Saturday, December 15, 2007

Dear Kids: Santa hates you

Oh, those poor little Canadian children! Apparently someone's been sending them nasty letters disguised as Santa. Of course, the journalists at MSNBC, masters of reporting, don't actually disclose what the letters say. So here's what I'm imagining--

Dear Jimmy,
Your mommy is sleeping with your teacher because your ADHD is tearing your parents apart. Your teacher is only nice to you because your mommy had reconstructive surgery on her vag after birthing you and so he wants to keep fucking her; you didn't actually deserve an A on that Crayola self-portrait project. Your daddy is an alcoholic. He drinks because he's felt trapped ever since you were born. This isn't the way he imagined his life turning out. He wanted to be a graphic artist, now he draws the pictures on cereal boxes. Also, you smell. You can forget about that bicycle you wanted.

Guess who's on the naughty list this year (you),
Santa

-Jess

1 comment:

Justin said...

This is my approximation of a fake Santa letter:

Dear Bruno,

I think it’s cute that you asked for a bike again this year. I guess your parents told you that if you asked again maybe this year I’d be more inclined to get it for you. Maybe you were extra good this year, I don’t know, to be honest, in a given year I see maybe half the kids of the world, and that’s on a good year. I mean, they say a lot of kids don’t celebrate Christmas, but that’s bullshit Bruno, you and I both know that everyone does.
So anyway, I’m not going to get you that bike, not because you don’t deserve it, but because I don’t have any. Haven’t you ever seen a movie? We make toy things here. Nutcrackers and dolls and shit. We don’t build things you can buy in stores. That’s for your parents to do. If you’re not getting what you want, take it up with them, not me. I mean, let me tell you a little secret, there’s no such thing as elves, they’re a myth, and even if they weren’t, the idea scares the shit out of me. So every present you get from me, I made it myself. And I can’t make bikes. I can barely make wooden dolls, but I do, because I’m that kind of guy.
One last point of contention, I don’t think it’s cute when you write in crayon. Have your parents write your letters from now on, I want to be able to like, actually read them. Dig?
Ok, merry Christmas.
Love Santa