Dear Santa,
I
turn to you in your infinite realness because you represent the true
meaning of Christmas: the presents. I've got a hankering for some
cool stuff and I've been nice all year long, so you gotta hold up
your end of the deal, fatso.
As
for any potential red tape regarding my claim of niceness, bare in
mind that I wrote that story “Down with Santa” way back in
December, 2013. That was last year! Now that it's 2014, I'm operating
with a clean slate and a clear conscience.
Like
it or not, tubby, it's time to cram all the goodies on my wish list
into that magic sack you tote. You can't spell “commercialization”
without “me,” so for starters, gimme a Hoverboard.
Yes,
a Hoverboard, and not one of those crummy Hoverboards that can only
go on land. I want to float above that water. Not unlike Jesus. Oops!
My bad on the name-drop. I didn't mean to bring up your competition.
Anyway,
there's a lot more cool stuff I want from you. I think you'd better
add a cup of espresso to that jug of eggnog you keep stashed in your
sleigh, 'cause Santa, this is gonna take a while.
By
Christmas I'll be needing a wheelbarrow-full of wool socks—and I
intend to keep the wheelbarrow, of course. Priority one is not
freezing to death this winter. Actually, I take that back; the
Hoverboard is priority one, but the wool socks and not getting
frostbite and dying—that's kind of important, too. Other Christmas
presents you'd better give me—OR ELSE—include an indoor hammock,
a case of Miller High Life, that Andre Dawson baseball card when he
was on the Cubs and sporting a jerry curl hairdo, an oil drum filled
with nacho cheese, a fooseball table with secret tilt-control
switches that allow me to cheat and always win, and a bar of solid
gold engraved with Batman's signature.
Wait!
How did I get this far into the letter without mentioning EZ Bake
Ovens?! Put me down for five.
I'd
like to add a genie lamp to my order. Don't worry, I won't be asking
for infinite wishes. That's bush league. I am a law-abiding man of
integrity! If you must know, I'll be wishing for that copy of Playboy
from 1996 with Jenny McCarthy on the cover, a gun (any kind will do,
but unregistered is strongly preferred), and a million dollars-worth
of the finest and most dangerous fireworks ever made in America.
And
while we're on the subject of wishes, could you put in a good word
for me at the Make-a-Wish Foundation? I pray it doesn't happen, but
if I get terribly sick, it would be a relief to know that at least
I'd get to meet Aaron Rodgers, or even the chick who played the
cheerleader on Saved by the Bell, as a solid fallback option.
Let's
see... what else? Oh! Playstation controllers. Give me, like, a
hundred of those. I want to make sure I have enough, 'cause when
things don't go my way, I like to smash 'em. It's cathartic, you
know? A hundred Playstation controllers is all I ask, along with all
the other cool stuff.
Speaking
of which, can you also bestow me with the Ferrari from Scent of a
Woman, 50 square feet of additional space in my apartment (to be
completed by no later than Boxing Day), and some matching bullets for
the gun I'll be getting from that genie? You'd better respond with a
jolly “Yes, indeed!” If not, I'll have no choice but to finally
convert to Judaism. So help me Santa, if you fail me, I'm going to
title my next December story “Santa's a Gordo Schmuck.”
If
I could make another addition to my queue, I want Hollywood to
produce another Rocky movie, and Santa, you're the overweight
man who's gonna pull those strings to make that dream a reality. Can
you believe they've only done six Rocky's so far?! I say keep 'em
coming. You can't spell “public” without an “I,” and I demand
another Rocky installment. Oh, and I want Rocky's next opponent to be the Predator, and I think it would be super-dramatic if the referee was
played by Mr. T. Consult me for any script changes or casting
problems, especially if Mr. T asks for too much money.
I
suppose the only other items on my list that you absolutely must give
me—that is, unless you want another Dreidel-spinner on your
hands—would have to be a rock from the moon that I could sell on
eBay, a Segway with a big plow attached to it, a lifetime's supply of
Extra Sweet Watermelon gum, a two-hour singing telegram from Sir Paul
McCartney, and the original stone tablets that list the Ten
Commandments.
I
mention this last one because, if I don't get everything I want from
you, Santa, I will be forced to search for answers elsewhere, and
those answers might not have anything to do with material
possessions. Heck, those answers could involve a spirit that is
priceless and immaterial, a positive attitude we share with our
community, and an appreciation for the loved ones who give our lives
so much purpose and support. Golly, maybe I've had it all backwards
sending you these demanding letters since I was a first grader up
until my current age of 31. Perhaps I should cut you some slack and
trim my requests down to the wool socks, the EZ Bake Oven, and the
Rocky movie, and focus on making other people happy
this Christmas...
It's
a tough call... I'm torn 'cause I still like cool stuff! Tell you
what: I should sleep on it. Mind you, I'm leaning toward doing the
right thing here, Santa, but if I don't, I'll be so extreme in
celebrating your commercialized Christmas that I'll check out how
much I could get for those sweet Commandment-tablets on eBay.
Sorry
about all the fat jokes (even if they're true).
Your
Fully Grown Believer,
No comments:
Post a Comment