Christopher Gabriel, Published December 21 2009
Gabriel: Santa writes '09 letter to F-MEditor’s note: Christopher Gabriel got his hands on Santa’s letter
to Fargo-Moorhead and decided to share it.
Hi, gang. Hold on, sorry,
I mean, Ho, ho, ho!
Look, I have to tell you the “ho, ho, ho” stuff gets a little old after hundreds of years. Back in the 1970s I experimented with “Yo, yo, yo,” but my people thought it was too New York-specific. Still, my Facebook friends tell me they love the ho-ho’s, so I’m happy to deliver.
I do hope this finds all of you well, staying out of trouble and being nice. Trying to deal with the growing number of naughty people makes me think I’m getting too old for this job. The
MoveNaughty.org people are pushing my patience. One gift for all of you: an oil painting of Sarah Palin. Sorry, best I can do. Times are tough up here, too.
Anyway, we’re all geared up here at the North Pole but I’ll be honest with you – and I’m always honest with you – I’m a little edgy right now. I’d go as far to say downright annoyed. You’re thinking Santa’s not supposed to get annoyed? Wake up. Santa gets annoyed. In fact, I’m ticked off. My hybrid sleigh arrived without a block heater. Ever tried to get your sleigh jump-started in Siberia at 4 a.m.?
And while I’m exfoliating things off my chest, let’s just call it like it is: College football is a mess. I’m bringing down a very special gift to the folks who run this Bowl Championship Series nonsense – Santa’s Playoff Plan. Eight teams. Three weeks. Done. That’s as simple as the University of North Dakota and North Dakota State University playing football every year. They do that, right?
I can’t forget Barack and Michelle Obama. In the future when you make your State Dinner guest lists, how about checking them twice? Just a thought.
I’m thrilled to see what a good boy Brett Favre has been this year, though I still feel badly about getting him to the Jets. Hey, what could I do – his letter said, “I’ll go anywhere, just get me out of Green Bay.”
And one more thing – when I make my way through Chicago, skip the cookies and milk and leave me a double cheeseburger and a beer from the Billy Goat Tavern. Maybe a slice of raw onion? About the time I get there, I’m sweating like a roast pig at a summer cookout in Arkansas. All those cute little drawings of me and my rosy cheeks – those cheeks aren’t cold; they’re HOT, like the rest of me. You get yourself into that heavy suit and drag presents down chimneys all over the world and see how it feels.
And don’t tell me I need to lose weight. Don’t you think I watch Oprah? I’m all over Dr. Oz and what I need to be doing to help myself. She begged me to be on her show with him; no thanks. I’m not doing one of those before-and-after makeovers. Between the parades, the store appearances and shooting “Beyond the North Pole: Finding Santa” for the History Channel, Oprah can wait.
But all things considered, life is good. The cable TV goes out a little too often, my cell phone coverage could be better, and Al Gore stopping by with pecan pies and climate change pamphlets can be exhausting. But I’m happy.
I hope you are, too. Merry Christmas, Fargo-Moorhead.