Dear Santa…

Dear Santa…

‘And when Santa squeezes his fat wide ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse!’

According to the ol’ calendar, the first official day of fall has passed. Now, in Southern California, this means nothing more than the basic bitches of the region can don their flannels, Ugg boots and beanies without fear of committing a fashion faux pas. It also means that we can find good ol’ Christmas decorations just across the aisle from the Halloween candy. Thus, if it’s not too soon for Costco to be selling fake plastic trees adjacent to 40-pound bags of Snickers, it’s not too early for me to start offering a few words of wisdom for this upcoming holiday season. Grab your pumpkin spice lattés and read along, kiddos.

On behalf of the San Diego nightlife community (and really, nightlife communities everywhere), I’ve taken it upon myself to draft the following letter to Santa in the hopes that Mr. Claus will finally get off his fat ass and give me something I really want for Christmas; since the bastard has short-changed me on everything from a pony to world peace. (And yes, I am that benevolent you selfish pricks. What did you ask for last year? Hmmm…)

In lieu of boring you with the mundane details, or droning on in my signature prolonged prose, I’ve compiled my wants/needs/desires in list format. (You’re welcome.)


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