Letters to Santa

The Santa FAQ

Santa has a tough job. Parents thrust into his lap conveyor beltloads of ponderous, squirming children who tear at his beard and aggravate his hernia. Trucks of mail arrive in front of his shop, delivering letters written in unintelligible crayon and with postage due. Soot-caked chimneys with stuck flues increase the chances of lung cancer with each passing year.

But Santa is such a jolly old elf, with a belly like a bowl of Jell-o, that we figured he’s had enough time to accustom himself to the burden, perhaps even find a kind of joy in carrying a load that would drive any lesser man postal.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we discovered this actual correspondence from Santa to the children who love him. Santa clearly is a man who is living on the edge.

It’s time to consider the words of Weird Al Yankovic, who once advised, “… if someone’s coming down your chimney, you better load your gun and shoot to kill.”

The letters

Dear Santa,
Why are you always making toys for everyone? You make a lot of toys.
— Stacy

Dear Stacy,
Because it beats making license plates or folding laundry.
Violating parole,


Dear Santa,
All I want for Christmas are election results that are definitive.
— Chris

Dear Chris,
Pack your bags and be by the chimney at 11 p.m. Christmas Eve; the flight to Albania takes but a few minutes by reindeer. (There aren’t many nice children there for me to visit, but I can still manage an air-drop if I’m out of parachutes.)
Speech ain’t free (nor is the ride),


Dear Santa,
How can you manufacture all those toys and give them away without ever going broke?
— Samantha

Dear Samantha,
Simple, dear. The elves are chained to their workbenches, and any time a union tries to form, I toss the ringleaders out in the snow. I’m Santa, darn it, and I’m the only game in town.
Keeping alive the spirit of Andrew Carnegie,


Dear Santa,
Why are you so darn fat?
— Blair

Dear Blair,
Because when I go house to house on Christmas Eve and look at all those tiny sweet sleeping faces, I find that I can never eat just one.
Savoring each morsel,


Dear Santa,
I don’t like my younger sibling Dana anymore. The kid’s mean, chews up my toys, and smells weird. I’d like a new one, please.
— Leslie

Dear Leslie,
You’re in luck! Neither Dana nor your parents wanted you any more either, so by replacing you I can kill three birds with one stone.
Returns accepted w/ receipt only,


Dear Santa,
You don’t really eat kids, do you? Only the Grinch does that sort of thing, and he’s ugly and hairy and green, and you don’t look like that at all!
— Laverne

Dear Laverne,
Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but you have no idea what I look like under this rubber mask.
Trick or treat,


Dear Santa,
Why do people call you Kris Kringle?
— Francis

Dear Francis,
Because the name Brimburgle Schnartlin Zimbrelowski is a real pain to spell. (Trust me; you never grew in Phillipsburg, New Jersey.)
Phonetically last but not least,


Dear Santa,
Why do we always leave cookies and milk out for you on Christmas Eve?
— Jackie

Dear Jackie,
Because with all the driving I have to do, hot wings and beer make people nervous.
Happy fender-benders,


Dear Santa,
Why does Rudolph have a bright shiny schnoz?
— Cameron

Dear Cameron,
Because he’s the only reindeer who’s not a brown-noser.
Hankering for flank steaks,


Dear Santa,
Do you believe in the Easter Bunny?
— Mackenzie

Dear Mackenzie,
I did, until last year. Now the larder is empty again. Did you know he was filled with vanilla nougat?
Still wishing for visions of venison,

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