You must be surprised that I'm writing to you today, the 26th of
December. Well, I would very much like to clear up certain things that have
occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote
you my letter. I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I
destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first
in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school. I'm not going to
lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better
than me, with my parents, my brothers,my friends, and
with my neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly
cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not
do for humanity. What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a
stupid whistle and a pair of socks. What the fuck were you thinking,you fat
son of a bitch, that you've taken me for a sucker the whole
fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As
if you hadn't fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the
street so many toys that he can't even walk into his house. Please don't let
me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my
chimney next year. I'll fuck you up. I'll throw rocks at those stupid
reindeer and scare them away so you'll have to walk back to the fucking
North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn't get me
that fucking bike. FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you'll find
out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A-BITCH.
~compliments of ryan martin~
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