Monday, 10 December 2012

Creepmas Day 10: Mad Jester's Letter to Santa


It's nice that the crew here in the Gory Kingdom are filled with spirit. And possibly alcoholic egg nog. Hell, Mad Jester wrote me a little something to share with you folks, and of course Santa. This once the fat fuck is going to want to read my blog. I think MJ insists on it...

Dear Santa,

I know I haven't been a good boy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm sure that, even with all the apologies to the folks at the mall, even after returning the animals to the petting zoo, that my slate is still far from clean. I understand that- getting on the 'Nice' side of your ledger has never really been high on my list of priorities.

Your sanctimonious judgment of mankind from your gingerbread tower on high will likely never be leveled in my favour. Not after the present I left for the staff at St. Steve's, anyway- and certainly not after I hogtied one of your mall-helpers and left him gagged in the elevator shaft while I did donuts in the parking lot with his car. (In my defense, I let that one live.) I've resigned myself to knowing you'll never look on me with approving eyes. And normally, that's not an issue.

However, this year there are some mitigating circumstances I'd like to bring to your attention.

First off, for the first time in a long while, I find myself, not just in want, but in need of something. See, I've found a nifty way to feed my personal demons with relatively little risk of harm to others, by which I of course mean writing for the blog.

The problem therein lies with the fact that my computer (okay, if we're going to quibble, 'the computer I carried out when I was done at the Caliuda family's place') is no longer functioning up to snuff. It overheats at the drop of a hat, it powers-off if the cord is so much as joggled a millimeter out of place, and it can't seem to hang on to an internet connection for longer than it takes to launch Firefox.

Needless to say, this is most thoroughly vexing. Frustrating. Infuriating.

Maddening. (The act of becoming John Madden? Shut up, you.)

When I don't have a working computer, then I can't write for the blog. If I can't write, then the urges come back. When the urges come back, I do the sort of things that get me put in certain quasi-deities' literal bad books, if you follow.

And if you don't follow, just ask Mrs. Claus to explain it to you. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Oh, did you not get a reply? I think I might know something about that.

See, I know I have no reasonable expectation of getting a new computer for Christmas under normal circumstances. I know my name's on the 'Naughty' list in permanent ink. But the way I see it, you haven't been in business for as many centuries as you have by being a stupid man. I'm sure you can be coaxed into overlooking that minor clerical matter, given suitable inducement.

So how 'bout it, Nick? You've got something I want: a new computer. I've got something you want: your wife.

In my basement.

By the table saw.

You have until midnight December 22nd to give me your answer, before Mrs. Claus comes home... in a series of sandwich bags.

Season's greetings!

Mad Jester

PS. Don't bother going for help. The Easter Bunny already knows not to cross me.

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