All I wanted for Christmas was an Automated External Defibrillator, in fuschia. I didn't get one. Maybe I was a bad girl. Maybe Santa realized I don't even celebrate Christmas. Or maybe he was backed up processing thousands of other orders from around the world. After all, more people wished for their own Defib in Amazon.com's Health and Personal Care section than any other present this holiday season. It even beat out awesome presents like the Panasonic Nose and Ear Hair Groomer and a Power Sonicare Toothbrush.



To be honest, I don't want a Defib for my friends or family members – as the label suggested. Nor do I want one because I wanted a "safer home" or "peace of mind." Maybe I'm a bit melodramatic, but I want a Defib so that I could play doctor, without having to take the MCATS. Who'd want to go to med school when any half-assed English major can shock cardiac arrest patients back to life, with the touch of a button? All clear!



By next year at this time, I envision the Defibrillator will become the hottest Hollywood must-have accessory. Cosmo will have a two page spread on how Gucci designed one for Natalie Portman. Ben Affleck will want his with a nice racing stripe down the middle. Apple will market Defibs in every color of the rainbow. They will be included in Oscar gift baskets.



Soon thereafter, McDonalds will start to include AED's in all Happy Meals for children. Instead of ripping open a shirt to reveal the Superman logo, Clark Kent will have a Defib under his uniform. Nokia will design covers and ring tones to replace the drab blue and beeps. "Another One Bites the Dust" Queen will croon as the machine jumps to life and shocks your next-door neighbor out of cardiac arrest.



Soon, the Defibs will be packaged with accessories ranging from MP3 players to instant messaging capabilities. Bob Dole will star in a series of commercials with Star Jones, touting the Defib. "It keeps me young and virile" he will cough, as he drops to the ground and is quickly brought back to life.



I want a Defib for when my heart stops, as it tends to do between 30-40 times a day. Much of my day is spend in a cardiac induced stupor, from which I can only be revived with a series of barbiturates, each inserted into various orifices of my body. My heart has stopped eleven times while writing this column. It flutters once or twice and then just flatlines.



When my heart stops, my bowels empty and my fingers go numb. I speak in tongues. My hair falls out, quickly at first, and then tapers off but still accumulates in clumps on the floors. My fingernails turn brittle.



I need a Defib. I never know when my heart will stop next or who"



Streeter and Neil both have new columns out today. I also want to give a shout out to our friend Jeff, who plays PickBoy on Nickelodeon's UPickLive, for having the following conversation with Terrell Owens on media day at the Super Bowl:



Pickboy: Do you ever get tired of hearing people ask the same questions over and over?

Owens: Yes.

Pickboy: Do you ever get tired of hearing people ask the same questions over and over?



Brilliant. Now, hotlinks…