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Tell Santa You’ve Been Good

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts Tags: creative writing exercises, creative writing prompts, writing prompt.

Last year, Santa didn’t bring you what you wanted for Christmas and you were left to assume it’s because you weren’t a good boy (or girl). Start building a case for getting that gift you want this year by making a list of your good deeds to date and what else you plan to do before December 25th.

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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26 Responses to Tell Santa You’ve Been Good

  1. Sara12SW says:

    I can still remember that time. It was, after all, only last year. Running down the stairs, eager to be the first of all my siblings, heading straight for the Christmas tree in the living room, standing tall and commanding. Taking out all the presents stuffed underneath and flipping through the labels. Jenny…Danny…Polly…
    But none for Sissy. What happened to me? What about me?
    I was left out of the joy that Christmas….Santa, tell me, how was I bad?

    The grave is fresh beneath my feet, the smell of sweet soil drifting up to my nose. I stand on her tombstone, on Jenny’s grave. I look up to the velvety sky, admiring the vivid stars that brilliantly show off their light.
    “What about this year, Santa?”
    But I already know that his answer will be a no, that there’s no point in asking. He’s watching me, shaking his head; I’m sure of it.
    Then I take an instrument out of my pocket. I hold it up to the sky. It’s a bloody knife, stained to the hilt. I hear Santa Claus’s gasp, even from so far away, and smile. I have a threat above him. “You love children, don’t you, Santa? Don’t you love giving them those delightful presents, feeling their thanks and feeling good about it? Yes, I did it, Santa. Out of jealousy, as Cain had done. But I won’t deny it. There’s two more left, and Mommy has another baby. You see, Santa,” smiling triumphantly, “there’s more than enough.”
    I throw the knife out into the grass and turn around, leaving Santa speechless. I leave the instrument as his souvenir. He won’t forget. I turn and walk away from my sister’s fresh body, beginning to rot underneath the ground. There will be more to follow; I am sure of it. Maybe later, I won’t have as good of an instrument. Yet I don’t feel a twinge of regret.
    There’s more than enough.

  2. Monet says:

    My dearest Santa Claus,

    Your lack of compassion and response to my Christmas wish these past few years astounds me. Two years ago I figured that there must have been a miscommunication-through which my letter ended up at “Santa Claus, North Pole 0H0H0H” rather than “Santa Claus, North Pole H0H0H0.” I addressed my letter carefully last year, but the present I wanted was not under the tree. Thus I decided my request had not been explicit enough. Perhaps you didn’t understand what I was asking for. So I outlined it in explicit, down to the minute detail for you with the hope that this would achieve better results. Nothing. Finally, after talking things over with my dog, I came to the awful conclusion: I have not been a good girl.

    In my defense, I think it would help many of us if you clarified your definition of the word “good.” I was perfectly good last year in that I did not kill anyone, steal, or double dip my potato chips. However, should your definition of a ‘good’ girl be what I suspect it might, then fine you got me. But I only fooled around with Myranda’s boyfriend twice-maybe three times-behind her back! Besides, we always put a sprig of mistletoe over our heads so we weren’t exactly doing anything wrong. And it’s not like I didn’t suffer too. . Gone was Myranda, my best friend. Gone was my kissing buddy. Although, to be perfectly honest, that wasn’t much of a loss. I never really liked Myranda anyway.

    Fair warning, there is no way you can say that I was ‘naughty’ this year. I got good grades, wore respectable clothing, and didn’t interfere with anymore relationships. Due to my near perfect obedience, I am going to ask you one last time: Please Santa, bring me a boyfriend.

    Thank you dearly,
    Lily

  3. Monet says:

    Dear Santa,

    Your lack of compassion and response to my Christmas wish these past few years astounds me. Two years ago I figured that there must have been a miscommunication-through which my letter ended up at “Santa Claus, North Pole 0H0 H0H” rather than “Santa Claus, North Pole H0H 0H0.” I addressed my letter carefully last year, but the present I wanted was not under the tree. Thus I decided my request had not been explicit enough. Perhaps you didn’t understand what I was asking for. So I outlined it in explicit, down to the minute detail for you with the hope that this would achieve better results. Nothing. Finally, after talking things over with my dog, I came to the awful conclusion: I have not been a good girl.

