A Letter from Santa Clause…

Dear Sock Puppet Staff:

How are you all doing, these days? I am fine. Aside from all the horrors I endure, everyday. And the voices (which are getting louder, by the way) that scream at me to murder the entire Flinstone family. Which is weird, I know, because the Flinstone’s are cartoons. Right? Oh God, I don’t even know anymore….

Anyway, my life is basically shit. But that’s not really new. Ever since I took this fucking job, each year has gotten worse and worse. The worst part of the whole thing is that the only reason I got this job was because I gave the head of the elf union (I think his name was Martin…) a blowjob. He’s since died of multiple axe wounds to the head. Sometimes I wake up crying, I miss him so much. And then I remember I’m the one who killed him and I sit there in bed laughing. Then I usually pass out.

I’d like to thank all of you for sending me all of those letters of support while I was in jail for that thing that we won’t ever talk about ever again because if you bring it up I will fucking snap and kill all of you with sharpened reindeer bones. It meant a lot to me to know that I had friends on the outside. I never actually got to read the letters, incidentally. Because of the nature of my crime, I wasn’t allowed to hold sharp objects or paper. However, the guard who read them to me had a nice accent. Actually, he was Swiss and I couldn’t understand a fucking word he said. I hate him with the passion of a million exploding suns.

I also received all of your Christmas lists this year. I have sad news for all of you. Due to budget cuts, and the fact that I’m a horrible person, I simply can’t make any of it happen. I’m not sure why all of you all wanted the same thing, anyway. That was creepy, if you ask me. What in the name of fucking God do you guys really need that many donkeys for anyway? Please don’t answer that last question. I accidentally fed all of my medication to my goldfish and I wouldn’t be able to deal with your response.

I have to go now. My wife is loading a shotgun and I really should either try and stop her or hide somewhere. She’s now walking through the toy shop, calling my name. I’m going to go bury myself in a snow bank. Enjoy Cinco de Mayo. All for now.

-Santa Clause


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