It’s late in the season and I’ve got to get this letter off to you ASAP, so forgive my abruptness (and my foul language).
Ya’ see, Santa, this holiday season the only frosty snowman I know of is me. And I don’t wear no silk hat. I don’t smoke no pipe, neither. So this ain’t gonna be no happy sappy list of things I want you to stuff under the tree. Madder-uh-fact, I’ve given up dreaming of Christmas, especially a white one.
It’s December and I still don’t see no snow, crowded shopping malls have been no walk in a winter wonderland, those damn songs are driving me crazy, and I ain’t seen shit in my stocking yet, so I’m not expecting much from you and your goofy little elves between now and da 24th or 25th… whenever it is you decide to get your lazy ass to my place way up here in this northernmost Baltic country. Though truth be told, it’s not that far from your snowshack in the North Pole. But whatever.
Like I said, and I’ll be honest witya’, I ain’t askin’ fer much this holiday season. No whirled peas or joy and love between my fellow man. None of that crap, though some more lovin’ from my wife wouldn’t be bad. But what’s that got ta do wid you!?
Aside from that, and as I sez, I’m not feelin’ joyful, so I don’t give a rat’s ass about no holly jolly Christmas or jingling bells or chestnuts roasting on some open fire. What kind of jackass would do that in this weather anyway. In fact, I don’t wanna deck no halls, but I sure wouldn’t mind decking whoever it was that took da las’ gingerbread cookie off da plate where I work. Again, that’s another story that’s got nuttin’ tuh do wid you.
Look, Santa, in the end, I know yer a fraud, and this whole Christmas thing is a hoax. So much of life is. Nonetheless, I’m gonna go along with the sleighbell BS fer a little while and glistening snow and the sack of toys and all dat other horsecrap. And I’m gonna go ahead ‘n ask,
“Santa, can you bring me a Christmas, one like when my family was all together. You know da’ one, the last one when I last truly believed.”
Thanks Santa,’n one las’ ting. Keep your lips off my mommy. I catch you kissing her under the mistletoe again, I’m gonna have eight tiny reindeer pounding your red ass into the chimney with their hooves.
Happy Holidays –
Letter to Santa from Dan Franch, Christmas 2015