Dear Santa,

I know you’ve ignored me for the last 23 years of my life and I’m not happy about it. I don’t think I deserve that varying amount of lint you often put in my Christmas stocking, if you bother to put something at all. I’ve been a very good kid and I don’t know why you’ve been so mean to me.

I know you didn’t like it when I put a couple of bear traps under my Christmas tree and you fell for it. I mean, I’ve never seen any childhood hero curse that much in my lifetime. And I’m sorry for the time I slipped ativan into the milk.

If you had read the note I left inside my stocking YOUR milk was inside the fridge. The ativan was for Mrs. Santa.

Also, didn’t you like the gift I left for you every year? You know, that Playgirl David Hasselhoff Swimsuit Edition that you seem to not notice and leave behind? You’re not fooling anyone, Santa. I could see minuscule specks of your beard between the pages. You know, those small, thin, curly white hairs?

I mean, after all we’ve been through, you’re still ignoring me. Remember that time I was playing around with the TV and I accidentally sent a message to the Martians?

Ok, maybe it wasn’t exactly the best of messages, but still, I was able to invite those Martians over. Yeah, they went over for the wrong reasons, but still. And, well, maybe I scared the hell out of my fellow earthlings because the Martians brought with them those gigantic dildos they call “Harry Potter Vibrating Broomsticks.”

Ah shit, I really messed up there, I know, so I had to team up with you to save the day. I thought we had a real laugh driving those Martians away. Ok, so maybe since I was also fat we kinda put a strain on your sleigh, but since you didn’t bring a shitload of toys with you during that time I thought there wouldn’t be a problem. And I’m also sorry about the time I panicked and I grabbed Rudolph’s leash a little too hard. At least we found out that we can actually do wheelies in that heap you call your sleigh.

I certainly hope Rudolph’s out of the coma by now.

After that event I thought you’d be able to finally notice my existence and put something aside from lint in my stockings. But no, you filled it with lint again, just like you did every year.

I was just asking for one gift. Just. One. One Dora Aquapet.

Is that too much to ask for?

So I am writing you one last time because I am so frustrated and disappointed with you. I am cutting off all ties whatsoever with you. Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me. Especially that time you thought you were landing in George Michael’s house and you accidentally landed in a gay bar. On the stage. And everybody (including the stripper) thought it was part of the act. I won’t tell anyone you were so “embarrassed” and decided to play along.

You fucked up my childhood. If you see me now and you are disappointed I am posting obscene jokes on the internet, it’s all your fault.

No hard feelings, ok Santa? Have a Merry Christmas.



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