If you’re one of those people (like me) who get perverse amusement out of the fact that “Satan” and “Santa” are anagrams - as are “Santy” and “Nasty” - then you might like the following Children’s Letters to Santa. I got this via a forwarded e-mail, so you know it’s one of those random chunks of flotsam that is percolating through the Internet even as I write. Meaning, I can’t claim credit of authorship.
I wood like a kool Toy spase rainger for Xmas. Iv bin a gud boy all year.
yore fren, BiLLy
Nice spelling. You’re on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I send you a damn book so you can learn to read and write? I’m giving your older brother the Space Ranger. At least he’s literate.
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody.
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn’t they?
I don’t know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I’d like my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please help if you can.
Look, your dad and the babysitter are banging like a screen door in a hurricane. He’s not going to give that up to come back to your frigid mom who rides his ass constantly. It’s time to give up the dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead.
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum set, a pony and a tuba.
Who names their kid “Francis” nowadays? I bet you’re gay. I’ll set you up with a Barbie.
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.
Milk gives me the runs and carrots make the reindeer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle of single-malt Scotch.
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?
Your friend, Thomas
All the toys are made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps tables. Hey pal, you asked!
Can you really see us when we’re sleeping? Do you really know when we’re awake, like it says in the song?
Are you really that gullible or are you just a blonde? Good luck in whatever you do. I am skipping your house.
I really want a puppy this year. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE could I have one?
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn’t cut it with me. You’re getting a sweater again.
We don’t have a chimney in our house. How will you get into our home?
First, stop calling yourself “Marky,” that’s why you’re getting your ass kicked at school. Second, you don’t live in a house, you live in a single-wide in a low rent RV park. Third, I get inside your pad just like the boogeyman does: through your bedroom window.