December 24th, 1980 (Age 5):
Santa, I want a racetrack with stock cars. I want my hair to grow
back from where my brother promised to make me look like “The Fonze”. I
also want you to remove all the alligators from the creek behind our
house so that I can walk across it to see my friend Pat with the hairy
arms. Mommy helped me make these cookies, but I poured the milk all by
myself.
December 24th, 1986 (Age 11):
Santa, my mother is delusional. She is curled up on the couch and
began crying when I refused to write a letter to you because I didn’t
believe in you. Since the divorce she has cried a lot. The only time
she laughs is when she meets my teacher for a conference and hears
about all the funny crap I pull in school. So, for Christmas I want you
to bring her a husband. One that will leave me alone, but pay for stuff
and be here for her. If you really have to get me something, I want
Nintendo with Kung-Fu and Excite Bike games. Super Mario sucks.
August 15th, 1987 (Age 12):
I realize this is a bit early to be writing you, Santa. However, I
don’t know what your return policy is. I want to return the husband you
got my Mom. He is an asshole. He use to be in the military and is
totally OCD about the house. When I kicked the soccer ball into the
sliding glass window he didn’t laugh at all. He didn’t help me pick up
the pieces or cut the cardboard out to cover it, either. So, this year
take him back and get me a sexy neighbor. Justine Bateman!
December 24th, 1991 (Age 16):
Well, I thought I was done with these, Fatass! However, Mom is
curled up on the couch again. So bring anyone that helps make her
happy. And give my brothers coal, because they are no help. They even
tried to sabotage my attempt to cover up the evidence that I got Dad’s
sports car stuck down by the creek behind our house. My Dad took away
my stash of porn mags after he barged in my room unexpectedly. He was
pretty convincing when he said if I didn’t stop I would go blind.
Especially when I had to reply, “Dad, I’m over here.” So, instead of
porn, could you get Suzi to put out? I will never ask for anything
again.
December 27th, 1991 (Age 16):
This is a Thank You letter Santa. I don’t know what you told Suzi,
but DAMN! I know I was never going to ask for anything again, but there
is this girl my friend is dating. Her name is Jennifer and I think I
would like for you to talk to her for me, too.
December 31st, 1991 (Age 16):
My dad always says that these are the best times of my life. I
agree! I don’t know what you said to Jennifer, but you need to talk to
Suzi again. She found out about Jennifer and hasn’t put out since.
December 24th, 2000 (Age 25):
I’m teaching my step-daughter how to write you a letter, Santa. Her
paper is really just scribbles, so I’ll tell you what she wants. She
wants a Barbie doll, a doll house, and a puppy dog. I want her mommy to
put out more and talk less. I made the cookies this time, so I will be
eating them before I go to bed.
December 24th, 2005 (Age 30):
I’m teaching my son how to write you a letter, Santa. His paper is
really just scribbles, so I’ll tell you what he wants. He wants
anything that has to do with cars or balls. ANYTHING! If the cars don’t
take batteries or make noise and the balls you get him are soft,
consider both of us taken care of. Don’t get his sister any more
costume jewelry, either. My son runs around the house like a drag queen
pushing her shopping cart.
December 25th, 2005 (Age 30):
With all due respect, what the fuck happened this Christmas? I got
400 chips, 4 sets of cards, three electronic poker games, and a card
shuffler! Okay, I’m into Poker, but I’m not opening a card room! Like
the Irish bricklayer said in the joke, “You Fuck One Sheep . . .”.
Well, I accidentally asked one person for a set of Copaq cards and the
flood gates opened. I realize that 7-11 is selling poker chips now, but
this is totally fucking ridiculous! What the fuck am I gonna do with a
World Series of Poker coffee mug? Am I really expected to carry a
keychain around with an electronic poker game the size of a small VCR?
Is the price sticker on the card shuffler right? Can you get those at
Walgreen’s? The chip set came with a gift receipt . . . from
JCPenney!!! J-C-Fucking-Penny??? Poker is a man’s sport of intellect. I
don’t want to reach over the “World Series of Poker” air fresheners
when I buy something at the grocery store. I don’t want to wear “World
Poker Tour” underwear made from the discarded felt of their final
tables. A couple of shows get good ratings and all the sudden EVERYONE
plays poker!
Santa, for next Christmas, I want you to promise you will do
something about the poker craze. I don’t want to see celebrities
playing poker on TV. I don’t want to hear it talked about by Jay Leno
when interviewing Ben Affleck. I don’t want the entrants to the World
Series main event to break 10,000 next year. I don’t want to get a roll
of poker chips when I buy cologne. I don’t want to hear anymore about
how Chris Moneymaker’s (If that’s his REAL name) life changed after
winning the WSOP. He has bombed ever since. I don’t want my family
emailing me poker articles because they “heard I played a lot”. I don’t
want 95% of men to consider themselves poker players because they watch
it on TV or play once a year at a friend’s apartment.
If you can get Suzi and Jennifer to put out, surely you can do
this. And this time, I truly promise not to ask for anything ever
again!!!!
