Hey, hey, hey, Mr. Claus, its Bill Cosby!
So, in lieu of my usual Christmas sweater (trust me, I have enough) and powdered-Rohypnol requests, Im afraid Im gonna have to respectfully ask you for a bit more of a favor this year. You see, unless you live in the North Pole or something, youve probably heard that everyone thinks Im some kind of creepy rapist. Look, just because a guy likes to have sex with unconscious women doesnt mean hes up to no good. Id really like to get the truth out there, but Rolling Stone already said theyre not interested in an exclusive, so I come to you out of desperation.
The Nick at Nite residuals are gonna dry up soon, and sales of Ghost Dad arent what they used to be, so I started thinking I needed a miracle to resuscitate my career. And then it hit me: A miracle is exactly what I need! So I need to know if you still have that guy Fred Gaileys contact info. You know the guy—the one that helped you get out of Bellevue when everyone thought you were some crazy drunk in Miracle on 34th Street? If that guy can convince a judge that some bearded geezer is, in fact, Santa Claus, then surely he can also convince a judge that Im not some sociopathic somnophiliac with serious dominance issues. Seriously, daddio, I need a legal team that would make O.J. scream, Zip zop zoobity bop.
Ill expect some business cards in my stocking. The peppermint pudding pops will be in the freezer.
So, Im totally asking for a friend, because, ya know, only total pussies believe in Santa. And Im not a pussy. Go ahead, punch me. No seriously, punch me! Cant hurt steel, ya know what Im saying? Anyway, can you do that Jedi Mind Trick thing? Except, you know, instead of the whole These arent the droids youre looking for nerd alert, maybe, and Im just spitballin here, something like, oh, I dont know, SHE FELL DOWN THE STAIRS on an elevator. Women, so clumsy, right? I mean whooooo. Right?
Roger The Hammer Goodell
P.S. Youre looking ripped. No, really. Maybe we can work out together sometime. I mean, can I change my request to two tickets to the gun show? Psssssstttt. Im totally fucking with you. But seriously though, youre looking good.
This is totally embarrassing but I enrolled my son into an Anti-Vax school and now he has picked up polio, yellow fever, smallpox, whooping cough, measles, lockjaw and scurvy. So, yeah. My bad. What Id like for Christmas is the number to the nearest Rite-Aid. Do you have that handy? And maybe send a fruit basket to the Centers for Disease Control.
I have to tell you, being the biggest musician in San Diego (your loss, Jewel!) has been great. La doo da doo day ba. And getting a Jason Mraz Day this year was sweedle-dee-dee. But why stop there? How bout next year we get a Jason Mraz Week? Fa da da day. Or Jason Mraz Month? Shoop de doop de doop. Or how about temporarily changing San Diego County to Jason Mraz County? Mah na mah na. I think together we can make this zip a zwee dow even more ba da ba doo. You feel me?
ENTERED INTO EVIDENCE—UNITED STATES v. JOSE SUSUMO AZANO MATSURA
Letter, postmarked Dec. 10, 2012
You know me. You never need to get me anything. If I want a Lotus, Ill buy myself a Lotus. If I want a Bvlgari watch, Ill buy myself a Bvlgari watch. If I want a district attorney, Ill—.
Ah. Actually, there is one way you can help me. All I really want for Christmas is to see that good, strong leadership in law enforcement is rewarded in San Diego County. One problem, Santa. In the United States, you arent allowed to show your gratitude to police and prosecutors like you are in Mexico. This is very sad, especially for Bonnie Dumanis, District Attorney for San Diego County, who deserves so much of our appreciation.
Heres what youre going to do: Youve got your nice list and your naughty list, and now you have your Susumo list, which I have enclosed. All of the names have two things in common: Each are going to show up on Bonnies campaign-donation reports and, in recognition of being such good, generous little boys and girls, Santa Claus is going to leave each one of them an extra $500 Amazon gift card.
Youll also find in this envelope a small token of Christmas cheer from me to you. Just to be clear, this check for $200,000 is totally unrelated to the $200,000 you are spending on those gift cards.
Can you also send Bonnies staff a fruit basket? That one you can attach my name to.
I should probably warn you that Ive written this letter in blood. Boo! Remember me!!?? J/K. LMAO. I totally had you all, like, Whuuuuuutttt? No, but really, Im a totally deadly and highly contagious disease still devastating real-life people. You should probably send some gloves or moist towelettes or something to, like, Liberia. Just sayin.
For Christmas, we want:
Mega Bloks. Most people prefer Legos, but we feel that Mega Bloks have a cleaner, streamlined design, and theyre definitely not as complicated.
A DVD copy of Mac & Me. Most people like E.T., but were different.
The new Interpol CD. Because theyre way better than Joy Division.
A case of Mr. Pibb.
The developers of Ello
Its been a long time since I wrote you, but I really need your help. I need to know that youre real.
