My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa;

It’s hard to argue I’ve been good this year. In any case, that’s what my parole officer says, ha-ha. (That’s a joke, as you know I haven’t seen my parole officer in months and neither has anyone else.) In fact, I would say that considering the stresses I’m under as a modern Father, Husband, full time grown man employee of a comic book store, Unitarian/Jew and airplane glue ‘enthusiast’, I think I’ve been very well behaved. Incidents of road rage should be overlooked since I don’t have a car and it was the booze talking. Likewise, while I may have told my daughters you don’t exist, I was only being mean to them and I lie constantly so it’s unlikely they took me seriously. I think I more than made up for it by telling her that in a fight between totally made up people, you would beat the crap out of the Pope. Not the new, nice one, probably that German one, the one with the eye patch. I’m pretty sure I didn’t cheat on my taxes which I’m pretty sure I filed, but if I did (cheat) or didn’t (file) it was during blackouts and if I’m going to get coal in my stocking for things I’ve done while in blackouts, hell, I’ll start heating with coal. Like you’re in any position to judge, Mr. “Well-I-Guess-We’ll-Have-To-Cancel-Christmas”.

My point is, you make the naughty/nice list, not me, so I figured I’d hedge my bets and send you a Christmas list. You know, if you’re not too busy with the forced Elf Labor and whatever the hell genetic engineering you get up to with those reindeer. (I’m kidding. I’m sure the Elves enjoy their work, and Reindeer can’t talk, so do what you want, I say.)(Is it naughty to end a paragraph with a parenthetical phrase?)
Anyway, here’s what I want:

1.) Peace on Earth.
I shit you not, Santa. I’m not just saying that to look all goody goody so you’ll give me the other stuff. I mean, I can’t even express how much the news depresses me these days, like I want to hear about terrorism and child slavery and racism and all that crap. Either make me even more self centered and callous or clean this mess up. Frankly I don’t care which.

2.) Booze.
I’m not that concerned about the quality. I don’t appreciate it, it’s wasted on me, I’m strictly talking about utility booze here.

3.) No electronic shit.
If anyone gets me electronic shit I’m blaming you. I’m too damn old, there’s no damn way I’m figuring out how to operate a ‘smart phone; or a ‘blue tooth’or any damn, hand held crap with weeny little buttons my fat, arthritic, shaky fingers can’t even find, let alone push. NO ELECTRONIC GADETRY unless it comes with a teenage slave to make it work. Like a human remote control. And not a big talker.

4.) More Time to Spend With My Kids.
They’re not human remote controls exactly but they still occasionally do what I tell them and my back hurts like hell since that time I was found asleep in the locker at the Port Authority.

5.) A Better Lawyer.
I mean, honest to Christ, Santa, what the hell is the point of a shyster who can’t get me workman’s comp for the damage done to my lower back sleeping in a Port Authority Locker?

6.) A Helper Monkey.
Those things are the coolest and apparently you can’t just have one because you want one, you have some sort of medically recognized disability. I’m not kidding, Santa, it’s apparently some sort of ‘law’. I think restricting me from having my own Helper Monkey is a serious infringement of my civil rights, so if there’s no way to get a Helper Monkey in my stocking, just go back and change number five from “A Better Lawyer” to “A Better Lawyer Who’s Really Good With The Whole Civil Rights Thing vis-a-vis Helper Monkeys.”

7.) Worse Hearing.
I know that sounds odd but at Thanksgiving my wife’s Uncle Leon was there, and he has this hearing aid. And for most of the evening he had it turned way low and whatever you said he’d yell something unrelated back at you, like you’d say “Uncle Leon, how’s the soup?” and he’d yell “BECAUSE THE DAMN JEWS WON’T GIVE ME FULL DENTAL!” and then Aunt Imogene gave him hell and made him turn it all the way up, and he did and it started making this high pitched squealing noise? And then he fell asleep. That was so cool.

8.) Good Slippers.
Every winter my feet get cold and wet until they feel like two, huge lumps of fresh Mozzarella in brine and every year my kids get me some cheap ass slippers that are too tight and my feet can’t breath and they feel like hot Mozzarella instead of cold Mozzarella and I have to pretend I like them. Is a decent pair of slippers too friggin’ much to ask for, Santa?

9.) For Dick Cheney to suddenly vomit up gallons of live leeches on national TV until he dies.
No shit, Santa, he is so overdue for death I know that sounds pretty un-Christmasy, but I hate that son of a bitch so bad, and I blame him for widening the asshole envelope enough for the entire gang of bastards we’ve got now to squeeze through once they’d stripped themselves naked and greased up with pure, unfiltered evil. I am not kidding, if I could have Dick Cheney gagging and clutching at his throat with his eyes bugging out while gallons of live leeches poured out of his throat like a ruptured oil pipeline good people got water cannoned for protesting and then keeling over dead on live national TV, I would totally forgo everything else on this list. Either that or make me Dick Cheney. He looks like he’s having a pretty good time, and he seems to be frikkin’ immortal.

10.) Some kind of ‘get out of hell free’ card for wishing violent, ugly, public death on people even if they really, really, really, really deserve it.

11.) You know that movie “Scanners”?
Remember that old David Cronenberg thing where these people had psychic powers and could make other peoples heads go all shaky and then blow up? Can I have that? Not the movie, the power.

12.) Peace in the Middle East.
I swear to God, if these bastards drag us into a Nuclear Armageddon at a point in my life where I have not even outlived Dick Cheney or dived into a hill of gold coins that I was then somehow magically able to swim around in like they were water, I will hold you personally responsible.

13.) A Genie.
Like, a Barbara Eden type Genie who’s all ‘master’ this and ‘master’ that and could get me anything I wanted whenever. Then I wouldn’t need to even write you anymore letters and just the thought of you in a midriff exposing harem outfit is very hard to take, no offense. You know what, screw the rest of the list, just get me the Genie, and I’ll take it from there.

So, anyway, I hope you’re having a good Holiday season, even though it’s like, a busy time for you I’m sure, and tell Mrs. Clause I say hello, and tell Hermy (Herbie?) he can be whatever he wants to be, Jesus, it’s 2018 almost. I bet I know what you want for Christmas if that “Polar Express” film is any indication. A gift certificate for a Tom Hanks exterminator! The North Pole is apparently infested with Tom Hanks! Oh, screw you ‘it’s not topical’, that joke was funny as hell the first time I wrote it. Anyway you’re the miracle gift giver, not me. All you’re getting is the plate of cookies just like always.


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