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The Wasatch Behind: Spud's letter to Santa

Sun Advocate Columnist

Dear Santa,

How are you? I am fine. I hope Rudolph, Blitzen, and the rest of your reindeer are doing okay. Tell them my horse, old Spudnut, sends his regards. I hope your elves are doing okay, too. I've spotted a few of them around town wearing goofy disguises. One was just ahead of me in the Walmart checkout line yesterday.

I hope you aren't mad at me for the store-bought popcorn balls and milk I left out for you last year. The pumpkin pie didn't make it to Christmas Eve and the eggnog got spilled on the couch. I bought cookies from the Girl Scouts this year so maybe we can work something out.

Oh yeah, and there is still that little matter of the leaking roof. I think your reindeer knocked holes in my asphalt shingles last year. I sent you a bill last February but your insurance company has never contacted me. I would really appreciate your attention to this matter since it is winter again and we are expecting snow any day now.

I know you are very busy and things must be tough at the North Pole with global warming and all. It's good you can hire people to do some of your public appearances. I saw a Santa at one of the big stores in Salt Lake last week, but I don't think it was the real you. Because of the swine flu scare, that Santa was all suited-up like an emergency room surgeon with rubber gloves, an apron, and a rug spread across his lap. He was wearing a surgeon's mask so it was hard to tell if his whiskers were real or not. Little kids were sitting on his knee while sending him text messages instead of whispering in his ear. I guess it's safer that way.

Anyway, what I want for Christmas is world peace, lower taxes, higher wages, an official Roy Rogers belt buckle, and a new car. I'm not too picky about world peace, taxes, and wages. You do whatever you think is best. But I do wish you'd bring me a nice car that gets 30 miles per gallon and goes 110 in the quarter mile. I want it in candy-apple red with bucket seats and a spoiler. Corvette or Ferrari doesn't matter to me. I'll take whatever you have available.

Oh yes, I wrote a little poem I thought you and your elves might enjoy while you wax my new Corvette and work out the world peace thing.

Jolly old Saint Nicholas,

Bend your ear this way,

If you tell a single soul,

There'll be hell to pay.

Christmas Eve is coming soon,

Now you weird old man,

Bring me lots of electronic stuff,

And a motorbike if you can.

When the clock is striking twelve,

And I'm faking sleep,

Down the chimney big and fat,

With your crap you'll creep.

We don't hang stockings anymore,

They don't hold near enough,

Simply fill the living room,

With lots and lots of stuff.

Susie wants a Berka-Barbie,

Johnny wants a Ford, F-150,

Sally wants a new prom dress,

Victoria's Secret would be nifty.

As for me, my meager needs,

Don't require much thought,

Just leave for me that motor bike,

And all the rest of the stuff you've got.

Take care, Santa. I'll leave the lights on for ya.

Your friend,

Uncle Spud

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