Yule Be Sorry

I am not sending Christmas cards to the following this year:

The Circle K clerk who insists on charging me a one-cent tax each time I purchase the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.

The garbage collector who refuses to pick up my trash cans unless they are placed in a position decreed by his own mathematical formula.

Any of the $3 million-a-year baseball players.

The crews from the street department who have apparently decided to dig up the pavement in front of my house each night for the rest of my life.

Frank Sinatra, who has congratulated himself more than enough.

John Dahl of KFYI who has surpassed his boss, Barry Young, as the town's most objectionable talk-show host.

Lattie Coor, Arizona State University president, who betrayed his office by taking the easy road and not firing Larry Marmie, the football coach.

Telly Savalas, who has enough freebies from Las Vegas to last a lifetime.

Burton Barr, the wheeler-and-dealer pol, who is sitting on enough dough to last him a couple of lifetimes.

Max Hawkins, because he is a royal pain in the ass.

Chief Justice Frank X. Gordon of the Arizona Supreme Court because his ego is already too big to accommodate a ready-made hat. Cardinals coach Joe Bugel, who is already much too cheerful.

Phil Donahue, who demonstrated recently that he is even farther round the bend than Evan Mecham.

NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue, whose people seem to have engineered the defeat of Proposition 302.

Rose Mofford, who will eventually leave office with the heftiest state pension in history, as well as the largest collection of Kachina dolls.

The Gumbel Brothers . . . the Smothers Brothers . . . the Brothers Karamazov.

The motorcycle cops who get such a delight in running speed traps on Seventh Street.

Jesse Helms, who seems far and away the most vindictive member of the Senate Ethics Committee.

Steve Twist, who will finally have to begin working as a real lawyer, rather than an arm-twisting lobbyist for the Attorney General's Office.

Salman Rushdie, because I don't have his address.

John McCain, who appears to be cleverly outmaneuvering Dennis DeConcini in the Keating Five's battle for survival.

B.J. Hunter, the disc jockey who really ought to buy a grown-up's car.

The geniuses in the highway department who designed those far- right-hand lanes that keep disappearing on drivers.

Bill Heywood of the KTAR morning show, the town's most self-satisfied radio personality.

 
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