. A time for long walks in the cold. A time for champagne, for laughter, for gift giving, for joy, a time for family.

And so, after surveying this great city, inspired and full of holiday spirit, I settle in to begin a day of productive, powerful and profound prose-writing.

But first I open my mail and there, waiting for me, are letters! Letters, readers, letters!

Letters from strangers.

Letters just for me.

In these troubled times when our world is ravaged by war, corruption and environmental catastrophe, it is easy to abandon hope. Are we not a cruel, violent and, above all, selfish species?

Yes, many of us cry.

Yes, I myself have cried.

But the beauty of life lies in the kindness of strangers. And my friends, the letters I received this morning have inspired in me new hope. The holidays are here.

The angels are singing.

Today, I take this opportunity, to share with you the kind words of strangers from around the world.

I begin with Dr. Dion York (That’s right a doctor! As if doctor’s aren’t busy enough healing the lame!) who writes to insist “stop feel shy of your male device size.” And right he is. High time I say to Dr. York!

Dr. Kendall Griggs (Again! Do these men know only selflessness?) wonders, “Have you increased your male machine?” And I say, “No I haven’t but I want to, Dr. Griggs, I want to.”

Kip C. McFadden writes to say that with his help I’ll “Easily spend 365 hot nights in a new year with my new big rod.” Which is, let’s face it, wonderful news! Can you imagine? A new rod and a year full of hot nights? O Come All Ye Faithful!

Just when I think I might burst with seasonal joy, I come across a letter from a Mr. Shelby Vance who encourages, “Grow an anaconda out of your trouser snake.” And while I’m not sure precisely what that means (I’ve written to Mr. Vance, for some clarification), I think we can safely assume that the spirit of Mr. Vance’s letter is one of generosity and cheer.

And really who wouldn’t want two snakes instead of one? And though I’m not sure I’d want my present trouser snake to give life to an anaconda, I realize that it is the spirit of the message that is important. Here’s to you Mr. Vance. Here’s to you and yours and your tidings of comfort and joy!

Happy men with anaconda.

Jake Cannon writes, “It’s time you became proud of your willy!” And isn’t that true? Enough shame. The new year is upon me. Indeed, what better time than the present to become proud of my willy? Of all our willies? Praise Jesus.

And then Lynn McGrath, sweet Lynn McGrath, subtly writes to remind me that “She is craving to be penetrated by [my] big rod.” What bold honesty! What wondrous courage! I say to you Lynn McGrath, thank you. Christians awake and salute the happy morn!

And dear Dr. Reynaldo Hayes who writes to tell me, to urge me, with scientific clarity, “Do not be shame by reason of your male aggregate size.” And if I wasn’t entirely convinced by Mr. Cannon, Dr. Hayes has surely made me understand an important truth: None of us should ever be shame by reason of our male aggregate sizes.

And what, dear readers, of female aggregate size? Should any of us be shamed by our aggregate sizes? Male or female? In the spirit of the season, certainly not I say, certainly not.

And as to the question what is an aggregate size? I give you the following definition from the American Heritage Dictionary: Aggregate - adj: - Composed of a mixture of minerals separable by mechanical means. From this I conclude that my own aggregate size is that size which is composed of minerals separable by a machine.

Enough said.

With Christmas so near, the New Year around the corner, with chestnuts roasting and ice caps melting, I say to all of you, stand up and say, “No. No, people. None of us should be shamed. None of us. Be no longer ashamed, men and women, of your male device sizes. The time is now.”

Perhaps, at this very moment, there are letters in your own mailboxes. Letters from generous, impassioned, selfless souls.

Letters written just for you.

Read them readers and feel the spirit of Christmas sweep through you like 365 hot nights.

TAGS: Penis, Sex

ALEXANDER MAKSIK's work has been published in France, the UK, the Czech Republic and the United States. His fiction, poetry and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in Above Magazine, The Texas Observer, Grasp, Crate, Inkwell Journal and Nerve.com, among others. He's a presently a Truman Capote fellow at the Iowa Writers' Workshop.   For more: Pont des Arts.

Related Posts Spring by  ALEXANDER MAKSIK My Last Relationship (tears, sex, soup, surprise) by  PETER SCHWARTZ All That Glitters by  ZARA POTTS Between the Pen and Paper by  ANGELA STUBBS I Am Not Who You Told Me I Was by  PETER GAJDICS

This entry was posted on Monday, December 17th, 2007 at 2:48 pm and is filed under Essays, Nonfiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.