I will tell you, there are three gifts that I want this year: A new sign for my family vacation home, a Kindle Fire and—the third one is, uh, what’s the third one there? Let’s see. The third gift that I would like is the—huh. The Kindle Fire and—let’s see. I can’t. The third one, I can’t. Sorry. Oops.
Can you believe they’re actually buying it? Yeah, because “God” has chosen to manifest himself in the Denver Broncos instead of, ya know, stopping genocide. Morons. Anyway, hook me up with my usual sacrifice to Lucifer: 1,000 virgins, 75 Catholic priests and a crate of Habanos. Hell, go ahead and throw in one of those little Sharper Image oscillating fans. It’s been a good year.
Yours in Darkness, Tim Tebow
I’m on to your game, you woolly, gift-giving socialist. Spread the joy! Share the wealth! Bah! No one knows code words better than me, buddy, and I’m calling B.S. on your “goodness.” Admit it: You’re just a red-cloaked, Marxist-bearded commie union boss lording over a horde of small, pointy-shoed pretend toymaker hacks living large off the public teat of the North Pole taxpayer!
And I’m not saying that because of last year’s gift. I appreciated the matched set of six lumps of coal. (They burned nicely in my dirtyfuel-powered Jacuzzi!) But this is probably going to be a make-orbreak year for me—that @#$%^* %$^&% Union-Tribune called me “childish”! That makes me soooo mad!!—and I could use a few things: a Hooters gift card (strictly business), more GOP donors (hey, even volunteers have expenses!) and a right-wing City Hall in 2012!
If my wishes are ignored, I’ll as sume you’re just an Occupy Kookfest sympathizer and an enemy of the taxpayer, and I will be forced to impersonate you on Twitter.
Tony Krvaric, San Diego GOP Chairman / Serial Venomous Tweeter
I know I haven’t written 2 u in forevs because everybody sez u don’t exist, but I thought I’d write to u anywayz cuz u brought me that totally cool Barbie Hummer car I wanted when I was little but then smashed cuz my brothers Hummer car was WAY cooler. Anywayz, this time I want to have a baby by Justin Bieber. I LOVE HIM! If I don’t have his baby I will die!!! But I want his baby for realzies. I don’t want a fake one like that pathetic Mariah Yeater girl had. It has to be a real one, and I’ll know if it’s not because it won’t have the O.G. Bieber bangs so don’t even try to trick me, ok Santa? I’m pretty sure that if I have his baby MTV will give me my own show. Our baby would be so effing HOT. 4 realz. If you can’t give me a Bieber baby, I’ll take a Taylor Lautner or Robert Pattinson baby. I guess a Jonas baby would be ok, but only if I can get a record deal too.
Trisha Tawnee Snarflblotzky, El Cajon
The only thing I can tell you is I thought I was a Jew, but then it turned out I wasn’t a Jew, but I really wanted to be a Jew, but then I saw a movie I didn’t like by a Jew, and then I thought about Hitler sitting there in his bunker, and I thought, That’s one thing Jews and Nazis have in common: Neither really deserve Christmas presents.
That was a joke. ASsdfsdflsjfh dgghh. Sorry, Kirsten Dunst is nudging my arm. Anyway, I decided that maybe I’m a Nazi, but a Nazi who likes Jews, but who also really likes Nazis, because, really, some of them were God’s best children and extremely talented, so please send me a First Edition copy of Mein Kampf.
Lars Von Trier
Do you know how many “King of Pop” fans there are in the L.A. County Jail system? Let me tell you, there’s a lot of them. You’d think that by killing (ACCIDEN- TALLY!!) a child-molesting, white circus clown, I’d be treated like a hero, but nooooooooo. Instead I’m bombarded by threats from not-so-smooth criminals about how I’m such a “P.Y.T.” and how they’re gonna make me “beat it” while repeatedly asking them “who’s bad?” So, listen, I need some help here, because my lawyer really dropped the ball on this one (I should have hired Casey Anthony’s lawyer). If you could send the following items in a unassuming, plain-looking package, that would be great:
• A plastic toothbrush that could easily be filed into a shiv.
