Make no mistake: Santa Claus, the one who popped a cap off a bottle of Coca-Cola after delivering the presents, is the big fella closest to his heart, says J.P. Devine.

J.P. Devine says that he has second thoughts on his next book, tentatively titled “Everybody I Know Is Dead,” and considers an alternative — or two.

J.P. Devine lists several notable instances when life has seated him at a variety of tables at Thanksgiving, since 1932.

Not a midnight blue, but a “Blessed Mother Blue,” as Sister Rosanna would say, sweeping into the halls of legislatures and executive offices, including a growing number of women, says J.P. Devine.

With no cable or internet available in remote Canada, the results of the election have yet to reach J.P. Devine, who is checking out yurts with hot plates should the vote go the wrong way.

Nature’s seasonal darkness is descending, made even darker and scarier by the coming midterm elections, but we can turn on the lights of truth, J.P. Devine says.

It didn’t get any easier as the transmigration of now five souls has been halted by a diabolical instrument of death designed to rid a domicile of mice, says J.P. Devine.

Having inside knowledge of what it takes to be an emotional 9-year-old, J.P. Devine muses over the “more” that 45 may be wanting.

A great idea for six women in the twilight of theirs lives is stuff of movie wonder, J.P. Devine says.

Always good to put your best foot forward when meeting a person from your girlfriend’s home town, especially when you’re on a bus in costume, says J.P. Devine.