    In my defense, I think it would help many of us if you clarified your definition of the word “good.” I was perfectly good last year in that I did not kill anyone, steal, or double dip my potato chips. However, should your definition of a ‘good’ girl be what I suspect it might, then fine you got me. But I only fooled around with Myranda’s boyfriend twice-maybe three times-behind her back! Besides, we always put a sprig of mistletoe over our heads so we weren’t exactly doing anything wrong. And it’s not like I didn’t suffer too. . Gone was Myranda, my best friend. Gone was my kissing buddy. Although, to be perfectly honest, that wasn’t much of a loss. I never really liked Myranda anyway.

    Fair warning, there is no way you can say that I was ‘naughty’ this year. I got good grades, wore respectable clothing, and didn’t interfere with anymore relationships. Due to my near perfect obedience, I am going to ask you one last time: Please Santa, bring me a boyfriend.

    Thank you dearly,
    Lily

  4. MCKEVIN says:

    Well it looks like the posting problem has been fixed. Thumbs up everybody!!!!!!!!!

  5. assaultymcnulty says:

    Dear St. Nicholas,

    It took me quite a bit to get over the crushing reality that I didn’t get what I wanted for Christmas last year. I’ll have you know that it didn’t sit well and motivated me to evaluate the entire Christmas situation and what it means to me. After months of research and a significant amount of time finding myself and my purpose. I’ve come to the conclusion that our modern secular society has hijacked our Christian holiday in your name. I have also learned that to want a material gift is selfish. “Though shalt not want.” I heard God’s words clear my fickle mind. I have been enlightened to the reason and spirit of Christmas and it is Christ and while the notion of a chubby cheery character climbing down my chimney to shower me with gifts is a nice thought. Having a Lord God to accept me for who I am and love me unconditionally even after all I’ve done and failed to do is the greatest gift anyone could ask for. Rejoice and Merry Christmas to all :)

  6. faren451 says:

    Dear Santa,

    This year I created over two hundred thousand jobs, net. I created $500 million in added shareholder value. I increased corporate productivity by 250%–that was 50% better than the last year! Don’t you think that I finally deserve what I want for Christmas? I’ve believed in you for over thirty years, worked my butt off to make others believe, and never, ever have you given me a gift I asked for. Annually compounded gift-ness for all of your empty promises means that this year, you really owe me.

    I know you have a lot of requests at this time of year, but I think that my accomplishments set me above the crowd. What did little Timmy do to deserve being on your nice list, anyways? Did he single-handedly lift thousands out of poverty? Did he found the International Santa is Real Club of Northern California? If you were to do a cost-benefit analysis of me versus those snot-nosed little brats, I guarantee you that investing in my gift will be better for you. Giving Melissa that Barbie set will net you some cookies, but give me what I want and you can have anything your giant heart desires—the new Mercedes Sleigh-650; the slimming, wrinkle-free Silk Santa Suit from Armani; or a Rudolph-ready penthouse apartment off of Central Park.

    And to make it even easier for you, I set up my own 501(c)(3) non-profit organization. So you can count my gift as a tax deduction. Win-win, Santa! Win-win!

    I won’t beat around the bushes any longer. I think you know what I want. For someone of your stature, this is a simple request. Piece of cake, really. Santa, please, please give me back my hair.

    Charlie

  7. Emma says:

    Dear Santa,

    My friend Jimmy told me that you’re not real and that’s why you didn’t come to give me my present that I writ in my letter to you last year. My mummy told me it’s ‘cos you must have been busy with all the other little children you have to deliver to as well. My brother told me it was ‘cos I was naughty and that you don’t give presents to children that are naughty. My brother is always right, he’s 20 you know. I remembered too of that time I told my mummy I felt ill so that I didn’t have to go to school and so that I could play Game Boy with my brother. He told me to do it, but I did it so I was the naughty one. But this year I am going to prove to you Santa that I have done all good things so that you will come to see me in my sleep and leave me that super cool train set with the steam and the talking driver. I have been a good boy this year Santa. I helped my mummy every morning to make my breakfast; I put the milk in myself. For one whole year, I haven’t had to stay behind after class for throwing paper at my friend Jimmy. I don’t like Jimmy. I haven’t hid my mummy’s make-up this year, or locked the cat outside when it’s snowing. I helped my Nan with her shopping on Tuesday, she buys me lots of sweeties when I do. I’ve made you a special treat this year Santa, it’s in the fridge waiting for you. It’s my favourite sandwich, but it’s a surprise for you. I won’t tell you what I put in there. I’ve hidden it in the bottom drawer of mummy’s fridge where no one goes. It will stay there till you come to see me and I will give it to you. It’s the 1st of Christmas month so I am very prepared for your visit.
    Please Santa, I hope that you will give me a present this year (the super cool train set with the steam and the talking driver). I have been a good boy and I promise that I will never say that you don’t exist. Jimmy doesn’t believe in Santa because he’s the oldest brother and we all know that oldest brothers never get presents from Santa because the youngest is bestest. Mummy buys silly presents like socks and these big baggy pants for my brother. Boring! I never want to be an oldest brother.