• A whole bunch of cigarettes. I need them to trade for no-ass-rapings.
• Speaking of ass-rapings, any over-the-counter STD meds available would be nice.
• A Costco-size bucket of lube (water-based, please. Astroglide is nice).
• A list of appeals-court judges, as well as a list of what they like, what they drink, etc.
I really can’t wait until the 25th, so if you could get on this immediately, that would be great.
Dr. Conrad Murray Inmate #2926725
Pal! Buddy! Papa Doug here, along with my BFF and chief ego-stroker, John “Let’s Give Stadium Foes The” Lynch. (“Wassup, Santa,” he says.) Well, Christmas came a little early for us this year, what with this steal of a deal we got for the Union-Tribune empire! Believe me, after the troubles on the home front (note new delivery address) and with those job-killing coastal commissioners messing with my bayfront, the Papster needed some jollies.
Lynchie keeps calling me “Mr. Spreckels,” as if I have visions of ruling San Diego like some baron of yesteryear. Not at all—just the parts that affect my bottom line, such as, well, Downtown, Mission Valley, La Jolla, Torrey Pines—. OK, you got me, all the pricey parts! And that’s where you come in. What’s that, John? Oh, he says he wants a football stadium. We know, John. (Geesh, talk about Johnnie One Note!) No, we need a big spike in real-estate values, pronto! Just in case this whole cheerleading-media-forthe-greatest-city-in-the-greatestcountry-on-the-greatest-planet in-the-greatest-universe thing blows up in our faces. Oh, and a pair of green visors so we look the part for the time being.
Stop the presses! (We love saying that, but it pisses off the help.)
Papa Doug Manchester, No. 1
John Lynch, CEO / Sidekick
MLIM (My Lord It’s Murky) LLC
Greetings, Mr. Kringle
Or do you prefer St. Nick? Lord Claus? How about I just call you Santa Baby? Taha! I’m corresponding with you to extend an invitation to you and your lovely wife to the tri-annual Ladies Abolishing Blackness In Africa (L.A.B.I.A.) charity gala at the La Jolla Country Club. We make it our goal to send colorful clothing to poor places in Africa, because they are very sad over there and fuchsia is proven to make you happy.
We will waive the $2,000-aplate ticket if you can do me one teensy weensy little favor. Myself and the other L.A.B.I.A. Flaps (that stands for Fierce, Loud And Proud Socialites) are just dying to have our very own Real Housewives of La Jolla show on Bravo.
We’re absolutely fabulous, have minimum control of our facial muscles, deride our children until they have eating disorders and have never worked a day in our lives (unless you count sleeping with our very unattractive husbands). I’m sure you’ll agree that this makes us perfect for the Real Housewives franchise.
Fondest regards, Kimberley von Hindenburg- Goldstein-Montgomery-Cohen
I know you may be tempted to bring me coal this year, but please reconsider. Though I was never “categorically” sure those were pictures of my honker on my Twitter account, people were really angry with me. OK, fine, they were pictures of me, but I swear, I was just modeling my sweet-looking underpants. (If it’s not too much trouble, I need another pack of Calvin Klein Boxer Briefs, size extra large, in Heather Gray. OK again, fine, size medium.) Who knew sending lewd pictures of your genitalia was a big no-no?? I mean, someone could have put that in the “So You Want to be a Congressman” handbook! Santa, if you can fit it in your bag, please also consider bringing me some dignity.
Thanks, big guy, Anthony Weiner
Oh hey, Santa.
