MERRY CHRISTMAS. Merry Chirstmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to Washington cab drivers, even those who can't drive. Merry Christmas to the guys who time the traffic lights downtown, and Merry Christmas to Billy Carter, too. Merry Christmas to the City Council and Walter Washington and John Risher and, of course, Marvin Mandel. Merry Chistmas to them all.

Merry Christmas to the family that won't watch television and Merry Christmas to the woman who called crying about the way her husband's cowardice.

Merry Christmas to the kid who brings the paper and Merry Christmas to the old woman at the Frederick Douglas house who tells kids about the importance of reading. Merry Christmas to Peg Tyler and Greg Schnieders and to the waiters all over town who said the Carter people don't tip. The best to them all.

Merry Christmas to the ugly woman who stood up for her rights looking and Merry Christmas to Crystal, who spent years looking for her real father and then felt I mangled her story in my column. A special Merry Chistmas to her.

Merry Christmas to Cornelius Proctor who can't race his pigeons against the best because he's black, and Merry Christmas to Freddie the Clown. I owe him a tip.

Merry Christmas to Hubert Humphrey and to Meyer Robinson who makes Manischewitz wine. Merry Christmas to Mike DiSalle who shaved off his mustache in a way you could't notice, and Merry Christmas, too, to Larry Flynt even though he's making a terrible mistake.

The best to the housewife who let me write about her and then got sick over the whole thing, and Merry Christmas to Walter Fauntroy who's in Congress and to Alan Harris who's in lady's underwear. Merry Christmas to Joe Yildell, the mayor's friend, and Merry Christmas, too, to Tom Malloy, sweet man who taught me how to fish in the river.

Merry Christmas to the woman who called about the problems of divorced women and Merry Christmas to Pedro Castro. Merry Christmas to William Douglas and Eric, a kid who went to the Muhammad Ali fight. Merry Christmas to Bjorn Borg who knows the worth of a dollar and to runners everywhere. Merry Christmas to Charlie Rumsey, at long last a trainman, and to Eddie, a chauffeur, and to Richard Nixon - even Richard NIxon.

To the single woman who got conned by some greaseball with a line patter - Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, too, to Barnet Skolnik and Nick Johnson and Fletcher Cohn and Robert C. Newell, who disappeared one day and probably thinks noone cares. The best to Art Sohmer who worked for Ted Agnew and then couldn't find work with anyone, and the best, too, to Frederick Moore at the Gandy Dancer and to the pickets outside his door.

Merry Christmas to Bert Lance and to prople who see baby pigeons, and seasons greetings to Farrah Fawcett Majors and Joe Duffey, although, please, not together. Happy Holiday to Rupert Murdoch, and to Tom, a sweet guy who may actually have gotten control of his life, and to Tony, poor Tony, who lost control of his life and says he's dying on drugs. Merry Christmas to Clark Clifford and to baby sitters and to Jackie Kennedy and Marvin, a homosexual and a friend.

Merry Christmas to Steve Rochelle, who spent part of the year in jail, and to Nena O'Neil who's closing up her open marriage. Merry Christmas, too, to Olivia Casamento who picketed the White House for her husband, to sexy men, and, of course, to a Polish peasant woman who cried for Jews who had been killed.

Merry Christmas to kids everywhere and to lovely women and people who can laugh. Harry holidays to people who know a true fact from a known fact and to those who feel guilty for no apparent reason. Happy Holiday to Geroge Allen and Douglas Moore and Howard Cosell, and the Best to Miz Lillian.

Merry Christmas to all who called and to those who wrote and to the lady who came here just a minute ago with a tear in her eye. The best to her. Merry Christmas to Elmer Fisher who says I wronged him, and to Aaron Stern and to his daughters, Edith, whom he says he made into a genius, and Merry Christmas to all Virginia polliticians, especially those who think they're gentlemen.

Merry Christmas, to the poor, of course, and to the sick, of course, and to those who will spend this day alone. Merry Christmas to the Scrooges for their cynicism and to the romantics for their special to those who try. A special Merry Christmas to those who try.

Merry Christmas.