You overdressed blob of lard Dear Santa
I know you normally get “Thank you” letters after Christmas, but this is definitely not one of them, so don’t chicken out and delete it before reading to the end. You owe it to me, dammit.
I know I forwarded a cartoon calling you a fat, judgmental bastard to another person. Okay, a few people.
And I photo-shopped photos of my, B and pooch’s faces onto the bodies of two of your elves and a reindeer for a Season’s Greetings card.
Should I rather have drenched the jam-roly-poly of the traditional trifle dessert in sherry than in fruit cocktail syrup?
Did you expect me to leave you a tot? I thought you were into milk and cookies – not that I ever leave you any. By the way, for a man of your age to still drink milk and eat cookies at every house you visit, is frankly disgusting. When last have you had a good look at yourself naked in a mirror or asked Mary Christmas what it feels like sleeping next to a beached whale? I mean, can’t you just drop off milk and cookies in countries like Ethiopia?
Were these incidents instrumental to you having the fridge pack up on Christmas Eve?! Just after we finished preparing the cold meats and salads for Christmas dinner and stacked the wine to cool?
Did you enjoy watching us from your slay up-there-somewhere as we traipsed with cool bags loaded with the Christmas dinner, to stack the fridge of the neighbours, who, thank heavens, left their home keys with us for the holidays?
Did you have a good belly laugh, ho ho ho, as you observed us carting the whole Christmas dinner back, bag by bag, from the neighbours’ fridge? I bet your day, no year, would have been made had their alarm gone off and we would have had to explain to the security company why we were emptying the fridge of people away on leave, having brought our own cool bags with us!
I hope you find satisfaction in the knowledge that this Christmas is the most expensive one EVER, with us having to buy a new fridge. And that on the day after Christmas when all the delivery people are on leave! So there will be a steady to-and-fro till Monday as we trample a footpath between ours and the neighbours’ house. Having fun, hey?
Okay. Let’s put this behind us and make a deal. I won’t ever circulate cartoons making fun of you again, and you will never get your revenge in such an underhanded, sneaky way again.
Fine. That’s a deal, then.
PS. Yes, I did put out baked beans for the reindeer. And no, I will NOT foot the bill for your psychiatrist. I hope you have nightmares for all eternity.