Dear the Santa,
As a lifelong supporter of your cause, I would like to congratulate you on the fine job you do on a yearly basis delivering gifts around the Christian world. Even the most stoic DHL delivery driver would struggle to do the work you do in a single night.
Despite all this, however, I am actually writing to you to highlight some issues I have come across over the past few years, which have slowly been simmering away, to a point where I now feel I am going to boil and possibly explode. I hope the contents of this letter can help re-establish a healthy relationship between us once more.
Over the years I have started to see the quality in my gifts degrade somewhat. I understand that the recession has hit everyone hard, and without a doubt the coalition government have made deep cuts into your funding. With your organization being a religious quango within the government structure, I guess some form of cuts were to be expected. But in truth this does not give enough substance for even the feeblest of excuses for the drivel I appear to be getting in my stocking each year. Take this year’s effort for example. I awoke at approximately 05:13 on Christmas morning with the usual flood of excitement every Christmas brings to people like myself, and gazed over to the door, and noticed my rather large sack hanging from it. Once I had sorted this rather painful and embarrassing issue out, applied germolene and put a plaster on it, I saw my stocking sitting in the corner of my room, crammed full of gifts. I grabbed hold of it and launched myself back on my bed with an overwhelming sense of intrigue, what was I to get this year? Had Santa actually received my letter and delivered what I wanted?
What I found in my stocking was nothing less than shocking (Sick rhymes), what the hell was this dribble? A miniature version of table football, where the ball doesn’t actually roll, which makes me ask what possible use does it have?
A t-shirt with “I am the Stig” on, which isn’t the true, because:
1. The Stig is quite slim, and I am quite large, thus the 3XL size I’ve been given
2. I am a much better driver than he is
3. The bloke who was the Stig blew his cover to make lots of money and failed about 3 years ago.
I received a remote controlled car that runs on the sort of batteries that are impossible to buy (which aren’t included, naturally), and isn’t even wireless! And seriously, why in the world would I want an orange on Christmas day? A day that is well known for being the most calorie inducing day of the entire year, where it’s morally acceptable to stuff yourself stupid in the name of our lord Jebus Christ. And what’s with all the bloody coal? Surely you must have a “green” campaign to stop the myth that is global warming? I shudder to think how much of my taxes go into paying for all this useless crap. I have a small suggestion to make to help stem this anger from spreading across the land, and potentially starting a new religious war. Don’t forget, Elves break easily matey boy.
This is my proposition:
Nowadays, people are content with quality, not quantity, hence the more money you pay for food in a restaurant, the less you get. Now, in terms of the complete rubbish we all get in our stockings, I would like to make a suggestion. The total cost of all these useless gifts must be quite high, so I propose that you cut down on the amount of gifts you give, and actually increase the quality. Look at item number 5 on my list I sent you for example. Now, the collective cost of my “gifts” will pay for the 2 most fantastic hours of my whole year with the Bunny Girl of my choosing, to which I’d think “Wow, that Santa feller is a pretty alright guy, I’ll up his Whiskey measure next year”. See? Instant gratitude and no moaning about the lack of useless presents I have to find space for, either in my cupboards or in the bin.
That concludes my first issue, now onto phase 2. I would like to make it clear that I do enjoy you coming to visit me every year (despite the crap gifts), but I do have a couple more things to iron out with you.
Driving a flying sleigh with reindeer powering it must be a difficult thing to do. I know my previous attempt to make a Lion and Antelope powered sleigh failed miserably and messily, so your skills must be pretty sound. The only thing I would like to highlight is that, despite you flying this thing for 2013 years, you still haven’t mastered landing. How the hell you didn’t come through my roof last night is a mystery, and to talk of the damage you’ve done to my sodding roof tiles AGAIN just beggars belief. It costs me a small fortune to get those fixed every year. May I suggest landing in the road next to my house, and using the ladder I’ve provided to gain access to the chimney in future to make things easier? You’ll be glad to know I live on a non-permitted road, so parking is risk free. This will also conquer the other issue of how much reindeer shit is left on my lawn every year, with my roof being sloped, they drop, it rolls, and ends up in a pile in my garden. It takes me bloody hours to clear all of it up every Boxing Day (as I refuse to do it on Christmas day), and it annoys the hell out of me. Also, the moaning band wagon in the media at the moment is about the amount of food waste is being left, so why oh why do you never eat all of your mince pie, or Rudolph never eat all of his carrot? Think how much waste there is when you do that at every house! It’s shameful, you never struggle to drink all the whiskey I leave, to which you go off flying again. If a British Airways pilot did that he’d be all over the news and end up having to fly for Ryan Air, please address this, or visit Alcoholics Anonymous, as you clearly have a problem.
On a lighter note, I would like to wish you a very Merry Christmas, and a smashing New Year. And don’t forget, if you ignore this letter, I will be personally leading a religious crusade to the North Pole to teach you and your Elves a lesson they’ll never forget, plus, I’ve heard your missus Mary Christmas is a bit of alright, so I’ll be forced to take her as a war trophy.
Lots of Love and Festive Cheer,
Major Lee Pistof