Dear Santa…

Dear Santa…

Dear Santa,

As a frequent observer and documenter (since you see me when I’m sleeping and you know when I’m awake, I’m fairly certain you’re aware of the fact that I occasionally engage in nightlife photography) of the behaviors of San Diego’s nightlife community, I would like you to grant my requests listed below. This is non-negotiable, as I’ve stuck to my end of the bargain (being a good little boy this year and avoiding your “naughty” list), so I expect a lil’ something in return… if you’re picking up what I’m laying down (wink, wink). And of course, thanks in advance. So, without further adieu:

1) Please help the youth learn how to handle their alcohol in a more professional manner. One would assume that frequenting nightclubs and bars would invariably build what most refer to as a “tolerance” to the “sauce,” but I see otherwise… on a regular basis. It’s really not so difficult, ladies and gents… If you know one more shot will leave you broken and barfing in an alleyway, um… perhaps say “No, thank you,” when offered said beverage. Stop trying to prove anything to yourself or your friends, as you appear to be failing miserably.

2) Please eliminate the following phrase from what has become commonplace nightlife vernacular: “bestie.” For example, I was photographing the grand opening of an s&m club a couple of weeks ago when this young lady approached me as I was shooting another female on what I can only refer to as the dominatrix wheel o’ decadent death. She said to me, “Hey, that’s my bestie up there. Can you send me some of those shots?” Now, being the forward individual I am, instead of replying with a simple, “No problem, I’d be happy to do so,” I said something to the effect of, “Um… did you really just use the word ‘bestie?’ Please don’t ever do that in my presence again.” And to answer the subliminal question currently bouncing around your brain; yes, I am an asshole. But I’m an asshole with a purpose — to clamp shut and cut off the flow of shit that is rapidly destroying what once resembled The King’s English. I’m a professional writer, what else would you expect? Oh, and while you’re at it, can you also get rid of “LOL, OMG, sick” and “BFF”?

3) If you have room in that massive reindeer-powered rig of yours, can you squeeze in a bit of class and deliver it to all the little nightlife boys and girls around the world? I’m sure you know most of them claim to possess it; but you know better, don’t you, you omnipotent s.o.b., you! And I’m not speaking of Audrey Hepburn-type class… no, no, no; that would be asking too much. I’m just talking about a dash here, a pinch there. You know, enough to keep nipples from falling out or genitalia from being fondled in the middle of a dance floor. Things like that…

Well, my fat friend, I could carry on for days with this year’s list, but I know you’re a busy man and all, so I’ve kept it to a mere three items. I don’t feel as though I’m asking too much, and I think all of my fellow nightlifers would be appreciative if you could follow through on my requests. There will be a plate of “special” cookies and a tall glass of whiskey (I remember you mentioning something about lactose intolerance a few years back) in it for you if you do.

Thanks big guy!


Gentleman Bradley


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