A Message to Santa
I never thought of this when I was a little kid (mainly because I was a selfish, gift-crazed twurp), but Santa Claus is HUGE.
Now that I’m older and starting to find myself more on the ‘giving’ side, I’d like to give back to Santa. Santa if you’re reading this, which I’m sure you are because you’re magic, I’d like to offer you a bit of advice:
Dear Santa,
Lose weight. Please. I don’t want you to take offense to this or anything, I’m just trying to help. I’m very concerned about your weight. You are morbidly obese and you’re thousands of years old. I’m worried that with all the weight you’re carrying, one of these Christmases you’re going to have a heart attack.
You don’t want to do that to these kids. Besides, you owe it to yourself. You’re a hard-working man. Just think back to the days when you first met Mrs. Claus. You were probably a young stud weren’t you? You’ve let yourself go man.
I know you bust your ass and all, but you can’t expect that one single day of exercise is enough to keep you out of the ground, 6 feet under. For Christ’s sake Kringle you’ve gotta be pushing 350… maybe more!! Do you really want to live your life like this?! You mean so much to these kids, man. If not for yourself, then for them. Please Santa.
There’s a whole slew of ways you can treat this. Just plain ol’ exercise for one, dieting, counting carbs (Atkins), or, although I don’t know what kind of income this Christmas gig pays, but you could look into Gastric Bypass surgery.
The point is, you’re a very loved man and I believe I speak for everyone when I say we’d like to see you take care of yourself better. I’m not the only one that notices this I’m sure. In fact, you know Allison, right? She told me one year she left you carrots and celery because you, and I quote “didn’t need the cookies.” Everytime you show up to a house that hasn’t left you cookies, don’t think they’re dicking you. They’re doing it because they love you. I love you. We all love you.
I mean that.
So, come on big guy, get on the treadmill. I’m getting a bit older each year. Soon I’ll have kids. Don’t make me have to explain to them that they aren’t getting presents this year because Santa couldn’t keep his weight down and collapsed at Johnny’s across the street due to heart failure and a stroke.
Hopefully you read this. Understood it. Just in case though, I’ll be waiting up for you. Maybe you’d take me more seriously if you saw, in person, how much it is hurting me to see you get like that. The ballooning has gotten out of control. We can change that… together.
We’ll all help you. Merry Christmas Mr. Claus. Give my best to the Mrs.
Sincerely,
Keith McCord
