Dear Santa:
I hope you enjoy your protein shake for your long journey.
I would like to know what it’s like to be Santa Claus.
- Is it fun to fly?
- Do you like being in charge of your elves?
- Do you like delivering presents to children?
- What’s your favourite hobby?
- What do you do over the weekend?
- Do you ever think of moving to a sunny place?
- Do you go on vacation?
- What’s your birthday?
- Do you deliver presents to pets?
- Do you have a pet?
Love,
Talullah from LA
Dear Talullah:
You should know that Santa is very grateful to you for leaving him a protein shake. You are a very sweet girl. Unfortunately, Santa is very lactose intolerant and suffers acute gastric distress whenever he has a protein shake, so he had to give it to Dasher, his lead reindeer, who is a bit of a hippy and really very experimental in his tastes. Last year Dasher tried Ayahuasca– saw serpents and had diarrhea for two days.
Santa isn’t sure how that “blessed” him with “spiritual advancement,” but whatever.
Santa will now try to answer all your questions!
- It is NOT fun to fly. It is VERY dangerous, especially with all the drones terrorizing the skies! Santa is only able to do it if he gets gassed up and takes his medication: 3mg of Ativan and a magic gummy.
- Santa is not in charge of the elves! Santa and the elves work as a team, functioning as a single unit without any hierarchy! Also, the elves are very well compensated for the work they do and the netting that surround Santa’s toy factory are NOT suicide nets like those at all the Apple factories in China! Also, any rumours you heard about elf slavery or elf sex slavery are not true! That’s fake news!
- Santa has had worse jobs. Working at a poultry farm, for instance.
- For hobbies Santa really enjoys Cosplay, voyeurism and experimenting with surveillance equipment.
- On the weekends Santa usually just chills and watches Netflix with the wife. Highly recommends Mindhunter.
- It is amazing to Santa how ill-informed people are! Little girls like you, Talullah, just live in little electronic silos, never learning anything you don’t already believe! Let Santa assure you, there is plenty of sun in the North Pole!
- We have been to Mar-a-Lago a number of times. Just the best. Saw Melania changing into her bikini once. Not bad at all.
- Santa will only tell you that he is a Leo with Pisces ascendent.
- No. Santa would throw-up if he ever even saw a chicken again.
- Several elves and a turtle.
***********************************************************
Hello America!!
I am Melania, the luckiest woman in the world, and I am so happy to be here before you!
Why, you might ask, am I the luckiest woman in the world?
Is it because I am beautiful?
Is it because of my gorgeous dress and luxurious jewelry?
Is it because I am like champagne?
Is it because I am so very rich and famous I never have to wait in line?
Is it because I speak five languages?
Is it because I am white?
(Wait for enthusiastic screaming to subside)
NO!
It is because I am married to the greatest man in the entire world, Donald Trump.
Donald is the perfect husband. He has bought me so many wonderful things! He is so smart and such a great negotiator, and he loves America so much! He wants America to be the best, like him. He wants America to be #1 again!
(Wait for applause)
Thank you for your applause, you are such a classy audience, so very classy!
(Wait for applause)
Some people, some very bad people, say that I copied my last speech from a black woman. This is monkeyshines! I would never do such a thing. I am innocent and I will sue!
(Wait for cheering and celebratory gunshots to cease)
Thank you America, thank you!
Donald Trump, the next President of the United States and author of the hit bestseller The Art of the Deal, is not just my husband, but also my lover.
Yes, and let me tell you, he is as good at making love as he is at making deals!
(Crowd goes wild)
My lover is also tough on terror!
He will not tolerate it!
He will fire it like a bad apprentice!
With Donald you will always feel secure because you know that if any terrorists, or some loser country, were to try any monkeyshines, he would destroy them.
(Pretend to be a sexy cowboy/stripper shooting a gun)
He would. It would be no joke.
(Wag finger)
Let me ask you beautiful Americans, who does Hillary Clinton reminds you of?
Ha, yes, she does remind me very much of an old Jew!
Who else does she remind you of?
Yes, a lesbian for sure! She has no fashion sense, no class. She dresses like a box.
A hag robot! Yes!
And of course, yes, a serial killer. It is in her eyes, the killing.
So many horrible things she reminds us of, so, so many horrible things!
In closing I want to say that Donald Trump is a beautiful, beautiful man. So rich and so successful and so sexy. Not only does he live the American dream, he is the American Dream, and he will restore the American dream for all of you beautiful patriots.
