Dear Santa:
I couldn’t help noticing the other day when Jim was driving us to town that you were sprawled out flat on your back in the front yard of a house. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you have a problem that needs intervention? I’m worried about you Santa.
Love, Sam
Dear Sam:
Thank you for your concern young dog. There is nothing wrong with me that a little R&R won’t cure. I was relaxing on that lawn because I’d been inflated for two straight nights and I was totally pooped. To make matters worse some rowdy teenagers t-peed me and that darn stuff stuck to me like glue when it started raining. It took a real gully-washer to get the stuff off.
Thankfully, someone finally let the air out of me and I was able to lie down for awhile. I don’t have a drinking problem, if that’s what you were thinking, although a nice hot toddy sure sounds good right now. A Big Fatty joint would be appreciated too. Seems to me like reviving poor Santa would be a legitimate medical use for some Evergreen State Bud. I’d even settle for a gingerbread latte.
It isn’t easy being Santa Clause you know. Not only am I expected to oversee a bunch of height-challenged little dudes making toys all year long, on Christmas Eve I have to deliver those toys all over the world. In the meantime, because I need money to meet my payroll, I have to moonlight as a blow-up doll on people’s front lawns. Trouble is, no matter how much extra money I make, it seems to fly out the window faster than my sled flies off a roof. Taxes are killing me and the vet bills for Donder and Blitzen and company are out of sight; turns out landing on rooftops is hard on their knees. You have no idea how much artificial titanium reindeer knees cost these days. And Rudolph burns through those red nose light bulbs like they are a dime a dozen and they aren’t. I swear sometimes I think he owns stock in GE.
It ain’t easy being me Sam. I don’t always feel so jolly. Sometimes I just need to deflate, kick back and make a few snow angels. Don’t worry though, I’ve checked my list of little dogs who’ve been naughty or nice and come Christmas morning there will be a new chew toy and bone for you under your tree.
The greatest indignity though is when some dog who doesn’t have the good manners you do, decides to lift his leg and whiz on my personhood. Trust me when I tell you I DO NOT get a ho-ho-ho out of that!
I really appreciate your concern Sam. If you want to have your picture taken with me it only costs $10 and really helps me meet my expenses. On top of everything else I’m pretty sure I’ll have to paint the sled again this year.
Sincerely, Santa
P.S. Would you mind donating a few bags of poop for me to drop on those kids who t-peed me and a couple of cats who tried to claw the air out of me?
I couldn’t help noticing the other day when Jim was driving us to town that you were sprawled out flat on your back in the front yard of a house. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you have a problem that needs intervention? I’m worried about you Santa.
Love, Sam
Dear Sam:
Thank you for your concern young dog. There is nothing wrong with me that a little R&R won’t cure. I was relaxing on that lawn because I’d been inflated for two straight nights and I was totally pooped. To make matters worse some rowdy teenagers t-peed me and that darn stuff stuck to me like glue when it started raining. It took a real gully-washer to get the stuff off.
Thankfully, someone finally let the air out of me and I was able to lie down for awhile. I don’t have a drinking problem, if that’s what you were thinking, although a nice hot toddy sure sounds good right now. A Big Fatty joint would be appreciated too. Seems to me like reviving poor Santa would be a legitimate medical use for some Evergreen State Bud. I’d even settle for a gingerbread latte.
It isn’t easy being Santa Clause you know. Not only am I expected to oversee a bunch of height-challenged little dudes making toys all year long, on Christmas Eve I have to deliver those toys all over the world. In the meantime, because I need money to meet my payroll, I have to moonlight as a blow-up doll on people’s front lawns. Trouble is, no matter how much extra money I make, it seems to fly out the window faster than my sled flies off a roof. Taxes are killing me and the vet bills for Donder and Blitzen and company are out of sight; turns out landing on rooftops is hard on their knees. You have no idea how much artificial titanium reindeer knees cost these days. And Rudolph burns through those red nose light bulbs like they are a dime a dozen and they aren’t. I swear sometimes I think he owns stock in GE.
It ain’t easy being me Sam. I don’t always feel so jolly. Sometimes I just need to deflate, kick back and make a few snow angels. Don’t worry though, I’ve checked my list of little dogs who’ve been naughty or nice and come Christmas morning there will be a new chew toy and bone for you under your tree.
The greatest indignity though is when some dog who doesn’t have the good manners you do, decides to lift his leg and whiz on my personhood. Trust me when I tell you I DO NOT get a ho-ho-ho out of that!
I really appreciate your concern Sam. If you want to have your picture taken with me it only costs $10 and really helps me meet my expenses. On top of everything else I’m pretty sure I’ll have to paint the sled again this year.
Sincerely, Santa
P.S. Would you mind donating a few bags of poop for me to drop on those kids who t-peed me and a couple of cats who tried to claw the air out of me?
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