It's hot, folks. Stinky hot. So I decided to post a reminder of the impending winter, and the absurd holiday called, "Christmas" that goes with it. Draw it mild.
Dear Santa,
I haven't been a good boy this year. It's difficult to admit that to you, but you must be aware of that anyway. That I'm certifiably insane should not be used as an excuse, but it might go a long way towards an explanation.
They say that you are jolly, which is good. I've been jolly a few times, and I remember it fondly. I'm asking that you look past the shoplifting, consumption of illegal substances, and creative financing and find it in your heart to give me things. I want to be rewarded for the time I gave a young woman a dollar so she could get on the #87 bus to Davis Square. And for buying "Spare Change" even though I didn't want it. There is also the time, I think it was in July, when I didn't laugh at the guy for walking into the door at Someday Cafe. These acts will hopefully help you to forgive my theft of that "Bush/Cheney" sign, and for masturbating every day since I was nine.
Provided that you decide to bring me goodies, I thought I'd let you know that I want only one thing: A couple of pounds of fine marijuana from British Columbia. I know you can get it. Nobody is that jolly without a little help. So please take me off the "Naughty" list.
If not, you can go fuck yourself.
Peace,
Darren W. Lyle
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