A Childhood Fairytale: Letters to Santa

Dear Santa,

Or, you know, if that's even your name anymore. My name is Mello and I'd like to ever-so nicely point out several things about your performance that troubled me this year. I'm well aware that it's the twenty-seventh, three days after the actual time I'm supposed to be sending this letter to you, but that's only because Matt kept me busy with his video-games and post-candycane hyperness.

Anyway, we're straying off my point here. The first thing I'd like to address is your atrocious behavior at the mall. Now that I think about it, you might have been just some old man in a Santa suit. No matter; this is for whoever was actually seated on the dais.

You might remember a kid named Matt. Auburn hair, red and white stripes, weird goggles? The one who bounced around in your lap as he rattled off the titles of the games that he wanted for Christmas? Yeah, that kid. Did you know that after he hopped off your lap and trotted back to me(yes, trotted, because Matt's my puppy dammit, he's mine, mine, mine and don't think I will hesitate to beat you up if I see you trying to win the sweet kid over with your fat tummy and old-man-jollyness), he whispered conspirationally, "Mello, I think Santa's drunk."

And when I asked what he meant, he just pointed to a part of a green bottle sticking out discreetly from one of your oversized pockets.

(Which brings me to a little off-side topic: oversized pockets? Really?)

You have no idea how much I wanted to rip your face in half at that moment. Not only did you probably secretly perv on Matt while he squirmed in your lap(pedo!), but you also gave him a bad impression of the universal image of Christmas! Next year he's probably going to ask me if we should put out beer instead of milk and cookies for you. (Which we're not doing, by the way. Go buy your own booze.)

Where was I? Right. "How do you even know how to tell if someone is drunk?" I'd asked him.

And he'd shrugged. "Kermit told me," he said simply, pointing to the Muppet-obsessed kid in line to see Santa. The fellow orphan caught me staring and glared, then caught Matt staring and winked. (Fuck off, he's mine and he doesn't want to be your Miss Piggy!)

Anyway, let's move on before I antagonize myself even more by stirring these memories. While I'm only nine, I'm a genius, mind you. I also have excellent memory. That fact brings us to the next problem: the actual presents that you brought us.

First and most importantly, Matt's presents. Now, you might be thinking that I'm overly obsessed with this kid considering the numerable amount of times he's been mentioned, but I'm just voicing my concerns. He's an innocent kid, okay? And I really don't want him to end up like me, to be honest...

So, about his presents. Before I say anything else, I'm going to applaud you willingly for the fact that you got him every single game he asked for(and I remember some of them: Call of Duty, God of War, Final Fantasy, Tekken...). But I'd also like to berate you on one thing: how the fuck is he supposed to play them? You didn't get him any of the game systems that his games called for, so you know what I had to do? I had to use my allowance(which is a pretty large sum of money) to buy them all for him to save myself from the morose 'sad puppy' behavior that was surely to come.

I'm not saying I didn't like shopping for Matt. I love buying things for that kid. I just wanted to remind you of how troublesome it is for some nine-year-olds to carry three game systems by themselves all the way from the store back to the orphanage, which is a good half a mile away. (Jeez, the things I do for that kid...) Just putting it out there. I think I deserve some props for doing it the honest, arduous way rather than swishing around in some sleigh and trying not to get stuck in a chimney and die of asphyxiation.

Also, at this moment I'd like to give you some feedback on the presents that you got me...

DAMN IT SANTA I WANTED THE LOVELESS ANIME WITH ENGLISH SUBTITLES! THEY ALL SPEAK JAPANESE NOW AND I DON'T UNDERSTAND A FUCK ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE SAYING!

That is all.

Thank you for your time and while I have more hell prepared to unleash upon you, I can be nice, and it is only two days after Christmas, after all. I hope you learned some valuable lessons and do better next year.

I'll be watching.

Love,

Mello

P.S. Writing this letter made me realize how mean you are. I want to tell you that you won't be getting milk and cookies from neither Matt and I next year, but that'd make me sound really mean, too.

Whoops.

Too late.

Since I wrote something about Matt's letters to Santa, I thought, why shouldn't Mello write to him as well? o3o Sorry if this sounds too crackish. XD