As the movie opens, the good guy's life is going great. Life for the good guy has never been better. Suddenly and without warning, something horrific happens to cause the hero to take action and the hero's wife/girlfriend/daughter gets innocently entangled in the dilemma. The hero goes after the bad guy, but, for some reason, the police think that the good guy is a bad guy.

The good guy goes after the bad guy while, at the same time, the police go after the good guy. The good guy's plan to catch the bad guy is foiled by the bad guy and results in the good guy being captured by the bad guy. The bad guy explains all of the intricate details of his evil plan to the good guy and leaves the good guy to be killed by the bad guy's henchmen.

Using sophisticated martial arts maneuvers and high explosives, the good guy escapes and disables/kills the bad guys henchmen. The good guy catches up with the bad guy but the bad guy just barely escapes in the nick of time with the good guys wife/girlfriend/daughter as a hostage. The good guy, in a last ditch effort, secretly hitches a ride on the bad guys mode of transportation. The good guys' wife/girlfriend/daughter sees the good guy and the good guy silently urges her to keep quiet/distract the bad guy.

The good guy sneaks up on the bad guy. The good guy and bad guy begin to fight in slow motion as the vehicle is in motion at ridiculously high speeds and/or altitude. The wife/girlfriend/daughter screams. The bad guy grabs wife/daughter/girlfriend and uses her as a human shield. The wife/daughter/girlfriend moves out the way in the nick of time before the good guy kills the bad guy. The bad guy, being only partially dead, reaches for a weapon lying nearby and points it at the back of the good guy. The wife/daughter/girlfriend uses a weapon, that she happened to acquire previously, to shoot the bad guy. It is now that the police show up at the scene.

The police drop all charges against the good guy. The lead police investigator tells the good guy that his gut feeling told him that the good guy was innocent all along. The good guy's life goes back to normal. Life has never been better.

Stereotypes about the inhabitants of the southern United States still run rampant in this day and age and I think it's time to dispel some of the myths. Over the years many folks have come to think that southerners are slow to progress and are generally uneducated hillbillies. This is simply not true. Most southerners have at least a sixth grade education these days. You can't hardly get a job in a textile mill without one.

I write this while sitting on the porch of my plantation house overlooking the cotton fields. I sip my mint Julep and take offence to those who think southerners have made little contribution to our modern society. After all, who gave the world monster truck rallies? Where do you think championship wrestling came from? Don't forget the excitement of watching cars race around in a circle for five hundred miles. Ha! Beat that sports fans!

It's ludicrous to think that we are a bunch of hicks who sit around getting plastered on moonshine. If we want to get plastered, we drink Pabst Blue Ribbon just like everybody else. We don't only eat chitterlings and collard greens. We also eat grits, fried chicken and watermelon. Folks also seem to think we all drive around in pickup trucks. Personally, the only reason I drive a pickup truck is because my gun rack won't fit in my BMW. Besides, the "Beamer" is up on blocks.

People who make fun of our music should be locked up in a tobacco barn. It ain't like we play the banjo and fiddle during our Sunday meetings. We save that for the Saturday night square dance after we've taken a bath down at the pond. I think it's funny that people have this notion that we all go around whistling Dixie. Haven't they ever heard Freebird?

I could go on and on but that's not what life is about. Life is about putting on a loose pair of overalls after a hard day riding your tractor, leaning back in a rocking chair on the front porch of your mobile home, kicking up your bare feet, pulling your straw hat over your eyes and chewing on a blade of grass. Just think y'all. There are over seventy million of us doing just that, right now.

I hope this article will put an end to the stereotypical rumors about southerners. I don't know how these rumors began but I do know that they weren't started by me. All I did was spread them.

My name is Tom and I'm a Turkey. For the past four years, Farmer Brown has been threatening my life on Thanksgiving but, so far, I have been fortunate enough to thwart his efforts. I am here today to spread the word to other turkeys that, they too, can do the same as I have been able to do. It isn't an easy game to play but is essential in order to keep your farmer from ringing your neck.