    Love from,

    Tommy

  8. bjamison71 says:

    I fidgeted impatiently as I waited for my turn, and when the cherubic three-year old ahead of me finally shut her trap, I pounced into position on Santa’s lap.
    “Ho, ho—” Santa began.
    “Yeahyeahyeah,” I said breezily. “I know you’re busy, Santa, so I’ll get right down to business.”
    “Please do,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of my twenty-six year old hieney.
    “First, I think it goes without saying that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with my Christmas bounty last year…”
    “Oh?” Santa asked, his wooly eyebrows shooting skyward.
    “Seriously? You’re surprised?” I asked, incredulous. “You didn’t bring me one thing that I asked for! And what was the deal with that chunk of coal, anyhow? Dude, I heat with oil! But that was then, this is now. Sure, I was pretty ticked off at you for a while, and I might have said some not-so-nice things about you at my New Years’ Eve party, but that was mostly the champagne talking. I’m over it now, and I’m a changed woman!”
    “You don’t say,” Santa said dryly.
    “I am!” I insisted. “I haven’t said the F-word in three whole days, and yesterday I gave money to the homeless guy that lives behind my building!”
    Santa’s eyebrow twitched.
    “Fine, it was an empty wine bottle,” I begrudgingly admitted. “But those are worth fifteen cents at the redemption center! How about I promise to give him ALL of my empty wine bottles? He’d be rich!”
    Santa rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
    “Oh, crap!” I crowed. “I almost forgot to give you my list! THAT would have been a tragedy, huh?”
    Santa muttered something indiscernible. It sounded like he said that my birth was the real tragedy, but I’m sure I was mistaken.
    “You shouldn’t mumble like that,” I informed him. “It’s rude. But anyhow…”
    I pulled out my list and presented it to him with a flourish. All eighty-seven laminated pages were neatly typed in a 12-point font, cross-referenced according to size and brand name when necessary, and spiral bound for optimal viewing convenience.
    Santa gaped wide-eyed, unable to find words to express his amazement.
    “Fabulous, right?” I squealed. “It took me a while, but I finally figured out where I went wrong last year—it was the list! You’re not getting any younger, and that college-ruled notebook paper must be hell on those old eyes of yours! And I didn’t even specify sizes—duh! Hard to believe I was ever that selfish and inconsiderate, huh? But not anymore! From now on, all of my Christmas lists will be compiled with your special needs in mind!”
    Santa merely blinked, obviously speechless over my amazing transformation—a Christmas miracle if ever there was one!
    “It’s okay,” I said, placing my list on the bench. “Tons of loot beneath my tree is all the thanks I need!”
    With a wave and a smile, I skipped away, secure in the knowledge that this year, Christmas was in the bag!

  9. handyman43127 says:

    My dearest Santa.

    I would hope that you would bare in mind that a full year has past since we have last communicated with each other. My last letter to you seems to have gone unnoticed. I’m not sure, but could it have been that I made the naughty list last year? This is the only reason I can imagine since I did not receive what I had asked for.

    I want to get this letter out to you early this year to prove to you that I truly believe in you and that I have been doing my very best to make the nice list this season.

    Why just last Sunday I opened a door for a little person at the grocery store. His hands were full and although I was in a hurry I stopped and waited. For all I know he could have been one of your elves. Was he?
    I look for ways to be helpful to my fellow man, knowing that this is the way to make the good list, isn’t it? I have already erected my Christmas tree and decorated my home with reindeer. My home is more red than any other on the block with the thousands of lights I have strung.

    I plan from now until Christmas morning to throw all spare change I have into any red pot I see. I will not cut anyone off in traffic and will allow them to cut in front of me. I will be nice to the people at work and compliment my boss even though I hate him.

    I promise to do these things without fail until December 25th.