I know what you’re thinking: Here’s Jerry, back on the very-extra-super-duper-back-cracking naughty list. Didn’t we clear all this up back in 1998? But it’s just a big misunderstanding, Santa. You of all people know how much I love young people. Actually, my two favorite groups of people are the elderly and the young. They’re like chocolate and peanut butter. Yum! Incidentally, I had a Santa job lined up at the Nittany Mall this Christmas season. Just thinking of the many supple young boys who would sit on my lap and whisper their pre-teen breath into my ear makes me quiv—wait—my lawyer says I can’t say that. What? Am I sexually attracted to young boys? Ew! Yuck! Phooey! Gross! Blech! Was that the right answer? My lawyer says yes, that’s exactly what I meant. In other words, it’s like a family thing, my love of the young and the elderly. A very sacred family closeness. Look, my Santa gig sort of fell through and I’m not allowed to even think about horseplay and towel snapping anymore.
Things aren’t looking so good at the moment. But I swear I’m innocent. Just in case, do you think you could find a statute of limitations in your bag for me?
Fondlingly, Jerry Sandusky
What could a leader so loved and cherished by his people possibly need? Oh yeah, a few hundred flamethrowers.
Bashar al-Assad, President of Syria
The SDPD broke my tent when they raided the Occupy camp because they’re fucking dicks. One of them even pepper sprayed the anarchy symbol on my leather jacket like a total fucking asshole. I’d go to Sports Chalet and get a new one but FUCK CORPORATE GREED. Can I get a new one? It’s too fucking cold out for my pit bull.
To Mr. Claus:
This letter serves as a preliminary warning. Should you fail to heed it, you may be subject to prosecution. We have received intelligence that activists engaged in “Occupy San Diego” have provided you with a list of items they hope you will deliver to their encampment at the Civic Center Plaza.
Should you park your sled on the plaza, you will be cited and your vehicle will be impounded. Should you deliver tents, sleeping bags, tables or other items that would facilitate camping or the building of any kind of structure on the plaza, you will be subject to arrest. We understand there is an Occupy protester posing as Jesus Christ—let there be no illusion: We consider mangers to be in violation of the Illegal Lodging ordinance. Nor will you be allowed to deliver sweet potatoes, glass ornaments or other objects that could be used as projectile weapons. This includes Grandma’s fruitcake.
For your convenience, here is a list of items that the San Diego Police Department has pre-approved for distribution in the Civic Plaza: Deodorant, absorbent adult underwear and the book “How to Find a GOOD Job in 90 Days” by Jim Stokely and Kathy Shabotynskyj.
Sincerely, Assistant Chief Boyd Long, San Diego Police Department
Santa’s Workshop LLC:
Thank you so much for the lobbyist team last Christmas! As a result, we must inform you that, due to renewed demand for clean coal technology, we are raising the price per lump. We must also regretfully remind you that you are now 12 months in default on payment for last year’s shipment. Our legal department is drafting a lien against your workshop.
Of course, we expect that these business complications will not affect your saintly duty to us as Christians.
There’s just so very little we don’t own. How’s this: Can you leave the Magna Carta, Paul McCartney’s picking finger and the deed to planet Jupiter (or any equivalent gas giant), under the tree?
Sincerely, The .01 Percent
Querido Papá Noel,
At first, I missed all the gueros. Revolución became a ghost land as many of my beloved curio shops were forced to close. But these days, I’m starting to see new faces fill my downtown cityscape and, guess what, it’s locals I haven’t seen in years y me gusta mucho!
Tijuanenses have officially reclaimed downtown from the hordes of tourists who used to hound me for cheap booze, pharmaceuticals and hookers. Calle Sexta goes off every night with kids pouring into the street as they go from club to bar to dance to DJs and see live music. Top-notch restaurants have opened up, and my streets have never looked better.
I’ve only got one wish, mi amigo Santa: Keep the negative PR coming and don’t let the white folks catch wind of my coolness. The more gringos who think they’ll get their heads cut off the minute they step foot in Tijuana, the better.
