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Dear Santa…

Robbie Williams

Image via Wikipedia

Please could you stuff my stocking with chocolate this year? Any kind. I’m not fussy. Although a family-sized bar of Galaxy would be good. And maybe a Crunchie, or seven. And, ooohhh! A couple of boxes of Cadbury’s Creme Eggs…

And for my main present, I’d like Robbie Williams.

No?

Oh.

Well, how about a guy who looks like Robbie Williams? With Alan Rickman’s smooth voice and Mel Gibson’s hairy bottom. Intelligence and a sense of humour are essential. Own hair, a definite asset.

Oh, and a pulse would be good too…

I’d like him naked, but wrapped in layers of pink tissue paper, tied with silver ribbon and topped with a huge bow, please. If that’s not too much trouble.

What d’you mean, Santa? Of course I’ve been good. Well, okay, I’m not perfect; I have frequent evil thoughts and I swear too much. And I’m not very tolerant of weedy, needy men. And I really enjoy taking the piss. And I have no self-discipline when it comes to chocolate. Or deadlines. Or exercise… 

But I’m not evil, exactly…. just mischievous. And fun-loving. And – oh, all right! It was me; I’ve got Rudolph. 

Whoa! Stop yelling! Desperate times call for desperate measures, you know. And it’s not like we’re mistreating him; I’ve cleared out the shed, thrown in some straw and set up a TV and DVD player in the corner. He’s currently watching Saw VI.

He’s been a nightmare, really. It was 3am in the North Pole and the kids and I were decked out in SAS clothing and black balaclavas (try saying that after a sweet sherry or two), trying to lure Rudolph out of his stable. It took two bags of carrots and a bottle of Jack Daniels to get him moving.

‘Mu-um, we shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not right,’ my kids moaned, in unison. (Who’d have thought I could raise kids with a conscience!)

‘Look,’ I snapped. ‘Do you want presents or not? For fuck’s sake, just get behind him and push! No! Don’t let him doop in the boot!’

All the way home, the kids sulked and Rudolph sang Christmas carols. But bawdy versions. That’s something you’ve kept quiet, Santa. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is a raging alcoholic and swears like an Irish navvy.

I know you need him back. But I’m willing to trade. One decent bloke or the reindeer gets it.     😉

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About Tiny Temper

I'm a middle-aged freelance writer living in Cornwall. And no, it's not all sun, sand and steaming pasties. I've been married, done the divorce and accidentally shrunk the tee-shirt.

5 responses »

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention Dear Santa… « Prince Charming, my arse! -- Topsy.com

  2. Boy are you fussy. You want the guy to have a pulse? *sheesh* Take what you get and like it. *teasing*

    Reply
  3. I wanted Jeremy Clarkson. I didn’t get Jeremy Clarkson (or a Mercedes Benz SL55 AMG). Was I asking too much you think?

    Reply

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