Who's News...sort of.
However, given that it’s Christmas week, I thought I’d do something special. The following are actual letters sent by actual children to Santa Claus in care of an unnamed Twin Cities newspaper. They've been printing them all week. You’d think it would do the heart of an old cynic like myself good to see that there is still innocence in the world, but no: the temptation to be a prick is too great. My apologies if your child wrote one of these letters. I'm not sorry for trashing them; I'm merely sorry you have such naive offspring.
Dear Santa:
This is what I want for Christmas: I want a bell from your sleigh. -Love, Lisa
P.S. I have been very good this year.
Hi, Lisa. You’ve got it. I’m over your house now. I’m dropping the bell. Perfect shot! Right down the chimney. Okay, Rudolph: get us out of here. Uh oh, do I see lights from an airliner? Oh well, no problem: I’ll just jingle the bells to alert them to our presence. Oh, fuck: we gave Lisa our last bell! Oh God, they’re closing in on us. Sweet Jesus, Donner just got sucked into the intake of a DC-10. Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down. Repeat, Santa One is going down in a field just outside of Mason City, Iowa. Oh, the humanity…
That was a dramatization, Lisa. Thankfully this won’t actually occur since I had the presence of mind to disregard your request out of hand. Do you have any clue of the liability I’d face were I to hand out the bells from my sleigh willy-nilly? OSHA is already on my ass 24/7, thanks to an “anonymous” complaint from an “anonymous” elf who was unhappy with conditions in the workshop (Thanks, Hermey, may you remain a misfit ‘til the end of your bitter days).
You may have been good this year, Lisa, but you’re not terribly bright. Why can’t you ask for something traditional like a My Size Barbie? I’m delivering a few dozen to Gary Glitter, I'll toss one your way. He'll never miss it, he currently has bigger fish to fry.
(This next letter is transcribed verbatim, I swear to God)
Can you give some money to the pore and I want to help them and kan you help to so pore people can be happy to and I now you now how good I have been to so I will give you cards and a gift for, you to. Can you give me a videow plaire for game boy.
(Note: Here the letter-writer included a crayon rendering a smiling girl bearing a gift)
The pore girl she is happy bee cus she got a present for gricmes. -Love, Michael
My head hurts.
Mrs. Claus and I never had children, Michael, therefore I’m not an expert on where you should be developmentally. If your letter is any indication, however, the people of your town should be marching on City Hall with torches demanding a cent-by-cent accounting of the public school budget, not to mention delivering a stern indictment of your parents’ proofreading skills.
On the plus side, Michael, you’ve inadvertently stumbled upon the one holiday that couldn’t possibly offend anyone. "Gricmes" is an event that the ACLU, Walmart, Target, the U.S. Congress, Jews, blacks, and Muslims alike could agree on. It’s like a combination of Grimace from McDonald’s, the Grinch, and Christmas. It's a fucking marketing wet dream. I don’t know what the symbol of this new celebration could possibly be, but I damned sure wouldn’t want one in my living room.
Anyway, I’ll see to it that the “pore” people, as you call them, receive a year’s supply of Stridex. As for you, I’m saying ix-nay on the ameboy-Gay and instead getting you a Speak-and-Spell, a dictionary, an entire set of Hooked on Phonics, and just in case these fail, a piece of cardboard and a magic marker.
Wanted to tell you that I was a good girl. Please bring me a dog, a doll. Tell god to tell the angels to drop pennies to the poor people. -Love, Melissa
Well, you get the Most Creative Use of Commas Award, Melissa. “Please bring me a dog, a doll.” I'd almost say it's poetic, exept that you’re just a dumb kid who doesn't know any better.
Anyway, I’ll get right on your request: I’ll tell God to tell the angels to start throwing pennies at poor people. In fact, I recommend you do the same. Break open your piggy bank and pelt the next homeless fellow you see with pennies. Nothing is sure to rouse the spirits of an already down-on-their-luck person like being showered with the most worthless money imaginable, unless you were to throw Monopoly money, which I don’t recommend because when the family breaks out the board games on New Year’s Eve and discovers that the bank has been looted, there will be hell to pay. You know how cranky your dad gets when he knows there's only one more week 'til egg nog disappears from the shelves again for another year. He's just looking for an excuse to beat your sorry ass. Again.