I know that you know youre real. And I know that I know Im real. But how can I know what you know unless I know what you know about yourself?
I know this sounds like a weird request, but everything I thought I knew seems so unknowable now.
I thought I knew Todd Bosnich and Justin Harper and Alison Rentschler, but knowing what I know now, I dont know if they are who they say they are. I think the three of them might be six or nine or 12—at least two, if not three of each person, but maybe four.
If you could send me a few locks of your hair along with some signature samples and maybe a certified birth certificate, we should be able to clear this whole thing up.
I know Im asking a lot, but I dont know who else to turn to when everything seems so unknowable.
Hugs and Cookies,
AMBER ALERT for Iqaluit, Canada, and surrounding areas. Approximately twodozen bewildered children wearing pajamas were abducted last night by a uniformed man calling himself The Conductor whom eyewitnesses described as looking sort of like Tom Hanks—but with a 70s porn mustache. The man and the children were last seen headed north on a Pere Marquette 1225 steam locomotive.
Hey, Mr. One-Man Max Capacity,
Were hoping you can put us in touch with an agent or a Kardashian or the TMZ folks or something. We had a huge year, a lotta high-profile appearances (Ray and Janaye, Solange and Jay-Z, etc.), and what did we get out of it? Nada, my friend. If this is our time to shine, we wanna get paid, know what I mean? Hey, were equal opportunity voyeurs: Joel Osteen taking hookers up to his hotel room; the Koch brothers popping Mollies with Ted Cruz; like, 10,000 hours of people picking their noses; Bill and Melinda Gates having raunchy, awkward nerd sex—whatever you want, we got it.
Elevator Cameras of America
Ill skip over my usual war on Christmas and Super Bowl tirades and get right into what Ill be needing this year.
1) I need a gosh darn center thats worth a dang! All of mine are made of glass like that Samuel L. Jackson guy in Unbreakable. I love M. Night Shyamalan.
2) A running back thats worth a gee whiz. Between Ryan, Brandan, Donald and that scrub Danny, youd think one of these guys would be able to take a little pressure off me, but noooooooo. Theyre not big and tough like me. I told Danny that if he just accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, Jesus would fix that broken fibula faster than he turned water into wine, but Danny just told me, Uh, gee, Phil, I dont think it works that way. Hogwash!
3) I need you to get the Pope to stop saying things like its OK to be gay. Love and marriage is between a man and a woman (or in Shawne Merrimans case, a lot of women) and is good for one thing and one thing only: Having more kids than those frickin showoffs, the Duggars. Heavens to Betsy!!
4) And shoot, Claus, I sure would like some sweet new bolo ties. Kirk Cameron hit me up today and he told me were gonna hit up some sweeeeeeet L.A. parties when Im playing there next year. By golly, Im finally gonna be a star and get the recognition I deserve.
Your friend in Christ,
Great seeing you last summer in Vegas at the annual Village Council President Association retreat (your talk on Sexy Sleigh Rides still inspires me!). Unfortunately, I wont be attending this year. As you predicted based on your Naughty List, Sherri Lightner and her new Republican BFFAYs (Best Friends For A Year) scrooged me big-time. One minute Im a no brainer pick; the next, reindeer road apples! As a result, please disregard my previous Wish List request for a new gavel engraved with To Threepeat is Keen in 2015! Go ahead and change that to Pound This! Ill be regifting it to a certain someone.
Watch your back!
Councilmember Todd Gloria
Given that youll already be circling the globe in the wee hours with improbable stealth and speed, Id appreciate it if you can spend a couple extra seconds discreetly switching out fuel lines in a few Chevys, Buicks and Cadillacs (see attached list of 375,000 specific addresses). You see, we cant really afford another recall, and nobody wants to ruin Timmys Christmas just because he and his family might randomly be engulfed in a fiery inferno when their vehicle goes above 35 mph. OMG, right?
Ive thrown in a Mrs. Fields gift card and a 2007 Buick LeSabre to sweeten the deal.
Mary Barra, CEO, General Motors
Hey Santa Schmuck,
Consider this a goddamn warning: If you continue with the fucking handouts, we at the San Diego Regional Chamber of Commerce will be forced to pursue all legal avenues to stop your unbridled, bullshit ability to bring cheer. Youve seen our track record: Bah! to Barrio Logan and the minimum-wage hike! Humbug! to the housing linkage fee! Do yourself a favor—retire, take a cush $300K-a-year job on top of your pension like me and dump the fucking cookies-and-milk crap! At the very least, demand a fucking Stone IPA for the trouble of shimmying down a bullshit chimney. By the way, your elves are shitty signature gatherers—way too honest! Send more beer—chilled this time, you son of a bitch!
Jaden Smith has invited Willow Smith to chat. Add another person.
Willow: Whats up, bro?
Jaden: Getting ready to tell Santa what I want on Gchat.
Willow: You should write it. Ive been writing them in novel form since I was in the womb. And then I re-read them.
