Dear Santa

How are you up there in all that snow and cold weather surrounded by elves who you have to employ under the North Pole’s Affirmative Action Program, regardless of what Randy Newman thinks about short people?

But now I remember you too are occasionally listed as an elf. A very fat, very tall elf, so I guess it could be nepotism instead of Affirmative Action. I hope President-elect Osama (that is not a typo) doesn’t hear about this. If he does, he’ll create an affirmative action plan and force you to hire dwarves and gnomes too.

Anyway, I figured since you are now considerably older than I am, your arthritis must really be kicking. I know these days when I sit on a deer stand and it’s 30 degrees outside, my fingers feel like they are roasting in a fire and my knee burns so bad I’m afraid it will set fire to my long johns. But maybe elves don’t get arthritis.

This is supposed to be my Letter to Santa wish list. Before I get into that, let’s get some stuff clear right now. I realize you have a list and have checked it twice to see who has been good and who has been a lawyer – I mean bad. 

I know which list I better be on. I have been good, very good. So good, in fact, both the Damnocrats and Reboobicans nominated me for their Georgian of the Year list. Why I don’t know since I despise both of ’em equally. Surely that also racks up a lot of points in the good column for me.

On the bad side, I regret to remind to you that I did associate with some known politicians. In my defense, as a newspaper editor I occasionally have to talk to people running for office and in office. I promise I wore gloves each time and went through a Stage IV decontamination when they left. The doctor says the skin on my back will grow back before the next election.

As for my Christmas list, I would like a sleigh full of assault rifles and ammo which I plan to sell at a ridiculous markup after the President gets Congress to ban them. I’d like a new toolbox and set of wrenches, sockets & other stuff to replace the one that was stolen when my truck was at the shop being worked on.

I’d like some way to turn off, permanently, the “call-waiting” feature on my cell phone. I’d also appreciate knowing why 5 people have to call me at the same time. Really. I go days without a call and all of a sudden, I’m the most important person on the planet.

Please deliver Reba McEntire this year. I’ve only been asking for her for the past 30 years now. 

Tell you what, bring me Reba and you can forget the sack-load of AK-47s and the tools and the whole cell stuff stuff. I’ll be too nervous to use any of it anyway.

Now for the other side of this equation. 

You, well, I checked my list too, you see. This year you come out just barely ahead on the good list. Yes, really. That incident last year with Cathy’s rum balls, the pile of lighter knots in the fire place, the egg nog and Larry “Hawgin'” Fishbreath’s 3-In-1 flame thrower, marshmallow roaster and nostril hair remover, well… the Fire Chief still can’t figure out what happened, but you and I know better, don’t we?

Still, you managed to pull yourself out of the hole with the neat stuff you left. The kids’ momma felt the Realistic Reindeer Poop With Lifelike Aroma That Sticks To Your Hands was a bit much, but the kids and I absolutely loved it.

You better be good between now and Christmas or you could slip onto the bad list. You know what happens if you get on the bad list, right? I report you to the Maternal Order of Irate Mothers In Law and I climb the pecan tree next to the house with my deer rifle.

Rudolph is a deer, after all.