    The first class seats I asked for last year on the plane, I realize may have been a little over the top. I will settle for coach, but I do need a little cash. I can’t wait for the trip to the Philippines that you somehow forgot to provide me with last year. No hard feelings I understand.

    Please give my regards to Miss Clause and all the reindeer, especially the one with the red nose. Keep after those elves and I anxiously await your arrival.

    Yours truly William.

  10. epease says:

    Dear Mr. Claus,

    Last year there must have been some sort of misunderstanding. I did all in my power to “be good,” but Christmas morning nothing happened. I even gave you a couple months to work your magic, but still no answer to my wish. I might have asked for a little more than was in your power to grant, but I feel I am better off for the snub.

    If you don’t remember, last year I asked for a new job, one that doesn’t suck every last bit of joy from me or leave me exhausted both physically and mentally every day. Yet, come July there I was “celebrating” yet another anniversary in my thankless, soul-sucking job. I am not bitter. Obviously I must have been inadvertently placed on the naughty list.

    I must thank you for this though. I took all my disappointment and resentment and decided that I needed to take personal responsibility to change my situation. So I quit my job and got all the necessary credentials to become a private investigator. I couldn’t be happier being self-employed. Recently I even got my first client and I think that it will truly be the answer to my “Christmas wish.”

    Approximately a month ago a client contacted me about a domestic matter. She suspected her husband of cheating. Since she was my first client I also decided to make a special one-time offer. In exchange for free publicity at her future high-profile divorce, She wouldn’t pay until I delivered the evidence she needed. We inked a contract for $10,000 and I went to work. Quickly, I discovered all my client’s suspicions were true. I took several photos. On New Years Day I will meet with her to exchange the photos and receive my payment. She will be able to file for divorce and collect a sizable sum of money from her husband’s empire.

    Now comes your part in all of this. Santa, all I want for Christmas is $1 million USD a year for life. I know this might sound even crazier than last year’s request of a new job, but I think you might be a little better motivated. You see $1 million a year is only a small fraction of your net worth. Much less than your wife would get if I showed her the photos of you and a Miss Tooth-Faerie. Photos of the two of you fooling around in the hot tub that weekend you told Mrs. Claus you were going to a Cookie Eaters Anonymous conference.

    I look forward to this year’s check. No need to wrap it, just place it in my stocking. Or even better just deposit it in my account. I’ll even give you a few extra days, Midnight New Years Eve. It is great doing business with you. Thank you for the motivation and opportunity to change my life for the better.

  11. Montanna9 says:

    This year I was waiting for Santa when he came shimmying down my chimney. First thing he did was look for the plate of cookies that I usually leave out.
    “Not so fast!” I yelled.
    Santa jumped and said, “Ho, ho, ho!”
    “Where is it? Did you bring me my Mac Book? You owe me, Santa. And I’ve been pretty good this year.”
    Santa put his hand on the living room wall and lifted his black boot. Then, on the hearth, he commenced to scrape the reindeer poop from his boot. He said, “You think you’re the only one who wants a Mac? Times are tough, my friend. These laptops are expensive. My elves don’t work for free any more. They’ve organized, formed a union. They don’t work for cookies and milk like the good ’ol days. Now they want something called a living wage. And health benefits. It’s ridiculous. What is this ‘ethical treatment’ they keep yammering about? It’s cutting into my god damn profits!”
    “You better keep those uppity elves in line or I’ll never get my Mac.”
    “Sorry about the mess,” he said, nodding at the poop.
    “Don’t worry, I’ll get my wife to clean it up. Listen, you need to break this elf union. Guys like Donald Trump don’t make it to the top by handing out health benefits to the rabble. Start outsourcing jobs to China. Starving Chinese elves make great employees. They’re thrilled to work for low wages. They never ask for anything. And if they do, you cut out their tongues with a pair of garden shears!”
    “Hmm,” said Santa, tugging his beard thoughtfully. “You don’t think that sounds a little too extreme?”
    “Santa, no one gets ahead by being nice. You have to start thinking like a Wal-Mart CEO.”
    “Yes. Maybe you’re right.”
    “Of course I’m right. Sometimes it’s good to be bad.”
    Santa took his naughty list of his red jumpsuit and put his bifocals on. “It seems you know something about being bad, don’t you? Arrested four times this year.”
    “I’m pretty sure it was only three times.”
    “Kidnapping, assault, assault, armed robbery.”
    “Maybe it was four times. I forgot about the kidnapping thing.”
    Santa looked over the top of his glasses and gave me a stare as cold as the North Pole. I said, “Well, maybe I haven’t done many good deeds this year. But I’ve been meaning to do a lot of good stuff. I really have. In fact, I’ve been planning to work for Habitat for Humanity—and not just because it’s a condition of my parole, but because I really, really love people.” I held my hands behind my back and smiled like Mitt Romney.
    “How would you like a job as my production manager?”
    “Me? Sir, I’d be honored.”
    “Leaving your wife won’t be a problem?”
    “No, sir. That won’t be a problem. No problem at all.”