I love you, America, open carry for all, and remember to follow the next President of the United States @realDonaldTrump!
It’s just not quality.
Melania is posing naked for a classy magazine.
I’m really happy about this because I want everybody to see what I have and they don’t, so I’m at the photo shoot making sure everything goes Trump perfect. I’m giving Melania instructions on how to pose, and as she’s doing exactly what I tell her to do, I try to Tweet a picture with the words,“Twice with this one last night!” but discover I can’t get into my Twitter account, @realDonaldTrump.
I am building a wall. It’s a great wall, a huge wall. It’s going to be the best wall ever. And then somebody, A Mexican, approaches me and tells me that there are scuff marks on some of the imported marble. A Mexican. What does a Mexican know about imported marble? Nothing. Enraged, I pummel him with the might of an angry white nation, and when I’m finished I’m covered in Mexican blood, which is just disgusting. I try to wash it off but can’t, and the more people I hire to wash it off, the thicker and stickier it seems to get.
I am in the penthouse of one of my many, many luxury apartments. I’m there to evict the deadbeat tenants by forcing them to jump off the balcony. One of them refuses. I wake up in a cold sweat.
I am waterboarding Ted Cruz’s wife because she won’t change her last name to something American.
In spite of her pain and terror and screaming and begging, and that her top was so wet it was completely see-thru, the experience was not nearly as sexually exciting as I had expected it to be. Woke up feeling empty, a sensation that trailed me all day long.
I am Captain of the Starship Enterprise.
I’ve rented out three decks as luxury condos, converted the Holodeck into a casino, crushed the Starfleet union and am running a real estate training program for my promising officers. Federation mismanagement had been costing the tax payers a fortune, but with me at the helm, the Starship Enterprise was making a fantastic profit and had never looked better. And then we’re doing a routine patrol of Quadrant 4 when a Klingon Bird of Prey suddenly materialized before us. As I was negotiating with their Captain, I noticed a stain on my uniform. Laundry had screwed up again!
In this dream I am a boy, lost and alone in the woods with no business plan.
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Trump, even attired that way, commanded the subway like a stern and punctual marshall at a luxury golf course, and people knew not to mess with him.
Normally he would never think to take the subway, as it is a filthy and vulgar mode of transportation, but today he wanted filthy and vulgar. His legs spread out expansively, taking up at least two seats, he looked down at his most recent text from Melania and smiled:
“I am to poo you,” it read.
Melania’s English wasn’t very good, but Donald knew exactly what she meant.
It was their beautiful night together.
Every year on the anniversary on their first sex, Donald bought a fast food restaurant in the New York area, fired everybody, and then made Melania work the counter. This year, it was a Dairy Queen, and Donald, disguised as the Burger King, was going to come in and order Melania off the menu and then make her his fast food sex slave for the night.
It was a great tradition, and they both loved it very much.
As Donald sat there on the subway thinking about whether he should purchase and then and torture some of the homeless and desperate as part of fast food sex slave night, a woman approached him.
“The Burger King?” she said.
“You look low rent,” the Burger Trump retorted, “and let me tell you,” he continued, “I would rather be a king than some low rent subway hen.”
The low rent woman had full lips.
“Subway hen?”
Donald ignored her, Tweeting a threat to France.
The low rent woman looked closely at his fingers, as if figuring something out.
Suddenly, the subway came to a screeching halt. Everything went dark and Donald fell to the floor, his Burger King head spilling off and his phone skittering out of his pocket! When he looked up, he and the subway hen, also on the floor, were facing one another, their lips just inches apart– something unspoken burning between them now.
“You’re Donald Trump,” she whispered, “I knew I recognized those tiny, orange fingers!”
The stranger’s breasts heaved upon the filthy, seductive floor of the subway. He stared at the woman and she stared back, their breath hot and real.
Trump inched toward her and she inched toward him.
At that moment Donald’s phone began to ring, picking up an audible message from Melania, “Donald, it is your Queen Dairy, I have customer, and child wants me to make curl with ice cream that I cannot make. Tell her we close? Give her money? I stand by you, my man, even if ice cream disgusting. I still poo you, my king.”
Donald swept the phone away with certainty, like a Commander-In-Chief. And then the lights came on and the subway started up again. The low rent woman got up and dusted herself off and walked away, shivering, “This is the weirdest, fucking grossest day of my life,” she muttered to herself.
“Rosebud, “Donald Trump mouthed, “Rosebud.”
