Friday, December 17, 2004


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.

Deer SanTa,
I wood like a kool Toy spase rainger for Xmas. Iv bin a gud boy all year.

yore fren, BiLLy

Dear 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.


Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody.

Love, Sarah

Dear Sarah,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn’t they?


Dear Santa,
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.

Love, Teddy

Dear Teddy,
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.


Dear Santa,
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum set, a pony and a tuba.

Love, Francis

Dear Francis,
Who names their kid “Francis” nowadays? I bet you’re gay. I’ll set you up with a Barbie.


Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.

Love, Susan

Dear Susan,
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.


Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?

Your friend, Thomas

Dear 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!


Dear Santa,
Can you really see us when we’re sleeping? Do you really know when we’re awake, like it says in the song?

Love, Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible or are you just a blonde? Good luck in whatever you do. I am skipping your house.


Dear Santa,
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.


Dear Santa,
We don’t have a chimney in our house. How will you get into our home?

Love, Marky

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.

Sweet dreams,


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