A Letter To Santa, Bro
I have been writing you every year since I was a young lad in hopes that you might exist. I know it’s far fetched because it’s ridiculous to think that a man of your stature can continue to eat so many cookies and not have a documented case of diabetes. Anyhow, I feel as though if you really do know when I’m sleeping, and if you really do know when I’m awake, then you know that I’ve been good for goodness sake (I’m actually embarrassed for myself that I wrote that). This past year, I have smoked a lot less marijuana cigarettes (mostly because I’m poor), I’ve cut back on the drinking (mostly because I’m poor) and I even did some volunteer work (mostly because I needed a resume boost, so I won’t be so poor). These are just some of the reasons I think you should give me all the things that I want. Below you will find my list:
A Flowing River of Heineken
A strip club in my living room (STD free strippers included)
A Tron Motorcycle
An Aquarium headrest with a mattress made of boob
A life size T-Rex sculpture
A Chipotle in my kitchen staffed by the Victoria’s Secret models (so I don’t have to worry about them eating the food)
A Frozen Han Solo Carbonite Desk
The final 8 episodes of Breaking Bad before they air on TV
A Functioning Iron Man suit
A pride of highly trained, guard lions
And a genuine leather “Bad Motherfucker” wallet
The most important item on my list is the Chipotle in my kitchen staffed by the Victoria’s Secret models. I say this because no man should go more than 2 days without complete access to a Chipotle. I don’t believe that any of these items are unreasonable, but if I had to get rid of one, it would be the genuine leather “Bad Motherfucker” wallet, only because you might not have access to genuine leather (just trying to help make things easy for you). This is a fantastic opportunity for you, Mr. Claus to prove that you exist. Do your best not to let me down.
Regards from a boy trapped inside a man’s body,
P.S. If you think I may have forgotten something on this list, feel free to add to it. You are Santa Claus and you probably know everything about me, so just go ahead and do what you do.
P.P.S. If you happen to come in contact with Jesus, tell him I said happy birthday. Thanks! K, Bye.
Aristotle is a Florida based comedian who thinks that dyslexic children probably address their Christmas letters to SATAN. You can follow him on Twitter @sToTle.