Letters to Santa.

“Dear Santa. My name is Billy. I have been a good boy this year, and I would like a GameBox 2012, with a lot of games, because mum says it keeps me quiet when her old man friend comes round and makes her hurt herself. Thanks, Billy.”

“Dear Billy. You’ve been good, have you? Yeah. Yeah. Well, you know what Billy, I am like God. I know everything. I am God, if you think about it. I’m afraid this sham is uncovered, as, Billy, I have it on good authority that in June, you did pull the legs off a crane fly, and also, in November, you shat in a coconut shell and blamed it on your sister.

To this end, you are not getting a Gamestation. You are getting an empty cardboard box with a picture of a fucking pantomime horse on it, a ballet shoe (Only one), and a copy of the second season of Last of the Summer wine on Betamax.


Regards, Santa.”


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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