I like getting letters that say "Santa, I want a skateboard." Wanna know why? Because Santa can make a skateboard. Santa can make a skateboard in his goddamn sleep, okay? Dolls, too, and video games. You ask for them, and that shit will be under your tree in the morning, you feel me? Bam! Santa's your hero. But, seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do this year? Just about every letter is like this.
I remember the year Tickle-Me-Elmo's were big. The elves were all pissed off because, after making so many dolls, their fingers were stained red with the dye. That used to be our biggest problem. Red dye. And now I have to worry about some bastard's house and the stability of Little Susie McWhogivesashit's family? Did I miss something? When the hell did Santa become God? For real, no, somebody tell me, because I wanna know. Here, this next one, too, check this out. It starts out pretty good...
Did you see that? Totally blindsided me with that recession stuff. I started reading it and I'm all "Oh, cool, this kid's gonna ask for a blue baseball or whatever," and then wham, I get hit with recession issues. I don't even know what caused these problems, but the letters just get worse and worse. What the hell do I do? The kid asks me to reverse the economic recession, but all I know how to do is hand out Xboxes. Will that fix it? Santa doesn't know much about finances, because Santa didn't go to college. It's a friggin' miracle I can read.
Can you fucking believe that? That kid didn't even sign it. No return address, nothing. That shit just showed up at my house one day. What am I supposed to do with that? Unless a Tamagotchi is going to clear everything up and make that kid's pain go away, Santa is out of his league. Here's the one, I just got this yesterday.
Santa cannot have that on his conscience. Let's get something straight: Santa delivers toys. That is what he motherfucking does, okay? I really don't think I should be responsible for solving a problem that, frankly, you assholes got yourselves into in the first place. That is just not on Santa's to-do list. Your economy's screwed up? That's on you, that's your thing, and unless you want, like, a Cabbage Patch Something-or-other or a Magic Pony that backflips or whatever, do not write letters to me. Fix your own damn economy, and call Santa when you want a Furby. I'm getting too old for this shit. Up Yours, Santa Claus.