Tag Archives: letters

Kid’s Letters To Santa. Mr. Know-It-All Responds (Classic Repost)

21 Dec

December 21, 2011

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. A scary, scary goodie. I’ve dug deep in the holiday archives for this one. Say hi to an old friend.

from December 8, 2007

Hi kids! Your drunken pal Mr. Know-It-All here. Somebody told me that Christmas is coming. It was that tattoo guy down on 13th street, under the train, in the old box next to the dumpster. He does great work, but I can’t remember why I had to take my pants off for an arm tattoo and why do I have these strange tattoos on my cock? They kind of look like teeth marks. Shit that crystal meth fucks you up.

But in the spirit of Christmas, I’ve got some letters to Santa I found in my office last week. Funny, I don’t remember having a big oak desk in my office, and who were all those strange people in the pictures on the wall? I must have also hired a new secretary because this one didn’t recognize me at all. For some reason I also don’t remember my office being all blurry and headachy. Mr. Know-It-All hasn’t gotten a paycheck in a while either.

Anyway, it is my pleasure to answer these questions. I love Christmas. For a long time they called me Mr. Mistletoe Pants. (The trick is to hang it off your belt right above your crotch.)

So here is letter numero uno:

Dear Santa,
This is from Marisa, Victoria and Katie. Please bring us something nice for Christmas. Please bring Mommy and Daddy something nice too!!
Have a safe trip and a Merry Christmas.

We love you,
The Wager’s Girls

Hey girls, no problem. Tell Daddy those divorce papers went through and tell Mommy that her test was positive for Chlamydia. And write back when you grow up to be the Wager’s Women. 36D and above, please.

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I’ll try to bring more seasonal sunshine to the next poor kid.

Dear Mrs Claus,
Please tell Santa that we would like to ask for a Sony Playstation and the following games – Colin McCrae Rally, and Command and Conquer Retaliation. We have been good boys and have been doing our homework. It would be nice to get a couple of surprises too.

Gareth and Andrew Gone

Who the fuck do you think you are, dickshine? Who the fuck writes to MRS. Claus? That bitch better be in the kitchen making dinner for Santa and practicing her deep knee bends. When Mr. K-I-A was married he had his wife barefoot and pregnant on her wedding day. The only word she said was “more.” Then she bought a gun and the rest you can look up in the New York Times.

Anyway kid, you got a look of friggin’ nerve asking for- Hey? Your name is “Gareth?” “Gareth Gone?” I take it back kid, you better have great big balls the way your family fucked you.

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Dear Santa:
Hi. My name is Ryan Smith, I’m 15 months old. I have tried my best to be a good boy. But I have an older sister and we sometimes don’t get along. I don’t like to share. My Mommy is helping me to e-mail you. I would like a Lights and Sounds Ernie and a surprise gift for Christmas. I like suprises. I hope that all is well in the North Pole and I guess you are all really busy getting ready for Christmas Eve. Mommy, my sister and I are going to leave you some cookies and milk. Hope you can find our home in Pugwash, Nova Scotia. Have a jolly trip on Christmas Eve.

Love, Ryan

OK, ok, alright, 15 month old kid. Let me talk to your Mom, the mastermind here.

Listen lady, what the Hell do you think you are doing writing to Santa? The kid can’t read- his mind can’t even process how the poop got in his pants. So what the fuck are you doing writing to Santa? Let me come over to “Pugwash” and give you some “Pudwash” from my “North Pole” and then you’ll give that kid a Christmas memory he’ll never forget. And no cookies and milk. I want booze and blow.

Shit yeah Mr. Know-It-All talks a good game! Too bad I can’t even take a leak without pissing my left leg.

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Dear Santa:
I know I might not have been good this year, but could you pleas! I would be so happy! If I could have a Pocket Pickachu so happy I would not need anything else. Have a Happy Yuletide

From, Wolf

Yeah, I got a pocket Pickachu too. You’re growing up right.

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Dear Santa:
I liked the things you gave me last year I hope you can make my wishes come true again all I want is some money so I can Buy what I want. I love you Heaps

kellie hogan

Look me up when you turn fifteen kid. Man, will you make some good whore.

I was a fifteen year old whore too. I called myself Monique and, umm, on to the next letter. Fast.

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Dear Santa:
I want a New Born Baby. Are the raindeer redy for the trip? Weel Goodbye

REBECCA ASHLEY RUSH

There’s a few easy steps for that.

1-     Tell me where your Mom lives.

2-     When is she alone?

3-     Leave a big bottle of Viagra for me and a bottle of Quaaludes for her.

4-     Wait nine months.

5-     Bail me out of jail for non-payment of child support.

And screw the reindeer.

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That’s it. I can’t take these greedy brats any more. Where are the hot MILF’s letters to Santa? I want to write back to them. They have the coolest wishes and the best pills. And desperate MILFs will do anything, even if the board of health has condemned your cock and you have needle marks all over your balls and your apartment is really just a filthy alley behind a pizzeria.

