Dear Santa, why didn’t I get any presents this year?
My name is Bill, and I have a question to ask you. Why didn’t I get any presents this year? I really wanted a red car this Christmas, and I even asked you at the mall last week, but I think one of your elves forgot to send it to you or something? (speaking of which, why didn’t you let me sit in your lap like you used to let me?) Anyways, I asked my mom what I should do, and she told me to write another letter to you to ask what happened and tell you how good I was this year.
The first thing I want to say is I was super-duper good with my words. I hardly ever said a bad word this year, even to my mom whenever she calls me during work or my friends who all think I talk like a baby. When a song that has a lot of beeping and potty words in it comes on on the radio, I always turn the channel to something that Jesus would like, like the Christian rock channel or Lizzo.
I also did a very good thing this past week and helped my parents do chores. My dad only had to ask me twice before I stopped playing World of Warcraft and did my dishes. I even put our wet clothes into the dryer when my mom forgot about the laundry (I didn’t turn on the dryer though. Mommy told me not to randomly press all the buttons all over it, so I didn’t press any! I’ve been so, so good this year).
I hope you get this letter soon and realize I’ve been a good boy for the whole year. Also just a reminder, the red car I want is a Mini Cooper.
You’re 35, Bill
Dear William, You are a 35 year-old man. You cannot keep doing this. I have tried to keep a jolly mindset with you, but at this point I am completely spent. Not only are you more than 20 years older than my key demographic, but you have been very, very naughty. And not even in the fun way.
When you visited me last week at the mall, I wouldn’t let you sit on my lap because you had visible chip stains on your sweatpants. I know it’s just a mall, but William, my man, please have some more self-respect. Look, my diet is like 60% cookies and I’m pretty sure I’ve got lower blood sugar than you! Learn to cook, dude. I see you when you’re sleeping, and you need to stop using bulk Top Ramen boxes as furniture. It clashes with your race car bed.
Also, I really don’t give a shit what words you use. That’s not even one of my rules, parents just say it’s one of mine so their kids won’t cuss them out all the time. Nonetheless, I respect the restraint. What I absolutely do not respect at all is the baby voice. You majored in English Literature, William. Please talk like an adult.
Sure, it was nice of you to help with dishes, and I appreciate your attempt at laundry. Because of your initiative, I offer you one gift: attached to this letter you’ll find a voucher for one free copy of Doing Chores for Dummies, you’re welcome.
Ho ho ho and all that jazz,
Flattened in a distro cart accident, the MQ replaced his bones with leftover printer ink. With his increased lank, Matt has become a pivotal writer for the MQ through his fluidity. Whether demonstrated through his mastery of satire or being used as a keycard when we lock ourselves out of the office, Matt is a key asset to the writing team.