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Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, kids! It’s your old friend Santa Claus, here to deliver some Christmas cheer! Santa has a long list of little boys and girls in the Northland who have been very good this year! Santa hears you’ve all been doing especially well in reading and spelling. Good for you! Your math scores, on the other hand, are absolute shit. The Chinese are making you look like fools, children.

Regardless, the North Pole is just as jolly as usual. The reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh this year are energetic and excited to spread joy across the world. They’re busy playing reindeer games and honing their skills for the big night! The reindeer that flew last year’s sleigh were delicious. Their tender meat fell right off the bone. Perhaps Santa will slip some venison jerky into your stocking if you’re extra helpful to your parents this week!

The elves are in their busiest time of year, working around the clock to make enough toys for all the children of the world. We were a little behind this year after a few dozen of them were mutilated and ripped into pieces by hungry polar bears. The few that were still breathing couldn’t make toys anymore, so we buried them alive. It’s a good thing too, as they’ve really started to smell! However, you’ll be happy to know we’re right back on track. In order to meet our quota, we’ve done away with bathroom breaks. All the remaining elves were fitted with diapers. They pee their pants and sit in it all day, just for you!

Mrs. Claus is doing fine. She keeps trying to fatten Santa up! She says Santa can’t be skinny, but Santa thinks it’s HER who can’t be skinny. That’s why she keeps trying to make Santa fat - so Santa can’t complain about how much weight she’s gained. Santa wishes she would try pilates or yoga. Santa is getting tired of spending half the night rolling her huge ass over to keep her from snoring like a pig.

You may be asking yourselves why Santa would choose to post his annual letter to children in the Duluth Reader rather than the News-Tribune. The Trib certainly has more readers. Well kids, a few months ago Santa was driving around town incognito, to wiretap the phones of some children Santa suspected of being bad, and Tribune columnist Sam Cook gave Santa the finger! It’s called a “zipper merge”, Sam. It’s the most efficient way to drive in traffic. So stuff your sour faces and phallic gestures in a sack, mister.

But enough about Santa. What about you, little ones? Are you being good? Are you still picking your nose? When your dad asks you to finish your chores, do you still call him an asswipe under your breath? Are you still dry humping the dog when no one else is home? Are you still fantasizing about walking into the girls locker room at your school? You’d better not be! Those are the actions of evil people who will burn in hell. Ha ha, just kidding. I’m Santa, not Jesus or the government. I only judge actions, not thoughts.

Let’s get to the true reason for this letter. Christmas is approaching, and I’m afraid Santa won’t be visiting the Northland this year. Santa knows a lot of you boys and girls have been really good, but the entire area will be skipped because of little Billy Dalton in Cloquet. Instead of putting out milk and cookies for Santa last year, Billy left almond milk and tofu shaped like gingerbread men. Santa puked it up all over Billy’s shag carpeting, and then spent three hours perched on Billy’s toilet with a mean case of the trots. By the time Santa squeezed all that icing out, there was only an hour left to deliver presents. Santa had to skip Mexico entirely, and now everyone down there calls him “El Racista Grasa”.

Don’t blame Santa, kids. Billy from Cloquet ruined it for everyone by poisoning Santa with vegan laxatives. The entire area seems to have gone hippie dippy. Santa has to protect himself, so he’ll be selling all your gifts on Ebay. Maybe you can win them back if you bid high enough. Make sure your parents know how to Ebay snipe, because Santa will definitely be shill bidding on his own auctions.

Hey, don’t look so sad. There’s always next year. There’s still a few days left in this year as well. Maybe you could move to Mexico. Go ask your parents. Tell them Sam Cook told you to move to Mexico. Then read them the following list of words, and say you learned them from Sam’s columns: Dildo. Boner. Butt farts. Poopsock. Scrotum ears. “Eye sex.” Cheese whistler. Bukakke. Poonono. Twerkalicious. Toilet balls.

If your mom asks what the last one is, tell her to ask your dad. He’s probably old enough where they’ve grazed the water a few times. The important thing is to get Sam Cook fired. If it works, perhaps Santa will just skip Billy’s house instead of the whole region.

Yours in Christ,
Santa Claus

P.S. Contrary to TV news reports, I’m not white OR black. I’m Asian. Like REALLY Asian.