As you can see, Christmas brings out the best in Mr. Know-It-All.

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Dear Sir (or possibly Madam?)

11 Nov

from May 27, 2007

Dear Sir (or possibly Madam?)

I am writing to clear up a grave misunderstanding which occurred in your store last week. Normally, I would not shop in a store specializing in formal wear for the full figured woman (I usually call them fat, but it’s your store.) but due to certain circumstances beyond my control I found myself browsing through your “mother-of-the-bride boutique” and this is where the incident took place.

I should start from the beginning. I was driving home from the movies. I had read a very strange review online of “Superman Returns” and went to satisfy my curiosity. The reviewer had implied certain things about the Clark-Jimmy-Superman relationship, as well as certain peculiarities between Kevin Spacey and an old woman. (It is a long story, find the review yourself.) All I’ll say is that the reviewer was full of it.

Anyway, it was raining and I decided to pull over and wait it out. I had planned to listen to the radio (the Slappy and Wapppy show on 98.5 WLAZ “Where You Win Stuff By Listening”) when all of a sudden a woman ran smack in front of my car.

Well, since I had already pulled to a stop and parked, it didn’t much matter, but it did distract me from Wappy, who was asking listeners to call in with their favorite breakfast cereal stories. The woman kept going and I never saw her again (too bad- she was cute.) but I did see a man with a gun enter your store.

Like any good citizen, I sat there and took out my camcorder.

Soon, I saw other people enter the store. (And let me say that a store for fat formal women certainly has interesting customers.) People came out and it seemed like nothing was going on. Eventually the man with the gun came out. OK, to be honest, it wasn’t a gun, it was an umbrella. But I thought it was a gun. I already said it was raining pretty hard. It was impossible to tell a gun from an umbrella.

All this is to explain why I was sitting in my car looking at a videotape of people entering and leaving your store.

I was pretty bored. Slappy and Wappy had gone off and The Mike Callous Show had begun. His guest was C. Emory Watson from the Coalition for Taxable Income, so I turned it off and rewound the videotape I had shot and started watching. (I do intend to get a digital video camera soon. That would eliminate all the problems of rewinding, but it didn’t really matter. It was still raining and I was still sitting there waiting it out.)

After a few minutes I thought I recognized one of your customers. I could swear that I had videotaped former First Lady Barbara Bush going in. (Let’s face it. She is a large woman from good-Midwestern stock. Probably grew up punching cows or something.) Who wouldn’t be interested in that?

Well, after the mistake with the man and the gun, I wanted to see if I was right. If I was, maybe I could get an autograph, or maybe even get to party with those drunken Bush twins. If I was wrong all I would see would be another big homely lady wearing pearls and I’d leave.

That’s why I went into your store- to follow Barbara Bush. It was all very logical.

Sir, (or Madam? No offense, but you could go either way.) I didn’t plan on anything that followed. Honestly, who could have foreseen that “Barbara Bush” was really Estelle Gordon from Passaic? Or that her son was working in the stockroom? I didn’t intend to assault his mother, nor did I intend to get assaulted by her son. It was all so innocent.

I do admit that I must have looked really out of place in your store, especially when I went into your “mother-of-the-bride boutique” and browsed through your “Bea Arthur Collection.” I am also sure that I attracted some attention when, to look inconspicuous, I put on a large pink feathered hat featured in your “Boudoir Dreams” display. (And this brings up a good point- what was a large feathered pink hat doing in a boudoir display? I really think you need to do something about that.) I even admit that, with my camcorder stuffed down my pants, I did have a  suspicious silhouette, but c’mon, would you like to be caught with a camcorder stalking Barbara Bush in a women’s clothing store , especially when she was going into the dressing room? I told you this was all very logical.

Please be clear- when I entered the next dressing room and peeked over the wall, I was only peeking far enough to see her face. Believe me- I have no interest in Barbara Bush below the pearls. And when I stretched and the camcorder fell from my pants, how was I to know that her son was standing a few yards away and thought I was videotaping his mother as she changed? It was all so innocent.

Enclosed is a check for the damages to your front window. I really didn’t stop to look where I was going as I fled from the pummeling I was about to get, I just wanted out. (But you have to admit that the silhouette I punched out of the glass as I ran through it was pretty funny.) I have also enclosed a sum to pay for the pink feathery hat I was still wearing at the time. You may like to know that the hat currently sits on the top shelf of my closet- hey, you never know. (I may even come back for the matching garters.)

Lastly, Sir and/or Madam, have it as you will, I would hope that you would see fit to return my camcorder. There is nothing else of interest on the tape, except for some footage of my junior high school reunion and a few minutes of Superman Returns I secretly filmed.

Thank You Very Much

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