Dear Mary and Noel
You guys think you are so fucking smart, don’t you?
You think you’ve got the whole Christmas thing nailed and that you can just sit back and roll hand-grenades into traditions that have kept civilised society together for hundreds of years.
So far I’ve watched you take aim at the tree, the crackers, the mistletoe, the yule log, the decorations, the cards, the newsletters, the advent calendars, the gifts, the parties, the meat, the vegetables, the stockings and even the bloody panettones.
Pretty much everything and we aren’t even half way through December.
Yes, you smug pricks think you can take your University educations and parlay that into a few cheap laughs at the expense of everyone who loves a bit of Christmas. Well screw you. Some of us didn’t go to University – not even Santa Claus University – but just work hard all goddamned year to keep this thing afloat.
I’ve read your scathing (and completely ignorant) remarks about how I do one night of work a year.
Surely, surely to sugar-plums even you smarmy fucking elite left-winger do-gooders have more sense than to think that I just climb into the sleigh and head off?
It’s not Qantas Valet Parking you idiots.
Up at the North Pole – and no, it isn’t the magnetic north pole, we have more romanticism in our souls than that, the North Pole you’ll find us at can’t be found by just any dickhead with a compass – we are a team. Me, the missus, and a battalion of elves work hard to get ready for Christmas. We take no days off, we don’t get paid and we don’t even stop for a cake and an awkward workplace rendition of Happy Birthday on our birthdays.
And you know what day we start work on next Christmas up at the North Pole?
You dipshits have got Boxing Day listed on your website as some form of relaxation day, the finish line for something that you’re setting up as being an exhausting marathon that you need to endure from about October.
Well maybe that’s right for you, but some of us have to work – and work hard year round – for a living.
Oh and thanks for the remarks about my weight. Really nice.
So given you know everything, how about you try to answer a couple of letters that come my way for a goddamn change?
See how easy it is.
You remember when Carol Brady lost her voice and all Cindy wanted was for it to return in time for Carol to sing in the church choir on Christmas Eve? I’m sure you joined the rest of the imbeciles in feeling sorry for Cindy that she was asking for something that Santa – if Santa existed – would be unable to deliver, right?
Well, Mary and Noel, I did deliver, and that’s one of the easy ones.
Prepare yourselves. And maybe try not to be dickheads to the actual children when you reply, hey? That too much to ask?
Prepare to have your smart-arsery blow up in your faces.
PS Go fuck yourselves