Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Dear Santa Claws...

I'd like to draw your attention to a response I received from the Fat Man yesterday after my open letter to him:
Dear Bildo.

Pleae try to remember that I'm Santa Claws. I know if you've been naughty or nice, and I know where you live, and despite the extra pounds I've put on these past few centuries I'm still capable of squeezing down your chimney (or any other available rooftop duct) sneaking into your room while you sleep, and plucking out your eyes. Oh, you'll get your Xbox 360 alright, but I hope you can play Halo 3 by sound alone, you lucky, little boy.

Now release the portly lass I call my wife, and nobody gets hurt.

S.C. aka The Fat Man.
I would like to take some time today to respond. This may get a bit graphic, so reader beware. Let's hope the pudgy bastard is reading...

Dear Obese and Grossly Flatulent Excuse for a Man,

I do hope your previous letter was in jest. For you see, I found it rather funny. Comical in that you think I could take it seriously. I do not sleep this time of year, for the fear that your lard-tacular arse will eat me while I snooze. And I certainly shan't be without protection. I know your weakness, and I am not talking about the animal porn, either. I'll give you a hint... I wouldn't drink the milk if I were you, though I know how hard you find it to ignore the treats all the sheep leave for you, you diabetic prick.

I have enclosed one of the sausage links your wife calls a toe. Please don't eat it, you chunky monkey. Put it in some ice up there, since there's miles of it and save it for the poor woman. Provided you bring me my 360 and leave me and my family in safety and unharmed, you will see her again.

Without a hint of insincerity,


PS: Oh, and please stop sleeping with the reindeer at night. I can hear their cries of pain even in Ohio. It does upset your lady, as well. At least be quieter about it.

PPS: I was kidding about that last part, but if I at all worried you... you're a sick, sick man. I mean really... gross, dude.


Capn John said...

You win! I can't respond to that! I've got tears in my eyes from suppressing my urge to laugh so I didn't alert They Who Must Be Obeyed that one of their peons is enjoying himself at work :)

Here's hoping the real Santa Claus (or a good facsimile) brings you your X-box 360 :)

Cap'n John aka (at this time of year) Santa Claus (or Claws ;)

Link said...

I don't know if I should laugh or be scared. Maybe a bit of both. :)

Bildo said...

*raises fists in victory*

/bows to Cap'n John

Still John, I was hoping we'd carry on a bit more... if you get the urge we have a few more weeks until Christmas. :)

@ Link

Be afraid... be VERY afraid.

Santa Claws said...

Dear Bildo.

It's a sad state of affairs when you confuse your wife's toe with your Meat of the Month delivery, alas, I'm guilty of making that very mistake. On a happier note, sauteed with some onions, mushrooms and gravy, the little digit...Ho ho ho! Who am I kidding? You and I both know there's nothing little about my wife! Her BIG toe (was it her 'big' toe?) was absolutely delicious! My wife has never tasted so good! Let's make a deal. You just might find an Xbox 360 in your stocking this Christmas if you can keep those tasty treats coming.

Merry Christmas,
Santa Claws.

P.S. Thanks for the word of advice about the reindeer. I'll give them some of Santa's special eggnog tonight before showing them how much I love them.