Look. I got your place bugged, ya know. There are elves every place you look, only you can't see 'em. You stepped on poor old Clodhop yestereve, only we can't hold it against you since Cloddy was drunk on some of your vanilla extract (again) and so it was his own fault. Besides, it probably did him some good since he was singing "Eleanor Rigby" again and off-key as usual, which wouldn't be so bad if he knew any of the words besides "Eleanor Rigby." Drives the other elves over the edge, it does. So we marked that up in the "Good Girl" column of Tabster's Big Fat Christmas Book O' Black Marks and removed one of the sticks from the pile of presents.

And you might be a gentle soul, and good on ya for it. But I got problems up here in the Snowy North, what with the Russians planting a flag on the sea floor and handing me an eviction notice, the General Strike called by Elves and Labourers International Union of Labourers and Elves that went on from February to August, and, of course, Canada trying to give me Equalisation Payments. The reindeer got the scours back around the first of the month (you ever drench a reindeer?) and Blitzen ran off with a caribou gang called "Hell's Hornys." Not to mention the cost of raw materials going up up up because of the cost of diesel.

And then there are the letters from the kids: "Santa, gimme a grenade launcher" "Santa, I want Britney Spears for Christmas" "Santa, I think you're a big fat fake and bring me a new bicycle if you're not." Come on, you little greedheads! You ever learn to say "Please"? The only letter I'm even CONSIDERING filling was from little Timmy O'Brien who wrote and asked, "Couldn't you make Paris Hilton disappear?" Right now, everybody else is going to get seaweed in their socks come Christmas morning.

But don't worry about it...YOUR gifts will be on the way long before that.

Sincerely yours,
One Very, Very, Very Harassed Santa