Click Play Arrow to read along to Dear Santa.
Seems like only yesterday I wrote you all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, so I could with you merry chrithmath. And here we are today, several implants and numerous fillings later, but my two front teeth are all mine, so thanks for granting me that small wish.
Then there was that bit of trouble, remember? I saw Mommy kissing you underneath the mistletoe that night.
How was I to know Daddy was wearing your suit?
But I didn't pout, I didn't shout. I was nice. I'm wise to that list you keep and check twice.
Coal pollutes so that’s an empty threat.
Nothing can top that Red Ryder BB Gun from 4th grade.
Thank you, I see fine with one eye. It's not your fault.
Besides, it got me out of the draft back in '68, so all in all, that was another good Christmas for me.
What did Grandma do that pissed you off that night, coming home from Marty and Ed’s tamalada.
But getting run over by reindeer is a hard way to reaffirm one's belief in your existence, Santa. I shall be glad of another sale.
Last year I asked for RAM and got Mary's little lamb. I meant computer memory, Santa.
So, now that I know you have a low tolerance for ambiguity, I am going to keep this short, sweet, and specific, OK?
First, all I want for Christmas is a room somewhere. Please make it far away from the cold night air. And make it a big room, and soundproofed because the joyful and triumphant they make a lot of noise and guys with the camels they’re always complaining “just the worst time of the year for such a journey, the ways deep and the weather sharp, the very dead of winter.”
Second, please bring Bernie some ink. And airtime.
My third wish, dear Santa, is same as last year's: Oh please, wise up that pendejo in the White House. War is not Peace. Bring the troops home now.
P.S. Those are gluten-free conchas, and the chocolate is made with lactose-free milk.