Humor:

A letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,
I don't ask for much. As you know, I haven't asked anything from you since I was 11.

I have been extra good over the past 12 months and, despite what my friends say, I still believe in you. I really do.

I also know you are very, very busy right now trying to meet the requests of boys and girls from all over the world so I will be as brief as possible.

I hope you remember me, Santa?
I used to live in Ronneby Road, Newnham, in Tasmania but I want you to know that I had very little to do with putting that bucket of porridge in a big pot at the bottom of the chimney.
I guess you have dried out now because that was Christmas Eve 1964. You had probably forgotten all about it, right?

I am a grown-up now.
You probably don't get many letters from 42-year-olds.
But our son Jack, 4, is terribly excited about Christmas and I guess I am writing on his behalf.
Christmas ought to be a very special time for a little boy, eh?

You owe me, Santa. It's time to call in the Christmas spirit, goodwill and all the years I didn't ask you for anything.

Here is my list:

Please don't bring Jack any musical instruments this year. Last year he got a drum, a recorder, a harmonica, a toy parrot that whistled, and a set of cymbals. I got a BIG headache.
Please don't bring Jack a bike. He got a bike for his birthday and if he gets another one he will insist that I join it together to make a tandem. He will insist on this even though I don't have access to a welder.
Please don't bring me a welding mask for Christmas.
Please bring my wife Katherine something special. A nice pair of pink plastic washing-up gloves, perhaps.
Please don't bring Jack too many lollies, unless, of course you bring him chits entitling him to as many free dental appointments.
Please don't bring Jack Pokemon cards. He is at an impressionable age and doesn't know exactly what they are. I don't either and I want to keep it that way.
Please don't bring him Power Rangers. He knows about Power Rangers because some of his little friends have them. If he has them here he will never have an incentive to leave home to visit their houses to see their Power Rangers, and I might never be able to get rid of my BIG headache.
Please don't bring Jack mountaineering equipment. So far, I have pleaded ignorance about Power Rangers and told him the only Power Ranges I knew were mountains east of Canberra. I am quite sure that if you bring him ropes and climbing boots, he will insist that I take him there.
Second thoughts, please bring him the Pokemon cards rather than the mountaineering gear. I will tell him they are for playing Solitaire. If he has inherited my intelligence, he won't suspect otherwise until he is 26.
Finally, please don't flirt with my wife under the mistletoe this year. I know what effect pink plastic washing-up gloves have on a woman, but face it: a fat man with porridge-soaked trousers hasn't got much of a chance against a Solitaire-playing swashbuckler like me. Unless, of course, I still have a headache.

©November 23, 2000 John Martin. All Rights Reserved
Down Under, But Not Out
http://johnmartin.actweb.net

Resignation letter from Santa
Dear boys and girls,
I know this is very short notice, but I wish to tender my resignation.
This is not a decision I have taken lightly.
But I feel you have given me no alternative.

Santa Claus contemplates his navel
"Now tell me," said the psychiatrist after settling his patient down on the couch, "How long have you thought you were really Santa Claus?"
"Santa Claus? My name is George!" snapped the man. "What makes you think I think I am Santa Claus?"

Poles apart: Santa goes somewhere different after all his work is done
Santa Claus could hardly believe his eyes.
He had been looking forward to his vacation in the tropics for so long, it was like a dream.
He stood on the tarmac in his colourful board shorts, T-shirt and floppy hat and surveyed his new surroundings.

NB: I called this site Dunno because I kept drawing a blank when I had to put a name to it