Dear Kimmy: Yes I said it.
Give the fat man a break. I deliver toys to 100,000 bad spelling letter writers and 8 billion needy, just make me happy, I want it now! people in a world that’s covered in brown gunge. I do not lead seminars on post neo-Platonic existentialism during global meltdowns.
Do you know what it takes to keep reindeer healthy in a warming polar climate? Anthrax corpses are popping up like ugly lollipops. We have huge vaccination costs because neither me nor the Mrs. nor the reindeer resist scientific truths. Elves instantaneously melt into puddles of useless goo when they catch it and then my labor costs go up because I have to bus in help from Asia and they don’t take to the cold well at all.
But at least if I just shoot this one off to you there’ll be one less pensioner that I’ll have to placate with another retro Malibu Barbie or Fischer Price Potato Head kit.
So in between eating, packing up, and mapping a path around rich men (just the tip) penis spaces races while preparing to zoom around the world two hundred times faster than the speed of light, these are my replies.
How in the hell does dog hair migrate into my refrigerator and up onto my kitchen counters? My dogs don’t cruise the countertops or hang out in my crispers.
That’s your fault. You’re a human Swiffer.
Why does the cat throw-up onto things that have to be cleaned instantly?
Feed me the three hundred dollars per box, choice morsels that you serve kitty-kat, I’ll keep it down. What are you doing spending that kind of scratch on an animal that treats you like she’s one of Cinderella’s step-sisters anyway?
Am I fat? I feel fat.
You are fat. Lean into it.
Why do I look like a Crabapple doll? My skin seems to be dripping off my face.
Because you are nearing death and are not an elf.
Bangs, no bangs, to hide my three stooges forehead?
Assuming you are too poor to surgically lower your hairline: hats, scarves, hoodies, and thin tipped indelible dark brown markers.
Why do my little toes look like I stole them from a rhinoceros?
By the time you die you’ll have Orc feet, just hide them away from the world.
Why did my bamboo plant die? What did I do wrong? Did I alienate it by confining it to the bathroom? Was it mad at me? Will my fern (Fred) follow it to the final plant destination because he and bamboo girl both sense(d) that I love(d) them less than my pets?
Call your mother. She’ll confirm that this is exactly the truth. (Gives her a change to remind you that you never call unless you want something).
Am I really too lazy do a full on house clean myself? Am I too poor to get Maids Inc. to do it? Is paying someone to clean up after me a moral failing? (I’m considering just living in squalor and avoiding this conundrum altogether. Let the body squad sort it out when my time comes.)
Lots of Styrofoam containers and half empty coffee cups, I bet. The crisper probably looks like the swamp in Land of the Lost and is so toxic that e coli wouldn’t grow there.
Do I smell? Does it matter? I haven’t had a bath for days. I’ve been sick.
Play with this. Go sit next to a rich person at a fine restaurant or go to a David Byrne concert where they won’t dare to leave because the tickets were too pricey. Bring a fan. Wear a tank top AND take your shoes off!
And finally which of the three monkeys (see no, hear no, speak no) do I most resemble?
All three baby. You’re a Harlan Ellison’s Harlequin in the making. (Tick Tock Tick Tock). Play with that. As long as you’re old, fat and ugly at least enjoy being uniquely so.
Happy Holidays Kimmy–it’s all we got. Cling to it.
Sincerely,
Santa – Merry Mother@#@*!!! Is it really this hot in December?! - Claus 2021
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