It’s that time of year again. The Christmas season. Time to go sit on some pervy Santa’s lap and ask him for random stuff.
Papa Christmas. Is it just me, or does that sound dirty?
Ah, who the hell cares? I’m already sitting on his lap at this point. No turning back now.
So, Santa, let me get all nestled in here. Why is it so comfy? This is more than a little disturbing.
Anyway, listen up, Père Noël. Here is what I want — nay, NEED — this Christmas:
- MOJO. I lost it somewhere in London, and I need to get it back. Help me before I take myself to a nunnery. (Ms. Rock Chick in London, Ms. London Mojo)
- MATCHING UNDERWEAR SETS. As racy and frilly as they come. Why? A girl’s got to be able to compete on this lacy Parisian scene. Besides, Santa, I know that you enjoy picking out lingerie, you pervy cad, you. (Ms. Victoria’s Secret Angel)
- MORE PANTS. I tend to lose them when I drink. And not in a good way. (Ms. One Night Stand)
- GAME. I’ve never had it. I’m about as smooth as sandpaper. On second thought, sandpaper is MUCH smoother than me. (Ms. Boston Man-shopper, Ms. Mac Lover)
- And last, but not least, please send me JUSTIN LONG for Christmas. Please wrap him up in a snuggly sweater. No need to tie him up with ribbon. I’ve got plenty of ribbon and accoutrements at my place.
Please deliver all gifts to the family compound in California, and I will arrange for transport back to Paris. My stocking is the one with the obese snowman on. Do NOT, under any circumstances, give Justin Long to either of my sisters. As God is my witness, I will hunt you down and beat you with a stocking full of fruitcake-shaped rocks.
That is all.
Wait, why am I still on your lap?