  12. MCKEVIN says:

    Dear Mrs. Claus:

    I’m writin’ because you’re the only one who could understand. I no longer look for sexual fulfillment and happiness in other people husbands, fiancés or boyfriends. Last year I thought if I ignored the advances of emotionally unavailable men, the least I could expect under my Christmas tree, was a man of my own. It didn’t happen! I got cologne from Frosty, sexy underwear from Noel and gift cards from some lady’s husband she calls “The Grinch.”

    Changin’ made me lonely this year because I don’t know how y’all do it. Snow White had to be tempted to sleep with at least one of the seven dwarfs. I bet Doc’s hittin’ that. Smurfette had Baker bakin’ pies, Tailor tailorin’ clothes, Painter paintin’ masterpieces and everybody says she wasn’t puttin’ out? I don’t believe it!
    I rode the Polar Express yesterday headin’ to North and Pole and the now married Little Drummer Boy, asked me for my number. The resident Sugarplum Fairies gang threatened to jump me if I gave it. I called

    Sally Brown (Charlie’s sister) for help, but she’s so hung up on Linus emotionally unavailable ass that she didn’t hear a word I said. Linus sister, Lucy, wanted to charge me for advice but she doesn’t have a man neither. I’m so frustrated. Help!

    Maybe I’m too picky, unlike you, I want a man who works more than one day a year, has more than one suit in a color other than red and has an alternative means of transportation. I Googled your husband and nothin’ of substance came up. Do you really know this man? How was his toy and gift operation financed? Do you know his investors? If somethin’ happens to your husband, what happens to you? Will you qualify for Social Security? 401k? M-E-R-R-Y-X-M-A-S cards are not valid identifications. Can you drive a sleigh? Do you have a sleigh license and sleigh insurance? You and Clarice (Rudolph’s wife) must favor men with red noses.

    How’d Santa convince you to move to lonely North Pole? What did he say? Old St. Nick must have serious bedroom skills to convince you to leave your family and friends for the cold middle of nowhere. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

    Sincerely,

    Tracy Eugene Warren

    Dear Tracy:

    Christmas is around the corner and there are no words to help with your journey. I found my true love years ago. He wore red and showered me with the gift of his time. He didn’t have family, handmade his things and his closest friends were reindeers. I’m blessed to have a man whose job is creating smiles. He climbs through chimneys, flies through the air and I love him. Everybody loves him and he’s all the heat I need. Patience is his virtue, his sex is off the chain and his benefits far outweigh his pay. Love is where you find it. Start with a mirror.

    One day, your prince will come. (Literally!)

    Good Luck,

    Mrs. Candy Claus

  13. npryncess says:

    Dear Santa-

    Sooo, how are you? And the Mrs? I hope you enjoyed the article I clipped and sent to you this summer on how to control your cholesterol. I was just thinking of you and thought you’d find it helpful. You probably like to be in tip-top sledding shape by at least November.

    Anyway, I’ll get to the point. I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last year this time. Not that I didn’t enjoy the new Rachel Ray cookware you left under the tree–they were certainly very pretty–but I think maybe I wasn’t clear enough in my request. I wanted Rachel Ray. Not her pots. My friends kept telling me that, like God, Santa doesn’t make mistakes so I can only assume that you weren’t pleased with me last year for some reason. Maybe you were trying to send a message with those pots that I’m not deserving of a woman of Rachel’s caliber? That I need to work on myself first? Well I guess I can see, from my past relationships, how you could come to that conclusion. In fact, after a period of introspection, I spent the remainder of the year on a mission of self-improvement. Not just to get off of the naughty list, mind you, but to actually become more sensitive and less, um, self-absorbed. You know, relationship stuff.

