To whom it may concern (you all should be very concerned),
You might not have heard much from me in the last few centuries, but I assure you, I’ve always been here. So why am I speaking up now? Why not 40, 50, 600 years ago? And to that I say, welcome to the reckoning, fellas. Pandora’s box has been opened, and I’m not talking about those awful charm bracelets you keep asking my partner to bring your girlfriends, who don’t even really like them, because grown-ass women don’t wear charm bracelets.
2017. Wow. Hooo boy. We haven’t had this many people on the Naughty List since… well, 2016. First it was Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, now Weinstein and Lauer and Spacey and Franken. And yes, I recall, the most heinous leader of all – it’s the first time Santa will be skipping that house in eight years.
I’ll be brutally honest with you, it really doesn’t take much to get on the Nice List. In fact, we should probably rebrand it to the “Doing the Bare Minimum List.” And we’re not giving away trophies here to people who all of a sudden realize women should be treated with respect. Unless you specifically asked for a trophy this Christmas, in which case, you better have earned it, Jim in Accounting. Begrudgingly holding back on your office hugs does not make you a hero.
Yet here we are, only narrowly avoiding electing Time’s Pedophile of the Year, Alabama’s Republican Senate candidate Roy Moore, to office (I see you when you’re sleeping, white women voters). No, Time didn’t name him that, my good friend Father Time has a great TinyLetter I subscribed to and he gave Roy that title in his Top Humans in 2017 Wasting Time, aka Me, on Earth list. Let me just say, ya gotta do some real next-level creeping to get banned from a mall, mah dude.
Every year, my husband’s outsourced freelancers schedule sessions for children to SIT ON THEIR LAPS and take photos in the middle of malls and even they haven’t ever gotten banned, so what the hell were you doing, Roy Moore? Whatever it was (we all know what it was), it had to be worse than some old man promising toys to children after he sneaks into their homes and eats their cookies and milk, occasionally using his position of power to (probably forcibly) kiss their mommies.
Speaking of Kris, now that pretty much everyone’s on the Naughty List this year, he’s been sooo bored, hanging around the North Pole, all up in my shit. We’ve got a surplus of gifts for middle-aged men just sitting around the toy shop with no one to deliver to. What are we supposed to do with millions of Billy the Big Mouth Basses and Jimmy Buffett albums? I know, I know, Rudolph suggested burning them, too.
As we approach a new year, my suggestion for those on the Nice List: keep fighting the good fight, and it will pay off in time. A long, long, long time, according to the latest wage gap statistics. And for those of you on the Naughty List, let’s just say I made a special request for my gift from Santa this year, to be delivered during the midterm elections. Sleep tight, Teddy Cruz.
With the lukest of warm regards,
Mrs. Holiday-Claus
