We need to talk.
You know who you are.
White beard, giant belly, buckled boots, obsession with red. Oh, and you’re a sell-out.
That’s right Santa. I said it.
You think I haven’t caught on? What used to be a workshop full of elves is now a vacant hole. Scraps of paper, tinsel, and bells blow silently through the chilly warehouse. Merry song and cheer have left the building.
You’ve outsourced to China, and I’ve got all the cheap plastic stocking stuffers to prove it.
I get it, times are rough. The elves formed a union and though I don’t necessarily agree with all of their sweatshop claims, I do think it’s a little weird you refused to install heating.
I mean, the North Pole is cold.
Those guys are pretty small. They don’t have the same insulation as you. Judging from the many depositions in which individual elves said you forced them to give up their meals on a moments notice, it’s no wonder they didn’t stay.
That new cruise line they’ve started is really taking off.
Lets be honest-they do customer service pretty damn well.
Not that any of this really bothers me. I’m writing on a more personal level. You claim to know all of us, so I think it’s fair to assume we’re on a first name basis.
So Santa, here’s my issue with your latest antics.
Your demands have not changed despite the shift in personnel.
This is unfair.
You demand that I am good. For the entire year, I am supposed to be on my best behavior. I assure you, I do this. It’s not easy. But still, for the love of presents, I am a saint all year long.
Do I leave out a bowl of dry cookie crisp for you on Christmas Eve? No. I don’t. I leave out homemade, gooey, warm, delicious chocolate chip cookies.
It’s this attention to detail I think you’ve forgotten.
Since you insist that I am good but have been delivering merchandise made by the hands not of elves, but of small children in a far-off land, I have to take a stand.
I am not going to be good.
But you’re still going to bring presents.
If you don’t, I’m gonna tell Mrs. Claus about those piles of depositions she never saw.
You know what I’m talking about.
They’re in your desk right now. Back file, behind boys names starting with Z.
The files I refer to are full of descriptions such as ‘uncomfortable’, ‘prone to leering’, ‘inappropriate handling of tube of cookie dough’, ‘spanking’, ‘moaning when bells on shoes jingled’, and my personal favorite: “caught sniffing wool knickers in elven locker room’.
For shame Santa, for shame.
I doubt Mrs. Claus will be so nice to you if she finds out about those files.
So here’s the plan.
I’m going to be naughty. All year long.
You’re going to bring me presents. REAL presents.
And you’re gonna like it.
Expect my list post-haste. Pleasure doing business with you.