I am writing this letter to thank you for the wonderful gifts you left under the tree for me last Christmas. It never ceases to amaze me how year after year you bring everything on my wish list.
The Happy Feet Penguin socks, Spiderman underwear and the fake arrow-through-the-head prop were certainly well used in 2012! “365 Rutabaga Recipes for Every Day of the Year” has a permanent home on my coffee table — primarily because it’s glued on with spilled root beer — but by gosh, we tried every recipe!
This year, I’d like a puppy, not one of those incontinent, yappy little lap dogs named Bubbles, but something more in the line of a Malamute-timber wolf cross-breed named Fang that will bite off the head of anyone who moves too quickly, especially Mayans.
Now that brings up a touchy subject, Santa. I know it’s said to be unwise to give pets as Christmas gifts, especially if they’re wrapped up in a box several days ahead of time, but this year the darn party-pooping Mayans have prophesized that Fang and I won’t even be around on the 25th. Do you have any pull in these situations? You’re a saint, right? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Saint Pacal Voltan.
You and your elves must outsmart them, St. Nic. Right now I think their technical skills are superior to ours. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were watching us at this very moment on their own My-pods, mocking us for our bulky cell phones and our passion for being liked on Facebook. They could be injecting viruses into cyberspace, poisoning our antiquated and crude technology.
People like Steve Jobs probably couldn’t land one in their world. Nostradamus, on the other hand, might have made a pretty good odds-maker for bai-jali games.
Maybe, in like, the 10 next minutes, you guys could come up with a super-duper smart phone and drop one down every chimney in the world. I realize you need time to drink a billion glasses of room-temperature milk and consume 2 billion cookies (or baklava, depending on what side of the world you’re visiting), but we need Christmas to come early this year.
Just imagine what could happen if we used those snappy new smart phones to mass-text “Your shoes are untied” or “There’s a wad of toilet paper caught in your zipper” to all the Mayans headed to the north woods to fulfill their prophecy, or maybe just go ice fishing. They would all become distracted and swerve into the ditch, thus missing their deadline and sending Armageddon into overtime.
Hey, it’s all we’ve got left, people! Anyone have any better ideas?
On second thought, Santa, maybe the gift of a Mayan-eating pet isn’t such a good idea after all. How about we just stick to a new pair of slippers and a big jar of jelly beans and call it a year.