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 During their growing up
years, our two daughters had a love-hate relationship of sorts with Santa.
Actually, their main gripe was with the mall version of the old boy in red.
Taking them to sit on his lap and spew forth their Christmas lists was an annual
confrontation born out of fear. Fear that if you did not go see him you would
get "nada" under the tree on Christmas morning. But also, fear for the
sake of fear itself. Here he was - this great big, fat, old guy in a blood red
suit, with a fluffy, snow white beard. Our youngest was terrified every time she
went to see Santa. She was probably almost fourteen when she finally realized he
wasn’t going to hurt her. By then, too, one supposes she had figured out that
it was all just a rouse anyway.
One of the most fun things, though, about Santa’s annual visit to our house
was the exchange of notes between children and the fat, old impostor. Almost
every year the kids would leave him candy, a home-made dessert of some kind,
fruit, a glass of something to drink, and a note telling him to help himself –
and justifying why he should leave a dump truck load of stuff for them under the
tree.
For good measure, mom and dad would occasionally allow the family bottle of
Jack Daniels, Rock & Rye, or whatever other "cold medicine"
happened to be in the house at the time to be left out for the old guy. How
could Santa possibly resist a little nip against the cold, night air? Better
than a flu shot.
The girls always loved Santa’s replies to their notes. His quips were
always meant to be funny, witty, and, in the case of the Jack Daniels Christmas,
a little hard to read. The following are some of the more explicit excerpts from
these Yuletide "gems."
* * * * *
"Dear Girls…Thanks for leaving me the prunes this year (squirt)…I
was hoping for another Christmas like last year’s (squirt), but I guess
another Jack Daniels induced ride (squirt) back to the north pole was a little
too much to hope for…So sorry about the mess (squirt)…I guess the prunes
acted on me too quickly (squirt)…I had to keep rushing to the bathroom
(squirt) while finishing this note…I decided not to give any of the prunes to
Rudolph (squirt)…T’would have been a rough ride home…Reindeer flatulence
was the base for Saddam’s chemical warheads when he massacred all those folks
a few years back…Potent stuff!!...P.S., If you decide to give me prunes again
next year, could you please have your mom to stock plenty of Charmin in the
guest bath (squirt)?...I will pass up the Jalapeno’s and Chili dip across the
street at the neighbor’s house next time in anticipation…See you next
year…Ho, Ho, Ho…Love, Santa."
* * * * *
"Dear Girls…Looks like this family is either on a starvation diet, or
else someone got laid off from work this year and there is no money in the house
for food…I am glad you left me some Christmas Cheer (Jack Daniels), and that
you both have the spirit(s) this year…Mrs. Claus has them too, but she will
have to enter re-hab right after the first of the year…When reindeer food got
so high this year because of the price of gas (thanks to the Arabs), I tried to
come up with new ways to fuel the boys toward a faster flight time…I had seen
a TV commercial about a new miracle drug called Viagra…It was supposed to help
increase blood circulation…It really had no effect on me when I tried
it…Mrs. Claus said it was a waste of money…But, I did give some to Rudolph
before we took off…His red nose grew about 18 inches during the course of the
evening, and he was hitting on every female reindeer between here and
Gnome…Ho, Ho, Ho…Merry Christmas…Santa Baby"
* * * * *
"Dear Girls…WAY too many carbs this year…Doughnuts, Christmas Tree
Cakes, and Peanut M&M’s…Hard to pass up…However, because of the
success of my new weight loss book, "Kris Kringle’s North Pole Fast
‘Til You Faint Or Keel Over And Die Diet," for the first time since I was
a young Santa in training, my butt fits in the sleigh without the elves having
to sit on my head and jump up and down…Mrs. Claus even had to do some
alterations on the old red suit….I told her that next year I am gonna’ be so
slim, my red suit will be nothing more than spandex and a speedo thong… I
ain’t gonna ruin my new physique by eating that dozen Krispy Kremes and half
gallon of egg nogg ya’ll laid out for me this time, either…I would get as
fat as Rosie O’Donnell’s head if I gave in to the temptation…The LAST
thing I want to have to do is go back to that blasted aerobics class again,
where they play the exercise video of that funny boy, Richard Simmons,
squealing, ‘work it girls,’ to the top of his lungs…But, thanks for
thinking of me anyway…The last house I went to had sushi (fish bait) and tofu
(recycled puke) laid out for me…Those people ain’t getting "squat"
next year…By the way, be kind to your old dad and let him have some greasy
onion rings and a round of trans-fatty pastries and fried chicken over the
holidays…Mrs. Claus says that I can’t have fried chicken anymore…She
claims that it puts me in a "fowl" mood…Grrrooooooaaannn…Ho, Ho,
Ho…Santa"
* * * * *
"Dear Girls…Next year I am going to bring you some better ink pens
than this purple piece of crap you left for me to write with this year…And,
what in the world was that CD you left in the boom box for me to play while I
put out the toys?...We are not accustomed to Gangsta Rap and Death Metal Hip Hop
up at the north pole…I tried some of that insidious noise in the sleigh’s
stereo while we flew around a few years back, just to see if it would make the
trip seem a bit more "cool" to the reindeer…Donner and Blitzen
almost had a nervous breakdown before we finished the trip, and Dasher and
Dancer began to wear multiple nose and ear piercings and talk in reindeer street
slang when they got home…We had to hire Al Sharpton to come up and translate
for us…Next year how about some nice, soothing, Christmas music that doesn’t
talk about "ho’s" and, "biting someone’s lower
extremities"…That would be, "off the chain"…Yo, Yo, Yo…Homey
Claus"
* * * * *
Who knows what Santa will come up with this year? You never know. One thing
is for sure, however - It is evident that political correctness and cultural
diversity awareness are not major issues at the North Pole.
© David Decker 2007
* * * * *
I am southern boy birthed in Alabama, reared in Georgia,
matriculated and married in Tennessee, and initiated into manhood in South
Carolina. To read more, visit LIB
John Brown
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