An open letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,

I remember, as a child, my mother saying: “Santa won’t bring you any presents if you’re naughty.” I would ask how Santa could possibly know if I had been bad and she would answer: “Santa knows everything.”

If this is true, and there is no reason to doubt it, you would know about the Cape Town-based gang of god-bothering whack-jobs who want to see you dead. This is why I am offering my services as your head of security. By all accounts, you move alone at night. This is way too dangerous in South Africa, especially when you’re on Christian turf, and you need me to ride shotgun on the sleigh.

Your workshop is also vulnerable to attack. Just because you employ 50 elves doesn’t mean you won’t be robbed. They are elves, after all. What can they do against a band of pirates? Bite their ankles? Slash their knees with their pointy ears? Your elves need to be armed with small yet deadly weapons. Maybe flick-knives.

I also think you are ready for an image overhaul. Too many dirty old men end up pretending to be you so they can get to bounce the kiddies on their knee. The first thing you need to do is lose the frilly white bits on your uniform. You’re not a male stripper, for god’s sake. You’re some sort of saint. Dress accordingly.

And something must be done about those reindeer. With names like Dancer and Prancer, you run the risk of your team becoming gay icons in the animal kingdom. And what’s up with Donner and Blitzen? You have Germans working for you? Get rid of them. They can’t be trusted. Replace them with huskies.

While I’m at it, you might want to lose some weight. Plump is one thing, but obese is just plain wrong. Imagine how it would look if you had a cardiac arrest in someone’s house and the paramedics defibrillated you right there in front of the children. Not pretty.

And stop being such a bastard. Give presents to all of the children, regardless of their behaviour. Punish the parents, if you have to. They are the ones to blame.

One last thing. We need to move HQ from the North Pole to Bora Bora in French Polynesia. For security reasons, obviously. Call me. I can start right away.

Yours sincerely,

Ben Trovato

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