I have come to the conclusion that you are a useless sack of shit and that I hate your guts. How fucking hard is it to fit one 5'11", 190 pound man somewhere in that sleigh of yours and deliver him to my house? That's the one and only thing I asked for for Christmas and you are going to be a prick about it and not give me what I want!! You can fit toys for every fucking snot-nosed brat on the planet in that sleigh of yours, but you can't find room for ONE soldier??? He's infantry. He can handle the trip!
Maybe in some twisted, fucked up way you are trying to teach me about the spirit of Christmas and that I'm being selfish wanting my husband home. Well, FUCK YOU, Fat Man! You work from home every day with your little Army of elves who actually do all the construction while you sit and compile lists of names. . . Oooh! That's a hard fucking job, with your wife right there 24/7 bringing you milk and cookies and giving you head whenever you want it. You do actual work ONE NIGHT a year! My husband's been gone for TEN months! SO FUCK YOU SANTA!!!
I am going to go eat the cookies we made for you, open that bottle of wine and load the 22. You have a good night Santa! I hope you freeze your balls off. And if you show up at my house empty handed, well, let's just say that it would be wise for you to have emergency services on speed dial.
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