Con amor, Tijuana
Have you talked to Jesus lately? He musta forgot to give me his new phone number, cuz he was sposed to come on the show AGAIN last Friday, but never showed. And the number is disconnected. It’s cool, cuz I just read my AA pamphlet and steered the convo back towards cargo shorts. But the pam phlet is only like 12 sentences, and he has stood me up every Friday since my show started and I think people think I’m milking this alcoholic thing esspecially cuz I found out there’s not even alcohol in Clamato. They might even realise Jesus isn’t as good of a homie as I say. I mean, my sponser says he’s my homie, but I ain’t never even seen the guy. Just the more times I say his name on air, the more my ratings go up. And my sponser says Jesus will help me with all my problems, so I asked Jesus if he’ll come into the studio so my ratings will go up even without any legit content, but I dunno. So can I get his number? Maybe tell him if he doesn’t call me back, I’ll go back on the sauce and it’ll be all his fault. That’s what I told my wife when she didn’t wanna marry me.
First off, thanks for the Men’s Deluxe Eyebrow Grooming Kit in last year’s stocking. Not sure if you watch City Council meetings, but my perfectly groomed brows help me strike a look of incredulity with minimal effort. I’ve also got the Jack Nicholson / Shining thing nailed. Every now and then, I poke my head into the Mayor’s office and yell, “Heeere’s Carl!” It never gets old.
Speaking of the Mayor’s office, an outright victory in June would be nice. I emailed the head of the city’s Ethics Commission to ask if election-related gifts from Santa need to be reported as in-kind contributions. She responded, “You can’t be serious,” so I’ll take that as “No.”
Also, I’d love a set of those Egyptian-cotton pillowcases featuring a photo of Grover Norquist’s face.
In service, Carl DeMaio
North Park here. We’ve had another banner year in the ’hood that culminated with that quirky annual holiday parade. God, we’re good. Be honest, Santa: What other community can say it held a family-friendly parade complete with Beauty Queens, Derby Dolls and a purple low-rider with a “Statutory Grape” decal on the fender?
Something for everyone—damn we’re cool.
Of course, what would round us out nicely is a super-loud, superdark craft-beer-brewing, pizzaslash-sausage joint with a couple of exterior walls that open like fire station doors. Think you could help us out with that? There’s available space where the post office used to be, and we could even name the place ironically in its honor.
Merry Christmas, Santa!
The last time I wrote you, in 2007, I requested the following items, ’cause I was sick of my parents always getting on my case about how I spend all my money on drinks and tramp stamps:
• A toddler seat for my sweeeeeet Pontiac Sunfire. Parents telling me I can’t just have Caylee ride with the seat belt wrapped around her.
• Some dolls or something. I don’t know, what do kids like?
• Some chlorofo—. Uh, I mean some chlorine. You know, for the pool I’m going to buy for the house I’m buying for me and my dear, sweet Caylee.
• Some diapers. Still haven’t gotten around to potty training that kid. Don’t worry, I’m on it.
• Some really good makeup, especially concealer. Something good for covering up bruises.
• A paternity test. Maybe two? Actually, make it a dozen. I should probably find out which one of those day laborers knocked me up in that bathroom at the bar so I get some child-support money. I need money to pay for booze—. Uh, I mean bottles.
• Some McDonald’s gift cards.
That kid goes through a lot of Happy Meals even though I keep telling her the prize is never going to be a “new mom.”
Oh, and all this crap should come with a gift receipt so, you know, like, I can return it if, you know, say, Caylee doesn’t want it anymore or something.
Well, I don’t need any of that shit anymore! A stripper pole and some SoCo will do just fine. PARTY!!!!
Naughty, nice, these definitions are how grammar is brainwashing you. Presents are not currency! Can I have a beanie? My head is cold.
Letters intercepted by Aaryn Belfer, Seth Combs, Kelly Davis, Nathan Dinsdale, John R. Lamb, Dave Maass, Kinsee Morlan, Jenny Montgomery, Sammi Skolmoski and Alex Zaragoza.