yuletide adoxography at its verisimilitudenest

Dear Santa:

It has come to my attention that you are planning a visit to twenty one forty-five this Saturday evening. Your visit, ostensibly, is to bring gifts to all the boys and girls living under the 3/5 Lawyer Roof, never mind that the youngest permanent resident of the household was born one month after World War II officially ended. The rest of us merely pay the occasional visit.

All of us deserve the finest gifts your workshop has to offer this year. The owner of the Dallas Cowboys even wished me the best, telling me that he “hopes I do better under the stocking this year than I did under that tree up there.” He’s never been one for public speaking, so if you can’t take ol’ Skeletor’s word for it, let me remind you why I should be included on your nice list.

First, not once this year have I lied to anyone without getting caught. The “no harm, no foul” rule is in full effect as far as I’m concerned on this one. If someone finds out that I’ve been less than truthful, then it’s like I never actually lied, right? So, you can’t put me on your naughty list for that.

Second, I didn’t talk back to Her Honor even one time this year, despite her accusation that I lied to her about what I thought of the Christmas present she got me last year.

Third, in all other matters I have been a very good boy this year. I even managed to finish going to school and start earning a living, so this year I won't have to incur more unsecured debt to get you the milk and cookies you deserve. Also, I stopped with all the fast women and booze, because I know how you get jealous and I didn't want to anger you. I even cut my beard off a few months ago so the ladies would flock back to you. That was your early Christmas gift.

My argument being made, I really would like a box of C.A.O. Italias. Does your workshop employ real Cuban rollers? Have a safe flight on Saturday.

Sincerely,

mjw