Wish List (403 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 1.5 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by AsshOly (View user info) at 2005-07-19 09:08:55 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
I sent my Christmas wish list to Santa and all I got from him was herpes simplex, type II.
Wait. Okay, let me back up. Hi. My name is Sarah Reinhold. I am now twenty-nine years old and have a dog and three cats. I am as of yet unwed, and unwanted. I have issues. And herpes.
I was seven when my brother told me Santa got robbed and beaten to death in Kansas City and that my presents weren't coming. He told me Santa was delivering gifts to a cute little girl just like me and some gang members pushed His reindeer off the roof and ran them over with their cars. He said they pounded Him with a Christmas tree while He lie writhing on the ground and they muffled his screams with Play-Doh ®. It was all over the news.
"Mom," I yelled. "Mom, Mom, Scott says Santa is dead and his reindeer got hit by cars and Santa cant bring my presents since He's dead now and now I'm not going to have any presents and there—"
"Shut up. I mean slow down. Santa is not dead. I just spoke with him this morning and he told me what he's bringing you."
"Bullshit Mom Santa was in Kansas City this morning and now He's dead—"
"Where did you learn that word?"
"From Scott Mom am I going to get any presents?"
She was already walking into the other room, followed by Scott's "owowow", which meant Mom was doing the thing again. We'd grown accustomed to it over the years, the thing with the slapping with the back of her hand, sort of like a karate-chop motion. She would stand there and yell and karate chop us in the head. It really didn't hurt at first, and was kind of funny ("you shit bags!"), but she went at it for such a long time—
"Mom will I get any presents!"
"'Santa' will bring you something. What the hell is the matter with you, Scott?"
"Owowow."
The next year was pretty tough for me. Scott was near unbearable for all my life thus far, but after he turned 21 in January, he became far worse. He picked up a drinking habit and I rarely saw him sober, although I really had no idea what was going on at the time. I noticed a change in behavior, for sure, but alcohol was as foreign to me as people with dark skin who say dark-skinned people things words like 'compadre' and 'wasssssup'.
But I was a good girl. I was! I did all my homework and everything and I did my chores and went to sleep at nine and—
But Scott was the Santa at the mall. Look, I already knew all about that Mall Santa Deal. It's cool, no problem. Santa can't be everyone all at once and there's one in every town. Sometimes Santa is black and sometimes he smells like cottage cheese that's been left in the sun. I just didn't understand why Real Santa would hire Scott to help Him out with all these innocent kids.
My mom took me one day to see 'Santa' and to tell Him what I wanted:
"A tape player, a bike, a—"
"What? What the fuck happened to your bike?"
"You broke it, Santa."
"Hahaha! Oh yeah. That was great. Did you ever get it out of the tree?"
I frowned. "Mom says the city people came and took it. But I want...I want...Are you really going to tell Santa what I want?"
"Santa? You have to be fucking kidding. Santa. I'm Santa. THERE IS NO SANTA. Ho ho ho, dummy."
I crafted a lengthy eight-year-old letter to Santa that night explaining that He should not listen to Scott, that He should interrogate his applicants instead of just giving the job away each year, and included my entire wish list for His perusal. I handed it off to my mother, who handed it off to my brother, who opened it and read every word of it, smiled, and promised Santa would take a look at it. As per my usual response to Scott offering me words of any sort, I ran to my room and cried.
I didn't sleep well on Christmas Eve. At all. The anxiety was enough to push me to puberty. Did Santa get my wish list? Did he—Am I going to get presents?
At 11:45, I heard a noise from the den, where our Christmas tree stood next to the chimney, which must be squirting out a Santa right now! I ran downstairs and watched Santa place a package in the fireplace. He's real!
"SANTA!"
Santa spun and fell over the couch and onto the coffee table, where he'd already spilled the milk we left out for Him. He clumsily rose to his feet and studied his surroundings briefly before introducing himself:
"What."
"Are those my presents?"
"Go back to bed."
"Those ARE my presents," I shouted in pre-pubescent glee. "I knew you were real, I knew you wouldn't let Scott lie to you, I knew you would know that Scott was a liar!"
Santa hit me in the face with the back of his left hand, in the same karate-chopping motion mom did, except mom never knocked me over.
"I have a present for you."
Santa took off my pants. And my underwear. And something happened that I didn't know could happen. And now I have herpes.
My psychiatrist says telling you all of this is therapeutic. I don't know.
User Reviews
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2007-10-18 00:15:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I think I like this story more every time I read it.
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2006-03-06 17:57:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
just for the pic? I thought this story was fantastic!! +2!!!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-02-17 18:34:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
+1 for the pic
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:32:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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