    So Santa, I write to you this year a changed man. I’m proud to say that no longer do people use my name in the same sentence with your brother Fred. The Feeley’s have taught me to not only love a woman who cooks, but to love to cook with my woman. Supernanny Jo has taught me better anger management and communication skills. Thanks to the Fab Five I have learned that “Lumberjack” is not a style. Oh, and I don’t know if you saw me on TV, but I actually appeared on Episode 13 of “Intervention”! 35 days and counting Santa! Best thing I ever did. Who knew?! When I came home, my counselor helped me land a job at the A&P and my mom helped me move out of the basement and co-signed for my first apartment. I’m definitely moving on up Santa. My drug counseling sessions helped me see what an energy drain I had been on my mom, so for Christmas this year I’m gonna let her keep the Rachel Ray pots. I hope you don’t mind.

    You see that I’ve been a busy beaver this year Santa so as they say, let us begin again. I’m confident that this year you’ll find me worthy enough to be included in the population of the “Nice”. I was planning to resubmit my wish list from last year, however, considering all the work I’ve done and remembering that you said, “Ask and you shall receive” or something like that, I decided that this year I would like Kim Kardashian.

    Your friend,
    Frankie

  14. Chrisgiraffe says:

    Mr. S. Claus,

    It’s no mystery that I didn’t win the lottery last Christmas. I’m not pointing any fingers because I like to think of the Christmas experience as a team effort- you send gifts, people receive them. We can all share some blame for bottlenecks and mishaps but just to show I’m willing to meet you half way I visited the local gift reconsideration center and spoke to one of your agents (a Mr. Happy T. Elf).

    I’ve always considered the terms ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’ a grey area of the ‘gifts for good behavior’ (GFGB) exchange program. Mr. Elf explained that quietly farting in the covers and buying potato chip flavors no one in the family will touch but me are examples of “naughty” offenses. He then pointed out a list of debatable offenses (e.g. dipping into my child’s Halloween bag, pretending I didn’t see the person I cut in line for on the Screaming Eagle at Magic Mountain) but as the gift receiving window had passed I simply accepted the penalty of present forfeiture uncontested.

    Undeterred in my belief that I could meet the ‘nice’ qualifications, I outlined a plan for a fresh year that would current fiscal gift-giving year and I think the record is impressive.

    1. Letting at least one car in front of me during rush hour or event exits no matter how idiotic their entrance point or expectations might be.

    2. Asking people if they mind whether I go first in lines, even though I may only have two items, was motivated and didn’t dawdle while they’ve managed to fit the store into their overloaded cart, have no concept of multiple trips and have no idea how to get to a check out point without being distracted by gossip magazines. Seriously, don’t these people ever get out?

    3. Not having a meltdown when the driver in front of me can’t stay in their own lane while they make that call more important than the life they might take should they veer off the road.

    4. Not grumbling while fighting said meltdown as my wife rides in the car.

    5. Not acting like the world is about to end through body language while the person ordering food in front of me takes their time even when there are only four items on the menu (see: Chipotle), orders items from a different restaurant entirely or makes a special request (one hamburger, hold the mayonnaise, ketchup, tomato, patty, and bun) while I fight a certain death of starvation from skipping meals all day.

    While I’d like to say I performed the list with a 100% completion rate the truth is perhaps 75% might be closer but, bear in mind, this is the first year and we should expect to see rate increases over time. That said, in the spirit of Christmas compromise perhaps your offices might agree to allow me 75% of the stated gift in consideration.

    Respectfully Yours,

    C.

    (prepared by Danny Elfman- Registered Gift Attorney)

  15. fykes heathcliff says:

    Dear Santa,

    I am writing to you because I want to ask for something very special for Christmas this year. I am not going to tell you my name until you have read my entire letter if you don’t mind. Now I know that in the pass, I appeared on the naughty side of the list in big bold letters—and that even last year I was still an embarrassment to my parents according to Ms Wheatley the principle—she made, my mom cry.

    When you get around to checking your list, you will see that I have told you all the facts. Timmy (who is always on the good side of your list) told me being so bad his parent was going to stop him from playing with me. I won’t try and tell you that I didn’t get anything for Christmas last time, I got new clothes and stuff like that—but there was nothing under the tree that I ask for or really wanted. I don’t want you to think that I am feeling sorry for myself because I am not—last year I let down my mom, my dad and my best friend Timmy Martin.

