I know you are very busy this time of the year. With all those rug rats, sprogs, crotch droplings, and shrieklings writing letters, begging you for all the latest toys, games, pretty little dollies, gee gaws and what nots.
All those little brats writing letters telling you how good they were all year. How they were awake and asleep when they were supposed to be. They were not naughty but nice. They obeyed their parents and teachers, helped little old ladies across the street, did not wet the bed, were respectful to their elders, and all the other stuff that just make one want to vomit.
Then there are the creepy overindulgent parents who write their sproglodytes' letters for them. Lying to you about how well behaved the sperm and egg omelettes they created when they mated were.
Well, I am truly sorry to bother you during this busy time of year, especially while you are tabulating who was really naughty or nice, asleep or awake when they were supposed to be. Sorting out gifts, dealing with Mrs. Claus, the reindeer, and keeping the elves out of the liquor cabinet.
But, I have some requests of my own. Since I, as a late middle aged adult easing into senior citizenship, still believe in you, I think you should take a few minutes to read my letter and consider my requests.
You see Santa, it is all about me. After me, everybody else comes first. Plus the fact, that at my age, I am one stressful moment, snow shovel, or argument away from a heartastroke.
Now listen, Santa, I am not nice. I am not evil, but naughty is too tame a word for me. I am old, crabby, ugly, tired, mean, and miserable. I have no mercy or pity for people's tender sensitivities. I am a no good, low down, mean, rotten, SOB. That probably describes me best.
On the other hand, I give a few bucks, cups of coffee or sandwiches to the homeless. I go to church. I even volunteer some of my professional services to charity events. Well, kind of. You see they feed me and let me drink for free so I figure it is a fair trade. Food and booze for taking pictures.
I ain't perfect fat man. I'm human.
Now pay close attention. I am no fool. I am willing to give in order to get. Pay to play.
I know all those crumb crunchers, spratlings, and pablum pukers leave you mere milk and cookies in hopes that you will be generous.
Me, I am leaving you bacon and Bourbon. That's right, bacon and Bourbon, the two very best things life has to offer. God's great gifts to man.
So here goes. Here are the things I want for Christmas:
- I want my parents back. I want to spend the holidays cooking and eating with them. I miss them terribly. Don't tell anyone this, or else I, me, will personally come up to your arctic abode, put my size eleven up your fat posterior and rip your beard out- I want my mommy and daddy back.
- I want my little girl back too. She is not gone. She is grown. I miss hauling her around in my arms, her giggles, and doing all the things fathers do for little girls. I miss playing with her, reading to her, taking her to and from places, and just being the dad. I miss the hugs, snuggles, tickles, and even the bawling when she wanted some things right now and did not have the ability to get them.
- I want my dead friends back, especially those who died in the line of duty on the Chicago Police Department or in the various wars that have been fought since we were kids.
- I want my faith in humanity back. After thirty years on the Chicago Police department, witnessing man's depravity, cruelty, and evil towards his fellow man, especially the most vulnerable in our society, I lost that faith decades ago.
- I want to believe that somewhere in this crazy insane world, dominated by so-called humans, there is goodwill towards their fellow man.
- I want Christmas to be Christmas, not the "Holiday". If people do not like Christmas, they can enjoy the paid day off at the movies, eat in Chinese restaurants, or wander around their homes in their pajamas, stretching, scratching, and watching porn. If they do not want to be included, why should I be inclusive? Oh, and do not drop any gifts to their nose mining hellspawn. They will just grow up to be non-believers in Christmas.
- Christmas is supposed to be the season of light. I would like to see some light at the end of this long tunnel called life before I commit my mortal remains to the worms and maggots.
- I want to live long enough to see the Cubs win a World Series. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it is a lot to ask of the lovable losers.
- I want faith and hope that next year will be better than this.
- When I go to that big cloud in the sky, I want to know that I left a better world behind, even if it was just for one person.
Well, Santa, that about sums it up. I will let you get back to all those letters from the munchkins, floor monsters, bratzillas, devil's issues, and their zombie breeders.
I know it is a lot to ask. I do not expect miracles. But, hey, if you can deliver all that effluent to a bunch of spoiled, undeserving, frankenspawn, maybe you can grant one or two of my requests.
Remember, bacon and Bourbon.
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