MERRY CHRISTMAS, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to the farmers who came in the snow and the kids who loved Einstein. The best to Peg Mullen who lost her son to friendly fire and waits still for an explanation, and to the old man on the stoop who sits, watching his neighborhood change. Merry Christmas old man. By next year you'll be gone.

Merry Christmas to Lauren Bacall and all her class and Merry Christmas also to her father, still bitter after all these years. The best to Richard Nixon, who finally has his house, and Season's Greetings to Marian and Effi Barry. They have their house, too.

Season's Greetings to children everywhere, especially the ones in Cambodia. A toast to Harriet who never got a Valentine's Day card and another for the lady who gets yelled at by construction workers. Try to keep it clean, guys. Merry Christmas to you all.

Our hopes for the hostages in Iran and the best to Bob Valazco whose dream was to feed them Christmas dinner. Season's Greetings, too, to the Iranians here who have been having it rough and to Americans who know better than to judge people by their place of birth. Once again, a very special Merry Christmas to the hostages.

Merry Christmas to the entire cast of "Dallas," especially poor Sue Ellen. Season's Greetings to Chuck Barris, who proved with "The Gong Show" that television really could bottom out, and a very quiet Merry Christmas to David Rockefeller and Henry Kissinger, who brought us the Shah. Merry Christmas to them all.

Merry Christmas to the poor and those who are alone this day. Merry Christmas to ladies having affairs with married men. The best to Mother Teresa who saved the life of someone I love and Merry Christmas to Pope John Paul II, who knew how to take the fun out of Polish jokes. Here's to Bobby Frankel who trains horses and to Uncle Itzel who used to sell The Forward but now lives in the Hebrew Home. Happy Hanukah to him -- and to Rose, too.

Merry Christmas to Walter Fauntroy who travels too much and to Clayton Moore who knew that anyone could be the Lone Ranger and hello to the Incredible Hulk, too. Stay cool, man. The best to Angela and David Boyter who get divorced to save on their taxes and to Leslie Cobb, the scribe of the Little Taverns, and Lynn Brice Rooney, whose pay check is somewhere in the District school system. Better luck next year, Lynn.

Merry Christmas to Reubin Askew, who should think before he condemns all gays, and to all Washington cab drivers who should simply think and Vanessa Redgrave who hasn't thought in years. The best to Tracy, the 15-year-old who flew off to camp and cried because she left behind her boy friend, and Merry Christmas to Pigeon Man -- a cab driver, a sportsman, a sweet guy.

The best to Sam Brooks, who's so ugly women won't have anything to do with him, and a toast to the people who stood out in the cold before the Supreme Court, protesting capital punishment. Merry Christmas to Chris Welna who stayed with Ellen Steif as she died simply because she was a friend. Merry Christmas to good friends everywhere.

Season's Greetings to Fred Astaire, who taught me how to tap dance, and to all people who blame the computer for their mistakes. The best of the season to my Uncle Mike, the one who fired Andrew Young, and Merry Christmas to John Erlichman, hired by Mutal Radio to bring us the truth.

Merry Christmas to the girls of the Ivy League who posed nude for Playboy and to the girls of Chappaquidlick who did not, but who have been treated as if they did. The best to Teddy and Joan and to redheaded men everywhere. Nobody knows the trouble you've seen.

The best to the guide at Al Jolson's grave and Merry Christmas to Rose, the maid at the Beverly Hills Hotel. She would rather make the beds of the stars than sleep in them. Season's Greetings, Mercedes, a stripper with a dream, and a good word for Joe Califano, the last liberal and a nod, in the direction of the UFO I saw. Merry Christmas or whatever.

Here's to Aron Groer who returns articles lost in his cab and here's to the people who teach my son and here's to my son who never fails to teach me. Merry Christmas to the men who came and planted a tree before my house and Merry Christmas to the people who remembered Mike Nathan and what he tried to be. The Klan killed him.

Merry Christmas to Howard Morland, who told us in Progressive magazine how to build the bomb and then had one dropped on him by his own government. Right on, Howard. Season's Greetings to Art Buchwald, walking the city, looking for a decent lunch, and Merry Christmas to Angel Nunez who owned an illegal eagle and got the bird from the government.

Merry Christmas to Sister Page who works in the jails and Merry Christmas to the cons she works with. Merry Christmas to prisoners everywhere and to Anatoly Scharansky, a light they can't extinguish. Merry Christmas to the people who will sleep in the park tonight and the ones who live on grates. The best to the poor and the unloved, the lonely and the scared, the sick and the aged and the little girls somewhere who are pregnant and alone. Merry Christmas, little girls. Merry Christmas to you all.

Merry Christmas to the Scrooges for their cynicism and to the romantics to their sentiment and Merry Christmas especially to those who try. A very Merry Christmas to those who try.

Merry Christmas.