My Fellow Inebriates,
I was still recovering from my parents’ insensitive revelation that Santa’s been pretend all along, when my friend Scarybear went all apeshit at me on FB.
I had thought that too, especially about my parents, who are always chasing clients for payment, saying the sky is falling and that we’ll be on bread and water soon.
But it’s hard not to compile evidence now that the belief bubble’s been popped:
We have no chimney. How does he get into our house without doing a B&E?
Santa’s everywhere. Lots of them are fake. Maybe all of them are fake.
Why do my parents get sneaky and secretive just before Christmas?
This is a honking big planet. How does Santa do it all in one night?
I think Scary would be a good fit for the Tea Party. He’d probably be a good Flat Earth guy, too, if Star Trek hadn’t won him over already. His suspension of disbelief transcends any and all inconvenient information, leaving him free to believe whatever the hell he wants, and, just like all good believers, he knows it’s unquestioning faith that anchors the whole thing.
But what if he’s right? What if Santa’s for real and I’m going to miss the boat with my cynical questioning? OMG.
Okay, well, if I’ve messed everything up with Santa, there’s still another guy…and he comes tomorrow. YEAH!! Hanukkah Harry!…
Dear Hanukkah Harry,
I have a bad feeling I’ve been blacklisted by Santa, so I’m wondering if it’s too late to become Jewish. I’ve heard there are a few hoops to jump through, but maybe I can do them after New Year when I have more reading time.
I hear you visit for eight days rather than one, Harry, which makes me wish I’d known about you sooner. I’m really sorry I’m not Jewish yet, but if you don’t mind my waiting until next year to contact a rabbi, here are some little requests:
- Day One: Smirnoff vodka
- Day Two: Macadamia nut liqueur
- Day Three: California Cult Classics Chardonnay
- Day Four: Case of Cariboo
- Day Five: Chairman’s Reserve Spiced Rum
- Day Six: Blue Curacao
- Day Seven: Bacardi 151
- Day Eight: Jagermeister
Lastly, if you know Santa, please don’t tell him I asked for all this stuff because I don’t want him to think I’m hedging my bets. Which I’m totally not—I asked for different booze from you—so it’s all good, right?
Cheers, Harry, and thanks for reading my last-minute letter. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you before. Sometimes my parents keep valuable information from me.