We took our little human for his first visit to see Santa at West Edmonton Mall (which I will elaborate more on in a later post). It was fun and a wonderfully hypnagogic experience. But, right now, I want to focus on two things: Presents and presents.

Since the earth child cannot form words yet, I took it upon myself to create a list that he can mail to Santa in hopes that he may procure some gift related wonderment. I think it fair to point out to Santa that my child is too young to have yet done anything bad in his life to this point, thus, all his requests must be paid in full as he is the perfect example of purity and grace.

Here is the letter I have written on behalf of my son, that will be sent to Santa and his representatives forthwith:

Dearest Mr. Claus,

My parental units have informed me that this time of year is when you, in your kindest of manners, do take it upon yourself to set forth into the darkness of night to deliver gifts to all the good little girls, boys and transgendered peoples.

Although I am clearly too young to write this, my father has taken it upon himself to procure my wishes. He is currently studying my mannerisms and transcribing them to page as he has my best interests at heart and is a handsome man. With that said, he is known to be borderline telepathic and very pleasant to the eyes. But, I digress from my most sincere topic: My presents.

I would like something fluffy. It can be anything. I like to smash stuffy things into my face. Aside from giving my mother smothering nightmares, there are many positives to this. I enjoy the fluffy feelings on my face skin. My fingers come alive at the manic gripping and un-gripping of the fluffy. Touching and feeling fluffy brings me great joy.

Also, as many lights as you can obtain. I like lights. When I look into lights, it is like I’m looking into the mind of God. I am transfixed by its opulent majesty. I cannot look away from light. Please, bring me much light.

More farts. Have you ever farted Santa? Pretty fucking awesome, I do agree.

Some form of magical beast that will get me whatever I want and, when I’m old enough, I will be able to ride: into battle.

Finally, my father needs payment. He requests three swords. Each should be no longer than an arms length. Two of which he will carry on his person at all times. One that will be in the shop for cleaning because of sword related uses and adornments (rubies, sharpening, magical inscriptions). REMEMBER: Father is not the sort who needs a long sword. A long sword is pretentious. My father is without pretence. WITHOUT!

Thanks again Santa. I cannot wait. Seriously, I don’t have the capacity to wait for things. Can you feel my screams?

Yours,

(Name redacted)