Jaden: I thought Claus would appreciate something a little more current. What are letters if not just patterns of letters spread out on a page like an expanding universe.
Jaden has invited Kris Kringle to chat. This is now a group chat. Add another person.
Kris Kringle has joined.
Willow: Santa, I truly hope were not on the naughty list this year.
Jaden: I mean, what does it even mean to be naughty? Think of the duality of it: naughty and nice. Yin and yang. Subject and object. You cant have one without the other.
Willow: I havent been naughty. I dont even know what that means to be. If Im to believe Rousseau and the law of conservation of mass, all of us are nice on a metalogical level.
Jaden: Yes, think of all the people weve inspired with our music. Surely thats nice. All our dad ever did was Parents Just Dont Understand and that Jiggy song. Its all so pedestrian and imprecise.
Willow: Thats because he wasnt at one with himself. He was infatuated with the bright lights of stardom, when all that really is or was is a holographic reality that a higher consciousness created out of its own expelled id.
Jaden: Is that what youre all about, Santa? Someone trying to cleanse their subconscious of all its naughtiness? And they forced this ethos onto the worlds children to keep them from following a truly self-actualized path.
Willow: Im going to write a book about it. It will be about how people should write letters to Krampus, the Christmas goatman. The one who steals misbehaving German children. Like so many, he is just misunderstood and just needs to meditate.
Jaden: Yes, we should hit up Krampus instead of Santa. Ask him to kidnap our parents so that we may be unburdened by the fallacies of stardom and finally be uplifted to a higher state of being.
Willow: Cool. Bye, Santa. Punk bitch.
Willow and Jaden have left this chat.
Hey, you big fat permafrost parasite,
This is your Mommy talking. SO LISTEN UP!! You like blue balls? You do, dont you? You big, jolly, subservient piece of Tollhouse dough. Ill give you the bluest balls ever. You really, really want to let it go, doncha? Well, Im going to frostbite your nipples and make you so hard youre going to need an ice pick and crampons to climax, you dirty yellow snowdrift. Olaf is the cuckold this year and, I gotta warn you, hes been watching Hostel, like, non-stop for months.
Queen Elsa of Arendelle
P.S. Same time, same place on the North Mountain. Safe word is carrot.
What I want for Christmas is—wait, whats that? No, I dont want any pretzels, especially not any salty chips, but thanks for offering. Now, what was I saying? On my list is—well, yeah, no, I agree with you that my beaches are dope, but thats not relevant to what Im saying. What I mean is—dude, Im the first to admit that these politicians are fucked-up but I just want—yeah, totes in agreement that that person who takes long showers is a little annoying but, BRO, QUIT INTERRUPTING ME! I JUST WANT A GODDAMN GLASS OF WATER!
The State of California
Hows bout I give you gift. A photo of me, shirtless, on a horse. Real man. That is what I am talking about.
Also, 500 crates of Levis blue jeans.
You have no idea how hard it is to be me. People think Im just sitting around in a box all day, kicking back, and then, boom! Suddenly Im perched on that guys dome, sitting pretty for the cameras. Noooooo. Theres a lot more to it than that. Im dusted off at 5 a.m. every day. I go to the dry cleaners three times a week just to maintain my resilient, cotton-y brown glow. Im always checking Twitter and Facebook. Im at all the sound checks. I even pitched a blog to Entertainment Weekly because, obviously, Ive had a cranial-eye view to some of the biggest industry happenings.
I have thoughts about the contestants on The Voice, too, ya know. I could totally be a judge on that show. But nobody ever wants to know what I think. To them Im just a hat sitting on Pharrells head.
Well, thats not fair. Santa, this year I want to be respected for me. Im sick of all the Smokey the Bear jokes. I dont want to be defined by the man to whom Im constantly attached. I mean, come on, Im too proportionally large for Pharrells head anyway! You know Im a singer, right? Nobody can hear me, but its not because Im an inanimate object—its because theyre not listening. I need a bigger stage. I need a record deal. With a major label. And a budget for touring and marketing.
Just give me a chance, Santa. Please. I need this.
We would absolutely love more drone strikes from Western forces. Its like dates-and-honey cake for the recruiting cause. Do you know how many innocent civilians get blown to Allah every time the U.S. drops a bomb on the Middle East? We were watching Democracy Now the other day, and they totally cited a report that said that for every intended target, drone strikes kill, like, 28 other random people. Come on, big guy, make it rain.
Hey big guy [drip, drip], think you could bring me a towel? [Drip, drip, drip] Appreciate it. [Drip, drip]
Kim Kardashians Butt
Date: Wed, 17 Dec 2013 16:23:17 -0800?
Subject: Treat yourself to the new you
Reminder: Stow one of those FitBits away. Whos going to miss it? Plus, youre totally going to do it this year! If you believe it, you can achieve it!
Sent from my iPhone