December 21, 2009
Dear Needy Children,
In response to your many letters: no, no and no! I'm tired of reading your Christmas lists. You! You! You! What about my needs?
Don't you know there are children starving in India? And, hey, you Indian kids, don't you know there are children starving in the Sudan? Be happy with toilet paper and running water, if you have them.
Back to the point: my needs. My cholesterol is up. I'm on the verge of a migraine and my health insurance won't cover my Imitrex. They're telling me Excedrin PM does the trick, but I work nights. The elves can't be trusted without supervision.
And then there's that gastric bypass. Mrs. Claus claims she likes my love handles, but she's awfully cozy with the elves lately. And I saw her stroking Rudolph. His nose was blinking. So, Viagra? I'd like that in my sack.
And, kids, my flying fears have increased with the risk of colliding with sleeping pilots. And don't get me started on my sleigh. You try to find one made in America. Ever since they nationalized GM, not only has my stock portfolio tanked but try to get parts.
And speaking of my portfolio, there's a special boy on my list and his name is Bernie. Not only will he got coal in his stocking, but I'm going to give him a piece of Ikea furniture for his new residence but I'm keeping that little tool thingie. Ho! Ho! Ho!
In closing, wee lads and lasses, what about me? Christmas is supposed to be about giving. You know, Tiny Tim and all that. So be generous - to me. Forget cookies and milk; I'll take krugerrands and single malt. If I'm going to be fat, I'm going to be jolly.
Merry Christmas, and to all a good night,
Cc: Mrs. Claus
Warden, Butner Federal Correctional Complex
And a special shout out to the Hyde Park Gingerbread House Collective