An Old Child’s Letter to Santa I turned fifty a couple of months ago, and this is my first letter to Santa since I was five, so I have a long list:
Dear Santa: I know you haven’t heard from me in a while. Sorry. I hardly ever write real, paper, letters any more, and besides, I didn’t think it was really fair to write if I was only going to ask you for stuff. I mean, just out of courtesy, I should have written to ask after Mrs. Clause and stuff. So, you know, my bad. (But in my defense, someone who can fly a sleigh beyond the speed of light, and manipulate matter so he can get his big ass down multifarious chimneys, should probably have e-mail by now. I’m just sayin’.)
So in the interest of courtesy: How are you? How’s Mrs. Claus? How are the elves? Reindeer? I hope you are all well. I’m assuming things are behind schedule for all of you in the toy shop, as you are no doubt building big-ass pontoons to float all of Santa’s Village on when the North Pole melts. For all of my fossil fuel burning co-humans, I’d like to say, “oops.” Please don’t take it personally that we have melted your home, we had to get some shit at the mall and taking the bus to work would be fine, but there are some other humans on there and they are unpleasant. So it’s not you. Although, if I were you, I’d rethink that whole, “lump-o-coal” in the stocking of the bad children strategy. Maybe a solar electric cell and a condom. Which brings me to why I am actually writing this letter, Santa. You see, I’ve been good. I have been very good. I have helped blind people across the street, put the seat down, given to charity, not drank directly from the carton, voted conscientiously, put on clean skivvies every day, recycled, held the elevator for strangers, paid my taxes, replaced my weights in the rack after my sets, forgave others of their trespasses, tried not to look at women’s breasts unless I was forced, picked up the check, said please and thank you, tipped the snotty Starbucks guy, answered all of my e-mail unless it was creepy, composted the coffee grounds, did not hit the crying baby on the airplane, drank six to eight glasses of water a day, was patient with people who were blatantly fucking stupid – but not so much that they had to wear a helmet (I was also patient with the helmet people, but they seldom work at the cable company, and that’s who I’m talking about), have not expected people from other countries to be like me, have reached stuff on the high shelf for short people, passed out gloves to homeless guys last January when it got really cold, didn’t smoke or drink, didn’t track mud into the house, didn’t leave my DNA at any crime scene, believed in truth, justice, and the American way, let her come first, and used a coaster. Not necessarily in that order.
I’ve been good – that’s all I’m saying.
I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. So here’s some stuff I hope you can help with, since evidently you have vast supernatural connections. So, this Christmas, Santa, could you please:
1) Immediately strike dumb and deaf any stupid motherfucker who thinks that by wanting to keep the troops from getting killed, I am not supporting the motherfucking troops.
2) Make people aware, that even if they are on vacation, physical laws still apply. Water will still drown them, fire will still burn them, and cars can still run them over. This would save a lot of senseless suffering.
3) Please leave a notice for all Hollywood stars that if they can hire a full-time driver for less than they are paying their yoga instructor or their nutritionist. You have no reason to be picked up for driving drunk. You don’t see rappers getting picked up for driving drunk. Know why? Because they don’t drive themselves. Sure, they get shot outside of clubs while waiting for their ride, but you don’t see any horrible mug shots of them on DUI arrests. And let your driver carry your drugs – you’ll always know where they are, and you won’t have them on you when you fall out of your Town Car and flash your beav to TMZ. And while we’re on the subject, for fucks sake, don’t marry your driver. You’re the one that gave him your drugs to hold, he’s not giving them to you because he’s “so sweet” and understands you.
4) Convince people that if one of their primary beliefs is that government cannot function effectively, that they should quit trying to take positions that allow them to prove it. Yes, we believe you, you suck at governing. Now get out of the way.
5) Teach parents that if they can’t say no to their grade school daughter who wants to dress like a slut, not to feel bad. Saying no is not a skill she’s going to need.
6) Teach parents that if they can’t say no to their grade school son wants to dress like a gangster, that’s okay. But do give him some instruction on how to pistol whip someone, just so he’s prepared in the future if he encounters someone who can say no.
7) Please deliver a hungry, homeless polar bear to the living room of anyone who still denies that global warming is real.
8 ) Dispel the notion that it is a virtue to be loyal to someone who is not virtuous. If your leader is an assbag, you are not a good person because you continue to support him in all his evil assbaggery.
9) When you deliver anything made by Apple, please leave a DVD with instruction about how Apple is a company, which, like any other company, is in business to make money. You can like your stuff without making it a religion. I like my toaster, I don’t need to evangelize for my toaster. I don’t need to degrade anyone else’s toaster to like my toaster. And if I ask someone how to fix my toaster, “Buy a toaster like mine,” is not a helpful answer. Santa, I am a Mac user, but I’m really embarrassed by the smugness of many Mac users. (And I live in San Francisco, so I have a very high tolerance for smugness.)
10) Bitch slap anyone who thinks that apologizing or admitting he is wrong is unmanly or weak. Succumbing the fear of being thought less of by being stubborn is cowardly, facing that fear is courageous.
11) Make it clear to everyone, that I am no less American than you because I’m not afraid of the same things you are afraid of. Suggestion: Quit being a wuss. No one gets out alive. You are 1,000,000 times more likely to be killed by an antibiotic resistant infection than you are by a terrorist (and I am not exaggerating the numbers at all), so please do throw $690 billion dollars at a war half-way around the world instead of putting anything toward health care. You fucking jingoistic rah-rah, go-team coward. (You don’t have to use those same exact words, Santa, but, you know, get the message out: You don’t have to blow a lot of motherfuckers up to not be afraid getting your fraidy-cat ass blowed up.)
12) Please, please, Santa, let people know that just because they are wearing a headset and can only hear their caller in their ear, their voice is not just in their ear. Their voice is aimed at me. If they are looking at me and talking at me, tell them that they have no right to get all huffy if I say, “What?” Maybe cell phone conversations can’t, by necessity be as private as, say, peeing, but it should be at least as discreet as nose-picking. I don’t care if you do it, but at least have the courtesy to turn away before conversing with your mucousy, crusty friends.
13) Please hit that baby that cried on the plane all the way from San Francisco to London. You know, drop down the chimney – SMACK – back up the chimney “and to all a good night”. He’ll know what it was for.
14) If you can’t do all the other stuff, please bring me a red Ipod Nano with all the Evil Dead movies and the AC/DC albums on it.
Thanks, Santa. I know you’ll take care of this. And just because I don’t write, doesn’t mean that I’m not being good.
Your pal, Chris
How about some killer letters to Santa in the comments, kids?