    But This year I have been very good I have washed my hand before sitting down at the table I have taken the trash out and done all my homework and chores without being ask. I raise my hand in class and wait to be called on, and I never get out of my seat without permission and for the first time every I received a good conduct award, and placed on the honor roll—mom cried again.

    We are just about at the end—now before I tell you what I want and you start checking your list checking it two or more time especial when you start looking for my name on the nice side of the list. I would like to tell you my story.

    Timmy and I were walking home from school laughing and talking about the Christmas break. We were at the stop light waiting for the light to turn green so we could cross. Finally, the light turned green we looked both way and started across the street as we were over half way across I dropped my pen that I won for good conduct Timmy stop and went back to pick it up at that moment a car coming in the opposite direction ran the light I turned and grab Timmy and we fell backward out the car way. In falling back on the concrete, Timmy hit his head and now the doctor says he in a comma. Now I Know you will take in consideration how good Timmy has been. I tell you my request and then my name so you can check it against your list.

    My request is very simple all I want is to change places with Timmy he’s at General hospital in room 219.

    Signed,
    Tommy Wilson

  16. Jiangling says:

    Dear Santy Clas,

    I dont know if you remembur, but last yeer you didnt give me any presents. Al my frends say if you dont get presents, its becuz your a bad girl, but I havent been bad. I think you made a mistake, Santy. So this yeer, I want to tel you how things hapened so you dont get it rong. If you ask Mommy and Daddy, they wood say I got in trubble a lot. But it wasnt my fault. My teecher is meen and keeps giving me bad grades and teling me I cant tak to my frends. Wats the point of being in class with frends if you cant tak to them? But she just yels at me and tels me to be quiet and to get better at math and reeding and speling and everything. Exspesuly speling. But I think I can rite just fine. Don’t you think so, Santy? Im riting rite now. I like drawing more, anyway. Crayons make reel pretty colors on the desks. Mommy and Daddy say youv been watching me, Santy. Did you see how I made my desk pretty? But the mean teecher came and scrubbed it all off and I dont think you wer watching so you missed it.

    So you see, Santy? I havent been a bad girl. I just have a meen teecher, you see?

    Oh yah, except for one thing, but that wasnt my fault, eether. I hit one of the boys on the playground, but that’s because he sed my dress made me look like a cheezpuff. I hate cheezpuffs! Mommy and Daddy and the meen teecher say I shudnt hit peeple, but it was such a meen thing to say. Why are boys so meen, Santy? Is that why you didn’t give me presents? Becuz your a boy?

    I promiss I dont have cooties.

    So pleez give me presents this yeer, Santy. Iv been a good girl, see?

    Sinserly,
    Maddy Jones

    P.S. If YOU have cooties, make shur you dont give them to me. I just want presents, not cooties.

  17. mjsca07 says:

    Hello Santa. I didn’t get the .50 cal I asked for last year, so I guessed I made a mistake somewhere. I woke up Christmas morning and expected to see my new ‘”toy” under the tree. I even had some targets set up test it out. Imagine my dismay when there wasn’t a weapon of mass destruction that could fit in my hands and take out a terrorist from five thousand yards away.

    I racked my brain and thought about a few “incidents” that might have happened to cause the loss of my precious that Christmas. Your elf must have given you some wrong information, because the other guy threw the first punch. I was a bit intoxicated when I thought his friend needed to see the inside of the jukebox, so I assisted him by opening the machine with his head. I’m sorry.

    This year I’ve been good. And it’s with high hopes, that I ask you for a M1 Abrams tank for Christmas this year. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I have nothing but good intentions for the tank. I’ve already talked to the neighbors, and they’ve agreed to let me head up the new neighborhood watch program. These people think I’m going to patrol our sacred haven with a mere flashlight. I can’t wait to see their faces when they look out their windows and see the glorious tank driving up and down the street, keeping a vigil over their safety. I’ve implored the council to let me act with impunity. Checks and balances can get in the way at three in the morning while keeping Mrs. Wilkinson’s dog off lawns during its nocturnal walks.

    I also have plans to enroll myself in anger management classes. Owning an actual tank, capable of destroying an entire house if need be, requires a responsible citizen. I refuse to let my emotions rule me any longer, especially if I own a tank. However, I will lose the ability to see in the dark. I see red during my rages, which could be advantageous in spotting Mrs. Wilkinson’s dog. I plan to use night vision goggles to supplement the lack of uncontrolled fury no longer at my disposal.