At an early age, I witnessed the Thanksgiving death of my father as his head was lopped off on the chopping block. I tried to run to his aid but the other animals held me back and told me that, unless I was still, I might receive the same fate. I was a troubled youth without a father but instead of turning to a life of crime, I vowed to stay and protect my neck from the ravages of Farmer Brown's axe.

The next year I was big enough for the broiler and I knew it. I was running out of time and was getting pretty nervous when an idea hit me. Farmer Brown's wife was on a diet so I borrowed a case of her Slim Fast and started downing it as quickly as I could. I went from a fifteen-pound broiler to an eight-pound runt in just seven days. Slim Fast really works. Farmer Brown came out Thanksgiving morning, took one look at me and shook his head. I threw my last can of Slim Fast to the pig but it was too late. That poor, poor pig.

I had a year to relax and relax is what I did. So much in fact that when Thanksgiving rolled around I was rolling around with it. At eighteen pounds, I knew my demise would be near at hand unless I thought of something quick. Luckily for me, Mrs. Brown had entered a contest to win a Thanksgiving visit by Regis Filbin. Having taken a paper mache class during the year, I knew what I had to do. Thanksgiving morning, Farmer brown came out with his axe and looked straight at me. He turned and walked back into the house. My paper mache Regis Filbin mask had worked. Mrs. Brown ran out of the house screaming at the top of her lungs. She hugged me, kissed me and took me inside. At first they sort of suspected something was strange about me until I told them that feathers were all the rage in New York City. I told her that I was severely allergic to Turkey and it was decided that something else would be prepared for dinner. I felt bad for the cow but steak sure is tasty.

I tried to eat light for the entire next year but, unfortunately, by Thanksgiving I weighed in at twenty-two pounds. I stole an old striped shirt from the clothesline and fashioned a small but attractive pullover with matching trousers. Stripes really are slimming and Farmer Brown decided that I needed to gain a few pounds. I lost another friend that day but gained a liking for mutton.

The following year, after putting on four more pounds, I noticed that Farmer Brown had thrown out some sheep intestines. I covered myself in oatmeal and stretched the intestines over my body. When Farmer Brown came out looking for me, all he saw was a "haggis" lying in my pen. Unfortunately, he decided to save the "haggis" for later and it was three days before I could get out of the freezer. It's odd but I haven't seen the dog since.

This year it's just the cat and I. I've lost a couple of pounds and I've been helping the cat catch mice. Boy is she getting fat and sassy. Since I've found a piece of steel pipe that fits perfectly over my neck, I've decided to let Farmer Brown drag me to the chopping block this year. I'm sure going to miss that cat.

Dear Robeo,

I am writing in reply to your letter dated November 18th of this year. I will start by saying that future correspondence regarding Christmas requests should be postmarked before midnight on November 15th to insure consideration before December 24th. Please keep in mind that this is a busy time of year for my staff and myself and we like to have all orders filled before our November 15th deadline as we begin loading the sleigh on the 16th.

Your request to have "peace on Earth and goodwill towards men" cannot be processed at this time. I am but one man and as "magical" as I am, this is not a request that I can fulfill. I do not have any pull at the United Nations or NATO and I am not in the business of enforcing peace throughout the world. I can assure you however, that any persons involved in the act of prohibiting "peace on Earth and goodwill towards men" will receive sticks for Christmas. Coal is no longer distributed as it is now a valued commodity and distribution of this substance could be construed as a true and real gift.

In the future, please limit your requests to tangible items, i.e., bicycles, candy, rocking horses etc. Because there is limited space on the sled and because the sled is only powered by eight tiny reindeer, I respectfully ask that you not request new cars or houses as these requests will not be granted. I hope you understand that I must be able to fit gifts for the entire world into the sled.

Also, requests for cash will not be granted. The items I deliver are handmade by elves and it would be in violation of the laws of all nations to manufacture currency. I'm sure you realize that I am not going to put my staff or myself in a position that would result in incarceration.

If you would like to submit a revised request, please feel free to do so. All requests are honored on a first come, first serve basis and will be filled only if time permits. If your request cannot be accommodated this season, it will be submitted at the top of next season's list.

Have a very Merry Christmas.

Ho, ho, ho,

Santa Clause