Dear Santa...

As I sit in the airport terminal at LAX, watching the hustle and bustle of all the passengers scrambling to make it home to their families (about two weeks before Christmas, mind you), I try to figure out how to kill the hours before my flight. Drink? The answer is usually "hell yes," but I had a rough day yesterday where 4 different liquids were involved (Grey Goose, Jack, Don Julio & good 'ol Mr. Macallan)... Oh and how could I forget the beer? And did I mention this was before 7pm? So if I can't sit within 50 ft of the smell of booze, what better way to kill time than write a letter to Santa? I mean, someone needs to remind him of what a good little boy I've been this year. Those that know me, stop laughing. Those that don't know the guy behind who they call Anonymous, read on, you'll learn a thing or two...


Dear Santa,

I sit here reflecting on the past year since you've visited, and I start to wonder if I'll actually get a gift this year, or if a lump of coal will be the rude awakening that I deserve.

Side note: I sort of feel like I'm about to give confession, but given the fact that I haven't set foot in a church in 5 years (maybe 6), I'll instead spill my guts to you, Santa, and let you decide what to do with me this Christmas.

It's been a really good year, an eventful year, and quite honestly a blurry year.

If you ask me, "Have you been on your best behavior, Anonymous?" My answer: Probably not. But that doesn't mean I haven't done my fair-share of good deeds. I'll share a few with you, Santa:

I give money to homeless people. Sure, 9 in 10 are probably buying sex or drugs, but I think that at least I'm helping that 1 in 10 get off the streets.

I volunteered a morning of my time a few months ago to help the needy. Yes, it was also mostly get out of work. But a win-win situation for all. Don't hate...congratulate.

Also, I'm a really, really good friend. Like I will do just about anything to help a friend out. And all my friends know this. For instance, I recently drove 12 hours to drunkenly take care of a friend who had just had surgery. Another friend of mine is in a relationship that requires them to go home hammered pretty much daily... And guess what I do? I drink with them. Like shots, all the fucking time! I'd go so far to say that if a friend needed me to kill someone, I'd do it. Okay, maybe this isn't helping my case but I'd still do it. Fuck you. Kidding.

If this isn't enough, Santa, I'll compare myself to a few others sitting near me in the airport. I know, my mom taught me not to compare myself to other people, and what better way to plead my case?

FIRST- let's talk about the little whore who is sitting across from me in the lounge area. She can't be a day over 18 and is wearing enough makeup to make every member on the entire Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders look pretty. I shit you not, she's wearing so few clothes that she looks just like she came from her night job, of tricking. I can also hear the music coming from her headphones: Rihanna - S&M. Really? Yeah, I know that song. Santa, if you don't, here is a little excerpt:

"I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me..."

I mean, are you fucking kidding me, bro? And you wonder why people try to pay her for sex?? Let me guess, she used to be pretty square in high school, didn't drink or fuck, and after her first semester at Junior College, she realized how awesome the combination of sangria & cock tastes.


NEXT- Marilyn Manson's cousin, the dude wearing a black trench coat, a dog collar and black nail polish. Yeah, him. I'm trying not to make eye contact with him because I might get so scared that I'd piss myself. I don't know who told him that the goth look was cool, but it's been out since my senior year when that kid killed everyone at Columbine. I wonder how long it took him to get through security. But maybe that's why he looks so angry, I'll give him this much, I'd look pissed too if I had just received a cavity search from the huge ginger TSA agent at security. I'm very curious who is picking up this guy at the airport. If that was my son, I'd just keep driving past him at baggage claim. No joke.


LASTLY- to the man being paged over and over again because he lost his daughter. I'm sure it is a scary feeling, but if he had been watching little Angela instead of getting so SHIT-FACED at the airport bar, I'm sure his daughter wouldn't be crying for Daddy. The worst part - I'm sure she has to hangout with the huge Ginger TSA agent at security... I'm sure his hand smells like shit, even if he has taken off the latex gloves.

So there you have it Santa, I may not always make the best decisions, often clouded by booze and cat hair, but in comparison to many others out there, I really am a damn saint. And yes, I deserve presents more than these perfect strangers at LAX.

So in conclusion, I should be getting a gift this year.

Merry Christmas,
Anonymous