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Letters to Santa

Dear Santa,
Can you please send me that bike that I asked you for last year, and the year before, and the year before that. Remember last year when I sat on your knee at the shopping centre and whispered in your ear? I even reminded you again when I saw you at my dads work xmas picnic. If I don't get it this year I will need to change my request to a motor bike because by the time I get it I will be old enough to get my license. Might also get in early and include some other things that I will want in the next few years, just so I don't miss out.
P.S I've been good all year and even my mum says I have been better behaved than the kids next door (and they got bikes last year). Maybe you got the address wrong and delivered my stuff to their place.
Ian

Dear Ian.
Let me set the record straight. I never, ever, get things wrong and I certainly have never delivered a present to the wrong house. If you didn't get a bike, it's because I never intended on giving you a bike. Why? If I recall correctly, for the last 5 years, you have left me cookies and milk and a carrot for the reindeer. Well, I hate cookies as the crumbs get caught in my beard and would rather have Jack Daniels than milk. The carrots make the reindeer fart and last year I had to travel all the way to the North Pole sniffing reindeer farts, which believe me, was no walk in the park.
So, you want a bike, ey? Well, I want a good stiff drink, so neither of us are going to be happy this year are we!
Maybe if your mum is nicer to me this Christmas than she was last Christmas and swallows my present for her, you might get that bike next year. But don't hold your breath ... like your mum.
Lots of love.
Santa.



Dear Santa,
Could I PLEASE have a bike for Christmas. I know you think you sent me a bike for Christmas last year. Mum told me not to sound ungracious and rude, but what was that thing you sent me? It folds in the middle? There's no basket. And are wheels supposed to be that small. Please Santa. A real bike that won't get me laughed at by all the kids at school.
Fiona.

Dear Fiona.
What is it with you kids and the fricken' bikes. Do you know how freaken' heavy those suckers are. The reindeer are a couple of thousand years old now and humping a hundred tonnes of metal and rubber halfway around the world is not making their wheezing any better. Getting laughed at by your friends is a way of growing up, especially when you take to them in a darkened alley with a baseball bat (darn, I spoiled your Christmas surprise now, haven't I).
Your mother is right about cutting out the whining ... spoilt little brat.
Remember, good girls get good presents and bad girls get even better ones.
Are you going to wait up for me like you did last year? That would be fun again.
Luuuuuuuuuuuuurve Santa.



Dear Santa,
I want a chemistry set for Christmas.
S. (Jamie) Hussein - aged 10.
Iraq

Dear Sadam.
Firstly, you are a Muslim and you sure as hell 'aint getting presents celebrating a Christian deity.
Secondly, my mate George has warned me about little assmonkeys like you and what you would do with a chemistry set.
Thirdly, you got a chemistry set about 10 years ago and all you did with that was attack the kids next door and set fire to all their oil fields.
Fourthly, I gave my last chemistry set to some asshat called Osama.
Here, have a nuke instead.
Santie.



Dear Santa,
My name is Henry Ian Archibald Williamson the third and I am 10. I live in Yellowrock Arkansas and my daddy is a lawyer. I overheard him telling mommy that you can use the law to get just about anything you want so I thought I'd write to you about what I want for Xmas.
I want a imterconnintal blstic misil (but bigger than the one my friend Roger's got) and a puppy.
If I don't get them, I'm gunna sue your bottom off for touching me up at the mall last year.
Your friend,
Henry

Dear Henry the 3rd.
I've seen Rogers (he's the Cabin Boy isn't he?) and you should believe me when I tell you his isn't half a big as the one I want to give you.
Remember, I know when you've been sleeping, I know when you're awake, I know when you've been bad or good and I also know what happened on that little sleepover that you had at Rogers for his birthday. You know the term, wearing a birthday suit, well you shouldn't be trying Rogers on for size, so don't threaten me, you little weirdo.
You want a puppy too? Don't you mean another puppy? What happened to the one I gave you last year? Have you checked the freezer? I think this is where you put the kitten I gave you a couple of years ago.
Also, at the foot of your stocking this year, you will find a very special present. It's called a dictionary. Learn how to use the fucking thing, OK?
Santa (LLB).



Dear Santa
First up I would like to correct a few misunderstandings that have occurred during this year. Firstly, the cat wanted to ride in my remote controlled truck. He pestered me until I finally gave in and put him in the truck, I didn't realise that the electrical tape would not come off his fur, I really just wanted to be sure that he didn't fall out of the truck whilst flying between the take off ramp and the landing zone; a 20 foot fall would of hurt him more that the shaving did.
Secondly, no one told me that little sisters were so flammable. I'd seen Russell from school burn ants with a magnifying glass but I was as surprised as anyone when Kylie lit up. Who would have guessed that the truck would hit "The Ring of Fire" and knock it onto Kylie? It was good to see that Dad's Fire extinguisher works well...
So to my list....
Can Dad have a new Fire extinguisher, fire blanket and one of those large button remote controls that he could use whilst the bandages are still on his hands.
Mum needs a new deck, the old one is a bit scorched. Kylie would like a jumper for the cat, to keep it warm until it's fur grows back, and a matching beanie for herself for when she gets out of hospital, to keep her warm until her hair grows back, and finally can I have a new remote controlled truck, mine doesn't seem to work so good anymore.
Thanks
Peter

Dear Peter.
Let me correct some factual mistakes.
Your Dads hands are not bandaged due to the fire. Your Dad is a first class Gay Porn Star and his hands are bandaged that way to prevent him from excessively massaging his favorite toy.
Also, your Dad doesn't need a fire extinguisher, he needs a cold shower (and he should shave off the moustache. It tickles when we kiss).
On the matter of the cat, I told you last year, you shouldn't be using electrical tape on your animals. You should only use duct tape or gaffer tape, and then only on the hamsters or other rodents, not the cat (unless you've had it declawed since you tried this last year).
I'm glad that Kylie got what was coming to her. Last year, when she sat on my lap, she was squirming around like snake trying to get comfortable which left me with a painful swelling that took weeks to go down.
So, to your list.
I am prepared to offer your Mum my dick, which is completely scorch free, although after a few hours with your Mum, she may end up with her own scorch marks. Rowwwwwr!
For Kylie I have a present wrapped in a see-through rubber coat so it doesn't rub against her burns and afterwards she will receive a special gift of some burn-lotion which she can rub into her hands.
Your Dad can play with my fire hose, but I'm afraid I can't leave it behind.
You, my little pyromaniac friend, will be visited by some very nice men who will give to you a beautiful white coat with wrap-around arms and will take you to your own very special padded room for a long, long time.
Have a nice Christmas.
Santa.
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