For Christ’s sake, Melissa: you can’t even buy parking with pennies anymore. It's over for pennies. Besides, the U.S. unemployment rate currently hovers around 5% which means anyone that wants a job should have a job. Look at me: I’m a thousand Christing years old but I still manage to make my godawful worldwide trek every year, even though two hours into it my hemorrhoids are screaming like a couple little kids in the back of a minivan: Are we there yet? Are we there yet? It's called a work ethic, Melissa. Explain it to the next bum you see.
Throw pennies to the poor. Give me a break. How 'bout I throw ‘em a fucking job application? There’ll be an opportunity available at the North Pole once I get Hermey’s worthless ass out of my workshop. He claimed disability, but my attorney and three expert witness say "misfit" isn't included in the DSM IV, so I've got Mr. "Not Happy In My Work, I Guess" by his elfen short hairs.
This is for me and my sister. Our names are Amy and Ellen. I want a Polly pocket where you make jewelry and lots and lots of books. We both would like a teddy bear. I also want a horse and rider.
Ellen would like a new stuffed bunny and lamb to replace the ones she is eating all the fur off. She would also like some puzzles and books.
I have a very, very special request. I have a friend who thinks she does not fit in the world. Would you bring her a special gift of an art kit? Please write a note that says “This is from Santa at the request of your best friend, Amy.” -Love, Amy and Ellen
Am I wrong to be concerned that your sister is “eating all the fur off” her stuffed bunny and lamb? Methinks a visit from Social Services is a bit more pressing than my annual Christmas pop-in. Sounds like your dad is once again channeling the family's relief checks towards Powerball tickets rather than food, and he’s thus perilously close to being moved from the “Naughty” list to the “Let’s place him in the reindeer pen during rutting season and see how he likes a 12-point buck antler up his beer-swollen ass” list.
Anyway, regarding your touching request that I send an art kit to a “friend who thinks she does not fit in the world,” nice try. As part of the Patriot Act, I have unfettered access to e-mail and telephone records. I won’t go into details as to why; suffice it to say back in 2000 I delivered a Playstation Flight Simulator game to a certain “Billy” Bin Laden, who claimed he was a six-year old orphan whose parents had been killed in a suicide bombing, and Uncle Sam is understandibly reticent for that to happen again. My bad.
Anyway, I am fully aware that your “friend who thinks she does not fit in the world” is actually a “he,” none other than the above-referenced Hermey, and I’m fed up with his inability to stick to a career. First a dentist, now he wants to be the next Renoir. Make up your mind, you whiny little homo. And shame on you and your sister for aiding and abetting: No toys for you. I hope you have a coal-burning furnace, 'cuz I'm bringing you some fuel for it.
I think I'll have the boys in the workshop crank out an extra hunk of cardboard and marker for my boy, Hermey...
Well, that wraps it up for this week’s Who’s News. My apologies to the wonderful children who penned these touching letters to St. Nick. Believe me, if I had a heart or one shred of kindness in my soul, I would have focused on lambasting pop culture, as always, and allowed the Christmas Spirit to envelope me in a warming, calming cocoon. No such luck, however. Once a Scrooge, always a Scrooge. We here at the Admin Worm blog wish you and yours the happiest of whatever the fuck holiday you choose to celebrate, and if you don’t celebrate one at all, you’re the envy of us all. Don’t forget, every time an American says “Fuck it, I refuse to buy into the consumer culture this year, I’m making a donation to the Humane Society instead,” an angel gets its wings.
Of course, then that angels pelts a poor person with pennies, so either way the holidays are a big fat lose-lose. Donate to the Humane Society and the Animal Ark anyway, because animals need homes more than your spoiled, punk kid needs a fucking Game Cube.
posted by Admin Worm at 7:20 PM
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