Dear Santa: skip my house

Dear+Santa%3A+skip+my+house

Benjamin Tran

Dear Santa,

Sooo, here we are again.  You, a creepy, old, unkempt, white man that has never seen a razor before; and I, a non-believing, pessimistic, young, Asian teen that couldn’t care less about your existence.  I’ll be honest, the only thing I see your worth in is the possibility that you bring a smile to all the fresh, pure minds of children across the world, y’know, if you’re not busy the other 364 days of the year. Now now, if you’re still reading this far down, then you’ve clearly taken time out of your immensely packed yearly schedule to read my letter or rather, you’re fuming reading each and every one of my words – either way, I’m still a kid and supposedly, you’re obligated to continue reading this. 

To the other children who send you letters, bless their hearts and naivety. Wishing for toys, or clothes, or a red Ryder BB gun, or an iPhone, is so cute. Make sure to add world peace and ending all hunger to that list – as if you had that power anyways. I’m perfectly content with my current materialistic possessions and would find it rather bothersome to wait for good ole’ Saint Nick to get me what I want for Christmas. How about this: you skip my chimney this year, don’t break into my house, and restrain yourself from stealing my COOKIES, and we will all be happy. You get to skip a house while I get to sleep soundly without the fear of an old, white man looming over my head. Quite frankly, I’m just tired of seeing your face around this time of the year; your ego is clearly inflated and needs to be brought down a peg. This is good for both us. Don’t worry, it’s not me, it’s you. 

Insincerely,

Ben