Thursday, December 10, 2015

Excerpts From Santa's Mailbag

 Opinion |

It’s that time of year again — the time when we dip into some leaked selections from Santa’s mailbag:

Dear Santa:
It’s been a really scary year, what with attacks on Paris and ISIS killing all those people in the Middle East and everything. So we’ve decided that the only thing to do as the governing body of the greatest country in the world is run away from the world, turn our backs on people in need, and hide under our beds.
Problem is, Santa, we’re not as young as we used to be, and some of us have put on a little weight. So what we’d like are higher beds to hide under.
— The U.S. Congress
Note to staff: Please arrange to have all of these fraidy cats receive a Bible with the passages about “for I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me,” etc., underlined. Thanks.
Note to Santa: We’re on it, boss. By the way, those ISIS guys sent a letter. Said they knew they were on the permanent naughty list, but they didn’t care, because the Americans were giving them everything they wanted anyway. Man, those guys have more loose screws than an Erector Set.
Dear Santa:
I know you’d probably think I don’t need anything, because I’m very, very rich. I’m super-rich, in fact, and the reason is because I’m also the smartest person you or anyone else has ever met. Not only that, everybody loves me. People can’t wait to tell me what a great guy I am. Oh, and I have a daughter so hot, I’d date her if I wasn’t her dad.
But there is one thing you can get for me. I know there’s a tape somewhere of thousands and thousands of Muslims cheering in New Jersey as the Twin Towers fell on 9/11. Problem is, no one can seem to find it. Everybody tells me that I’m making it up, but I can’t be, because I have the world’s greatest memory.
So rustle that recording up for me, will you? Chop chop, fat boy. I haven’t got all day.
— Donald, New York City
Note to staff: I don’t know what kind of meds it’s going to take to stabilize Donny, but order him up a truckload.
Dear Santa:
I know we’re getting close to Christmas, and you really need my wish list, but all the polling data isn’t in yet on what I should want, and some of my advisers haven’t gotten back from their Thanksgiving break ski trips to let me know what gift requests will play best in Iowa and New Hampshire. So I’m going to have to get back to you.
— Hillary, Chappaqua, New York
Note to staff: I know this letter should probably disturb me, but I find it kind of charming that she apparently sat down and hand-wrote it.
Note to Santa: C’mon, boss, you think she’s going anywhere near an email account these days?
Dear Santa:
I don’t want much. I just want people to know who I am, and that I’m still running for president.
— Jim, Richmond, Virginia
Note to staff: I hate to admit it, but I made my list, and I’ve checked it twice, and I still have no idea who this guy is.
Note to Santa: Jim Gilmore. Used to be governor of Virginia. And don’t worry, no one else knows him either.
Dear Santa:
I don’t want anything for myself. Really. But I want everyone to have free public college tuition. And a single payer health plan that will ensure that no person has to worry about going bankrupt if they get sick. And a living wage for everyone, because no one who’s working full time should be living in poverty. I don’t think this is too much to ask.
— Bernie, Burlington, Vermont
Note to staff: Who does this guy think he is? Me? Ho ho ho.
Note to Santa: Actually, boss, the other elves and I have been meaning to talk to you about the whole wage thing. Look, I like sugarplums as much as the next elf, but you can’t buy stuff with them. Not to mention that our diabetes risk is through the roof these days. Even Henry Ford said he wanted his workers to earn enough wages to buy the cars they made for him. You see where I’m going with this?
— Hermie
Note to staff: The unemployment line?
Note to Santa: Oh, right. You going to load the sleigh yourself? The reindeer are backing us up on this, by the way.
Note to staff: OK, OK. We’ll talk. After Christmas?
Note to Santa: It’s a date. Merry Christmas, boss.