Dear Santa,

I know it's kind of early, but I wanted to get my letter in before everyone else did and you forgot that I existed. And I know that I shouldn't be worried about you forgetting because you're watching EVERYONE in the world, but you really can't do that unless you're God, can you? On the outside chance that you ARE God, I'm afraid that I can't believe in you because I'm a Catholic and that would lead to what we call "excommunication," which is sorta like when Mrs. Claus kicks you out of the bedroom, only we Catholics never get to go back and you probably do eventually.

So, how has your year been? Have you been busy soaking up sun with the Easter Bunny and the Great Pumpkin and the Tooth Fairy (when she's not busy)? Has your vacation been a nice one? I do hope so, because I know how hectic it must be to deal with all of the crap associated with the holidays. I get pretty aggravated with it myself, and I only have like six gifts to buy, compared with your six gazillion gifts! But I'm sure you and your elves are up to the challenge.

Speaking of "elves," I've heard some rumors come down along the grapevine, and I wanted to warn you about those child labor laws. I know you've been recruiting children to work twenty-hour days in your North Pole sweatshops since around the time Jesus was born, but nowadays we have some crazy notion that kids shouldn't be pushed so hard at such a young age, or beaten with reindeer antlers, or stuffed into boxes and sent to kids in France when the toys start to run thin. I'd be careful if I were you, or Mrs. Claus may find herself passing out sacks of hundred-dollar bills to those "elves" and you may find yourself crying your eyes out in front of a House Subcommittee.

Are you wondering what I want for Christmas this year? I knew you were. I can see you right now, going over your super-long list of children in the world and what they are asking for, slugging back shots of vodka with the abandon of an immortal being, looking at my name on the list and tearing your white eyebrows out with concern over the blank spot next to my name. I bet maybe you even sent Rudolph out on a special mission to find out where I am and why I'm waiting so damn long to send off my yearly letter. You probably also sent Rudolph to pick up some expensive gin and some cheap hookers, but that's okay, because I know how frigid Mrs. Claus must be after living at the North Pole for so long.

Well, worry no more, big guy! That's why I've written you every year since I was four: to let you know what I want so that I get it and I don't have to cry and hit my parents. And even though my friends all say you don't exist, I always tell them that neither does a black Republican, and folks seem to agree that Colin Powell exists, so I'm just gonna keep writing anyway.

I've given it a great deal of thought, and I think what I'd like the most for Christmas this year is world peace.

JUST KIDDING! What do you think I am, some pot-smoking hippie reject?! The only peace the world deserves is a piece of my ass. I really don't give two craps what happens to anyone else in the world, as long as I get what I want for Christmas. After all, I am a child of the eighties, the "me" decade.

No, what I really want is for all of my enemies to die horrible deaths. I know this is a stretch for you, as I'm sure first-degree murder isn't usually on the agenda for Christmas Eve, but it would really set my heart aglow if I woke up Christmas morning to find a pile of dead jerks sitting under the tree. I bet those reindeer of yours have really sharp antlers, don't they? Just shove those puppies through the hearts of a few folks who have been bugging the hell out of me lately (Fred Durst, Jerry Reinsdorf, Jenna Elfman) and we'll call it a Yuletide season.

On the outside chance that you should refuse to kill all of my enemies, even though it's what I REALLY want for Christmas, I guess an unlimited supply of money would be just as good. Because you know what would be the first thing I would buy? Mafia hit men to kill all of my worst enemies. So either way, they're gonna die, Santa. But if I had an unlimited supply of money, I could also buy some of those cheap hookers that you enjoy so much, as well as every CD ever released and some babies on the black market to toss around like adorable little footballs. I'd probably also donate some of the cash to charity, just to get some points on the "nice" portion of your magical list, although I don't know what I'd need with Christmas presents if I had an unlimited supply of money. I do like Christmas presents an awful lot; it really wouldn't be the same to never get any Christmas presents anymore, just because I have enough money to buy every Christmas present I could ever want and pay off the national debt at the same time.

How about you just get me a pony? I could keep it in my room under my bed and ride it to work or into Chicago. That would be great. Anyway, thanks for reading my letter again, and I hope you have a nice Christmas and everything. I'll be mixing up another batch of my special spiked milk and pot cookies for ya, so you can look forward to that! Give my best to the missus and the elves and the reindeer, and have a happy holidays. You're the best.

Hugs and Chocolate,
Matt Springer
A really, really, really, really, really GOOD boy