    Lastly, I want you to know that I already worked out a deal with the military, which will allow me to go into Mexico with the tank and help bring order along the border towns. I only live two hours from the closest border point, so a weekend excursion to execute justice will be feasible.

    I ask you again Santa, to please grant my wish. I forgave you when you didn’t bring me my big wheel when I was ten. I forgave you last year when I did not get the sniper rifle. Please, don’t let me lose faith in you this year. I fear not seeing an M1 Abram tank under the tree this year will send me into a downwards spiral of agony, and resentment towards you.

  18. Vendetta says:

    Mr. Jeff Manoog, Esquire stared at you blankly and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one cheek to the other. “Come again?” He asked tiredly and placed his chin in the crook of his palm between his thumb and index finger.

    I sighed, exasperated. “I told you already, Santa hosed me last year. I need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” You slapped your hand on his desk for affect.

    Mr. Manoog stared silently, obviously not entertained. “How were you ‘hosed’, Mr. Kelley” he asked with a condescending smirk as his patience dwindled.

    “I didn’t get anything! I did the dishes for my mom six times, I cleaned my room once, and I even took the dog out! That is nice list material if I’ve ever heard of it.” I said matter of factly, “I did nothing to deserve that treatment! I want interest on those gifts. I want justice!”

    “Alright, alright, enough of this fiasco,” he said signaling for timeout. “Even if I can figure out some farfetched charges, how do you expect me to bring jolly ol’ Saint Nick up on them. He’s a fictional character for crying out loud!” Manoog laughed heartily. I stared at him silently. “You, uh do know he is a fictional character, right? You are a grown man Mr. Kelley.”

    “Excuse me? Is this some sort of lame attempt to dodge this job? I know I am a grown man and that is irrelevant. I saw the cheap jerk at Macy’s last year. How can you tell me he’s not real? He even let me tug on his beard! He is as real as you or I!” I no longer sat, but leaned over his desk, scolding him with a waving finger.

    Manoog put up his hands as a sign of surrender. “I…I..” Manoog stuttered, confused, shocked, “I don’t know what to say. I’ll get started on it right away.” He trailed off and looked around completely confused, as if to find confirmation of reality.

    “Good, we need to get this done before Christmas. In the meantime, I’m going to go home and clean my bedroom. Looking forward to working with you, sir!” I shook his hand merrily and left the office leaving him speechless. From the corner of my eye I see him search through his desk and toss a small bottle of whisky into the trash.

  19. TEMiranda says:

    Dear Santa,

    Two years ago Little Jimmy was throwing tantrums, spitting out food into daddy’s face, and pulling on mommy’s hair, and he got a giant train set with tooting whistle and conductor’s hat. I am pretty sure he didn’t even ask for it, since he cannot write, but it was a pretty cool gift. I asked you for a kitchen set, you know, the one with a stove and a sink so I can pretend to be a chef inside my own kitchen. You gave me a set of tea cups and plastic food. I didn’t pull on mommy’s hair, not once.

    Last year Little Jimmy pulled down our Christmas tree and destroyed some of grandma’s old crystal ornaments. She was pretty upset; cried about the figurines being in her family for years. Little Jimmy got a giant rocking horse with thick, padded seating made for little bottoms. I wasn’t allowed to sit on it; mommy said it wasn’t made for a six-year-old. Since Little Jimmy didn’t learn to write until this past summer, I am certain he didn’t ask you for the horse, but it was a pretty cool gift. I asked you for the complete set of Disney fairy dolls with the colorful dresses and rainbow fairy wings. You sent me a Barbie doll with angel wings, and just one. I didn’t destroy any Christmas decorations or any of grandma’s precious figurines, and she has a lot of them all over the house.

    This year, I would like a bicycle, but not just any bicycle. I want a Huffy 20-inch Girl So Sweet Bike in Pink with tassels spilling out the handle bars. Don’t forget the training wheels. Although Little Jimmy already has two small bicycles, which he doesn’t use, this will be my first.

    So here’s the deal Santa. I have been good for a long, long time and I believe I deserve exactly what I want. If I don’t get the Huffy 20-inch Girl So Sweet Bike in Pink with tassels and training wheels, then I am going to pull on mommy’s hair, throw food in daddy’s face, pull down Christmas ornaments, and break grandma’s crystal figurines. Well, maybe not the figurines…I don’t like seeing grandma cry.

    I love you always.

    Little Angelina

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