Please find enclosed a letter of apology concerning my actions during the weeks of December 3rd - 17th, when, as none of us will ever forget, I was employed as a part time Santa's Assistant (hereafter referred to as "Elf") at your establishment. Although by now you will be familiar with most of the items that will be discussed in this letter, it will take until the spring thaw before all the evidence is laid bare in your parking lot. Consequently, some of what I may state here may alarm or shock you - for this reason I urge you to sit down immediately before reading further. Take a sip of water, and if you feel it necessary, excuse yourself to clear your bowels. Thank you. And, I suppose, you're welcome.
I am sorry for freaking out on the first day, upon finding out the truth behind mall Santas, namely that they are not actually Santa, but only helpers who assist the "real" Santa during the busy pre-Christmas weeks. This came as some shock to me, and I apologize for tearing the beard off Kevin, the Santa who worked Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
I'm sorry for trying to explain this to all the children who arrived that day. The differences between "True Santa," "Helper Santa," "Jesus," and "Auxiliary Weekday Helper Santa Kevin" were much too complicated for a 4 year old to comprehend. I don't know why I felt it so important to get this point across. I guess I was just excited by this new information and wanted to share it.
I also shouldn't have yelled at those two children that Santa hadn't killed Jesus's father; he was Jesus's father. I was getting confused by that point.
I am sorry for eating my lunch every day in front of the food court Panda Express, loudly talking about how much I enjoyed the "Sweet & Sour Reindeer." As I was in full elf uniform at the time I felt it important to stay in character.
I am sorry about the late afternoon of December 9th, when I used my power as Line Elf to manipulate the length of the line. Having spent considerable time being denied admission to the hottest bars in town, I think I let the power go to my head. I'd like to say I intended to make Santa look more popular than he was by keeping the line long, but really I think I was just trying to get single women to flirt their way to the head of the line.
I am sorry for "Mr. Elf's Enchanting Sleigh Rides," the short lived business venture I established just outside the front doors of the Cederoak Shopping Center, which consisted of me wailing around the parking lot with a child clinging to a crazy carpet tied to the rear bumper of my Tercel. This would have been a poorly thought out plan if it had been snowing out, and with the bare pavement... well, I think we can all agree that the lack of serious injuries can only be proof there is a God who cares. So in a way, I've proved God exists. That's pretty Christmassy, hey? Maybe mention it on your website next season.
I am sorry about the quality of the candy canes that I was distributing. Obviously all candy canes are pretty awful, with that barely tolerable peppermint taste and horrible plasticky texture. Candy canes are like a prank the Grinch played on us one year, and now we've somehow forgotten they were a cruel joke and just keep eating them. I didn't even buy these candy canes. You're the ones who should be apologizing to me.
But you're not, and I knew you wouldn't when I opted to replace the candy canes myself, which brings me around to my next apology ... the replacement candy canes. Despite promises, the people of Yao Bang! Champion Confectionary! simply did not have the quality control necessary to be a part of our Christmas tradition. I honestly don't know what they were thinking putting gross liqueurs into hollowed candy canes, and no, I'm still not going to entertain the notion that they were not liqueurs.
I am sorry that while on candy cane distribution duty, I told the children that Santa is obligated to tell them to be good in school, but that in reality, being "good enough" in school was also ok, and "having a brother who could get you beer" was best.
I am sorry about the repeated advances I made towards Mrs. Claus. In my defense, the fact that she was being paid money to pretend to be married to multiple different men suggested to me that she would be agreeable to what I was proposing. Out of respect for Mrs. Claus's privacy I will not go in to any specifics only that everything I proposed was meant to be conducted in accordance with the Christmas spirit of giving.
I am sorry for using the children to pass messages to Mrs Claus for me. The content of these messages were, thankfully, beyond the comprehension of most of these children, and in many cases were meaningless without additional information. (e.g. "Wink at her and then say 'Up, down and all around,' and then wink again.")
I am not sorry that the propellant used in the cans of fake snow we used to touch up Santa's Workshop provides a mild high when inhaled. That was the manufacturers fault, or possibly yours.
However, some of the things I did with the fake snow do warrant an apology, including:
- Inhaling it to experience a mild high.
- Spraying it down the front of my pants to experience a mild tickling effect.
- Spraying it down the front of my pants while licking my lips and staring at the cashier from Forever21 across the hall.
- Stealing and then concealing several cases in the mall's HVAC system, causing an explosion, a three hour evacuation, seven hospitalizations, and a mild high.
I am sorry about suggesting to the children that they request extravagant gifts that their parents could never hope to afford, and then quietly directing said parents to my cousin Barry in the back hallway beside the phone booths, who could get them exactly that item "off the truck."
I am equally sorry about the series of receipt switching and return scams Barry, myself, and by extension, the entire institution of Christmas, have been implicated in.
Finally I am sorry about my escape from the mall security corps on December 17th, and the damage caused as a result. Because of man's irrepressible desire to be free, and the snow clearing operations in the parking lot, I was forced to make my escape by traveling through the mall itself, as was Barry, whose own irrepressible desire to be free and the stuck passenger door on my Tercel, forced him to cling to the crazy carpet portion of Mr. Elf's Enchanting Sleigh Ride during his escape. Most of all, I'm sorry for the damage caused to Mrs. Claus's pelvis, which was at least partially my fault, though mostly Barry's, since he was the one who ran into her. Maybe Barry should be writing you an apology letter.
I'm sorry that Barry will not be writing you an apology letter because of the impact/fake snow related coma he is now in.
Chris Xerxes Bucholz
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.