Dear Old Saint Nick,
What gives? Every year all I get for Christmas is a screaming wife, and a bunch of gift cards to restaurants I don't like. Olive Garden? Get real. If I want mushy pasta, I can open a can of Chef Boyardee. Anyway, I know you're not a saint anymore, so let's all drop the naughty and nice crap, huh? I really do try to be a good guy. I know I don't give money to bums at the freeway exits, but I did give one who was standing in the rain an umbrella and the sonuvagun tossed it down by the road and kept panhandling. But on the other hand I give $20s to the guys with the firemens boots at the stoplights and the same to the people at the pet store trying give away stray cats for $85. Anyway, I hadn't writ you a letter since since I was about 7 so it's overdue. All I want for Christmas is to be able to say "Happy Holidays" without some jackass trying to lecture me on the non-existent war on Christmas. I also want to be 22 again. OK 30. Just as long as it was before I got married. And more pics this year in Women of Foo. I'd like that. Lastly I'd like to be over the cold. A month is long enough. I'm really tired of coughing.
Cheer's and Happy Holidays,
P.S. Make my wife STFU if you can't do the making me younger thing.