You know what really sticks in my craw? I can’t stand liars. Not just your usual liars that tell little lies like, “No Priscilla, I can’t take you out this Sunday because I have to organize my sock drawer,” or “Yeah Mom, I took the trash out this morning.” Those lies are little and have no impact on the quality of one’s life. I’m talking about the people who lie about themselves down to their very being.

Example? Santa Claus. Yes, this Santa Claus (Sinter Klass) has deceived us since he first started doing stuff as early as 1773.

Many people can’t see this Claus character for who he really is. But me, I’m smarter than that. I was first tipped off at the age of 11, when I found out what a pimp he was. Villanova, let’s pay attention to the signs that are right in front of us, shall we? “Ho Ho Ho?” What does that mean? The man is advertising his business! Santa Claus isn’t a lover of children; no, he’s an arctic pimp hard at work, here to distribute hos to the masses! I’m just surprised that I’m the first to recognize it.

Claus isn’t the only one who lies about who he is. We all do it. How many of you have tried to be what the really fine girl who sits behind you in core humanities wants you to be? Or, how many of you have tried to be the girl of your man’s dreams? I know I have. I don’t mean I tried to be the girl of my man’s dreams … because … well … I mean I don’t … I don’t have a man … so … yeah. I just meant I tried to impress a girl by not being myself.

Anyway, we all worry about what other people are going to think about us. We might pretend that we’re not as smart as we really are because it’s not necessarily cool to be a dork, or we might go out at times when it’s not prudent just because we want to be liked by our peers. The question is, how are you going to be liked by others when you’re not fully liked by yourself? You shouldn’t hide from who you are, like Santa Claus does. Who is to say that the fat man wouldn’t be as successful a pimp if he lost the red suit and the cheerful disposition? He should accept who he is. His business is illegal, and he covers it up by being loved by billions of tiny children. So what? The fact of the matter is that no one is happy when they hide all the time.

The same thing is true of Michael Jackson. How hard must it be to be a black man living in the body of a white woman? They’re polar opposites.

The moral of this story is to love yourself. Happiness is difficult to find when you don’t even allow yourself to be … uhh … yourself. So Villanova, take a deep breath, get to know yourself and let it out. I guarantee you’ll be the happier for it. You’ll have a great time living your life the way you want to. And that’s what’s important. Good luck, Villanova, and godspeed.