Dear Santa, sweet, sweet Santa:
This Christmas, we wish for nothing more than peace, love, and understanding (LOL). We pray that you will fly like a nimble-pinioned dove to bring our parents copies of Chicken Soup for the Vengeful Soul. And perchance a little Valium for Lady Capulet?
Should Time slow her swift-footed pace, and night’s cloak agree to hide you, do you think maybe you could bring us some stuff too?
— Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” video and poster.
— DVD of The Secret Life of the American Teenager(Season 3)
— Quick-Escape Portable Ladder
— Motorola IMfree Personal Instant Messenger
— Plethysmograph Pulse Recognition Processor
xoxoxoxoxo,
Romeo and Juliet
- - - -
Dear Santa,
Everyone says you don’t exist, but I believe in you. We share many a talent, my jolly friend: I, too, am a merry wanderer of the night, and sometime fit I into tiny spaces to break into people’s homes. I don’t leave gifts (unless you count that turd I left in Mistress Quickly’s ale pot Monday last). I can steal most of the stuff I desire, but I need you, O round sprite of the night, to gather me these two things:
— An Indian boy (Not for me, it’s a present for my boss. Must be authentic, and not a cheap Chinese knock-off.)
— A meeting with a TV executive. I have a rollicking idea for a show: “2 1/2 Pucks.” It’s about me, Wolfgang Puck, and that elfin young man from Real World: San Francisco. We would all live together in a loft in the Meat Packing District. Hilarity ensues.
In return for these gifts, I will happily humiliate your wife (if that type of thing amuseth you).
— Puck
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See the rest here: http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2009/12/17bicks.html
