Joe - Dear Santa, this year I want a Ferrari, red; and a bow and arrow (again); and a small boat for fishing, not too big, just enough for days on the lake; and that 50 inch hi def TV I saw in Best Buy; and tickets to all the Pro games in this city; and maybe a box of Cubans; and a couple cases of that Stella girl's beer.
Santa - Wait a minute, Joe, kids don't smoke Cubans or drink beer, who you trying to fool?
Joe - I'm not a kid, Santa, I'm a fifty-six year old male whose been writing you for 51 years and you haven't come through yet. Its time you did.
Santa - Well sorry to disappoint you, Joe, old guy, but I don't deliver ridiculous gifts to the withered gray elderly.
Joe - That's cruel. Maybe you might want to start. You can't expect to ignore a little boy-teenager-middle management guy-now divorced-unemployed-full grown man forever without him being ticked off and looking into your situation.
Santa - Situation? I just work my ass off packing presents for every kid in the world, and deliver the whole frigging mess on one night. That's the situation.
Joe - You never thought anyone was gonna find out what you do up there the rest of the year though, did you? I noticed you changed most of those ugly little warty elves to pretty perky girlie elfs for starters. And they don't wear the green Loden jackets and pointy caps now do they? You shop for them secretly at Victoria's, don't you. I heard some of them might be thespians.
Santa - I give them auditions .... sometimes. Who told you about that?
Joe - Never mind, and all the new ones do is sit around filing their nails. And those working elves you fired are getting uglier too, they're saying things about you, and mad about not having their one lusty day a year with Mrs. Claus while you are out flying across the skies.
Santa - You can't prove any of this. Mrs. Claus was tired of the toy factory and had the elves diligently making 10 inch Leaning Towers of Pisa out of wax. We've been estranged since. And you're not getting any Ferrari either.
Joe - You're pretty smug Santa, never thought anyone would check the Geographic North Pole did you? Everyone was looking at the Magnetic North Pole.
Santa - I can tell you're dumb, Joe, anyone who wrote to me for 51 years with no reply just doesn't get it. I'll give you the six pack of beer and that's it. It is Stella Artois by the way.
Joe - Nothing artsy about Stella, she's the one with the big red lips. They are those candy ones and you didn't even notice. Could have sent Kaitlin and Rue Paul up there too you horny old curmudgeon. That's what you get when you hire from Craigslist Gigs.
Santa - What do you want, Joe? You can't destroy a legend, people love me all around the world. Main Stream Media won't even give you a minute on TV. They're having too much fun giving out NORAD reports of where I am flying. Kids are listening with their greedy little hearts pumping Red Bull.
Joe - Oh yeah? Look what happened to Fatty Arbuckle, and that wasn't true. What
Santa - You're stretching now, Joe. I can tell you've got nothing on me. Just go ahead and take the rejection again. I'll toss in four Cubans. Now go away, I've got work to do.
Joe - Is part of your work, dancing with Sugar Plum soccer Moms while Hubby snores upstairs on Christmas Eve?
Santa - I show my appreciation for milk and cookies and hubby's 12 year old Scotch, that's all.
Joe - You're out of it, Santa, the elves don't even like you, they replaced Blitzen last year with a Clydesdale named Henry and you missed it altogether. What work? Saying a sweet goodbye to your girlie elfs?
Santa - We are equal opportunity employers up here, Joe. Take the deal. I'm putting you on the block list. You know damned well that you can say what you want about me now in December 24, 2015, but by December 24 in 2016 they'll have forgotten it all. It's the way the world works, Joe, people now think Darth Cheney is the good guy, he has his own action figure! Take the deal.
Joe - I need the bow and arrow, Santa, that was in my first letter fifty one years ago. And every one since. Last chance, Santa or I tell all, including the elfie massage with the 'happy ending'.
Santa - Ok, you get the bow, now go back to your Mother's basement and behave yourself.
Joe - Thank you Santa. Merry Christmas.
Santa - Piss off, Joe.
Santa - Psst! He's not getting the arrow though.