CHRISTMAS NIGHT AT SAINTS: COME PARTY WITH (JES)US.

JESUS AND MY GIRLFRIEND ARE BOTH CAPRICORNS. Figures. They both have dreadlocks. They're both "practical and hardworking". They both have a talent for making me feel like Satan. And they have both found spots in the grubby petri dish of my heart. Yes, I have found Jesus. But not in the way that most people find him, i.e. finding a reason to live, or finding a reason to not smoke crack or beat your mother up because she keeps asking you why your wife never comes around anymore. For me, it was more like the way one finds an interesting book - which that day was Love Without Conditions, a slim paperback stuffed between the self-discovery manuals and huge jars of colonic powder crowding the bookshelves of a 'spiritual advisor' whose rat-infested Kauai home we rented when we visited Rojeanne and Brick last month. Now, ask me and I'll tell you all religions are Stone Age fairytales invented to keep the butcher from boning the preacher's wife. But I'll be damned (ha) if Jesus - or his ghostwriters (ha ha) - wasn't/weren't/aren't onto some revolutionary shit. I'd have a beer with the guy anyday.

And what better day than Christmas Day? I love buying people birthday drinks. You get to enjoy the gift with them. All anyone really wants is a damn drink anyway. When your best friend of thirty years mentions that it's their birthday at the bar, it's an easy way to make it seem like you remembered. It's bound to be cheaper than whatever other crap you probably would have bought them (if anything). And what better location to have a drink with the son of George Carlin than Saints & Sinners? They'll be cheaper than Bimbo bread and boxed wine for me (employee discount). I'll be playing James Brown and Black Sabbath's Christmas albums. And the joint is named after the both of us. Case closed.

So if any of you should find yourself on your knees in front of your or someone else's bed tonight or tomorrow night, do me a favor and let Young Beardly know that there's a few drinks with His name on them Friday night at 10899 Venice Blvd. in West LA. It's free to get in, and I'll be sure to have Ian blow his fireballs toward the back of the bar. I bet those locks of his would go up like a polyester sweater.

Oh, and the rest of you are invited too.