A Letter Detailing My Plot to Kill Santa
Dear Mom,
I’m going to kill Santa Claus.
Okay, I know that sounds bad. And maybe it is. But listen –– Santa Claus? He’s worse.
Let me explain.
So there I was –– actually, before I get started, how are you? I know it’s been a few weeks since I wrote you. How are things in the Keebler factory? Still good? I hope they’re alright, because I’ll need a place to hide out after I do this murder. Anyway . . .
So there I was, December 26th –– yesterday. I was enjoying one of my very few days off a year, when who should appear? Mrs. Claus herself!
‘Dingle,’ she said. ‘You’re needed upstairs. In the Official Naughty or Nice List Room.’
Now, as you know, almost nobody’s got the clearance to go in there. So I was like, whaaaa? But I went up, fully expecting to meet a grumpy day-after-Christmas Santa. I thought: Maybe I’m on the naughty list? Maybe I accidentally parked my work sleigh in a reindeer-only lane?
But nothing –– nothing –– could have prepared me for what I found up there.
It was . . . Mrs. Claus!
Now, obviously the first thing I wondered was why she’d gone to the trouble of telling me to meet her in this secret, high-security location, when she just as easily could’ve talked to me before. So I asked her.
‘I have to tell you a secret, Dingle,’ she answered. ‘And no one can overhear.’ And she looked me right in the eyes and said: ‘I’m in love with you.’
I know! I was shocked too!
Now, I can’t say I hadn’t thought about Mrs. Claus romantically before. I mean, those rosy cheeks? Adorable! The way she spreads joy and cheer wherever she goes? Admirable! Her love of experimenting with new cookie recipes? Delicious!
But of course, whenever those fleeting thoughts entered my brain, I had to remind myself: Dingle, she’s married. To your boss, no less! But now, here she was, confessing her love for me!
‘Does Mr. Claus know?’ I had to ask. If he did, that would complicate our next moves.
Unfortunately, he does know. You see, Mrs. Claus told me she’d gone to Santa and admitted her secret love –– but he’d said, in no uncertain terms, that such a romance would be expressly forbidden in the North Pole. The old villain!
So I thought: poor Mrs. Clause. Her husband is too busy for her –– too busy making toys and spreading goodwill! Not even doing anything worthwhile, like lifting weights or practicing chess in the mirror. Mrs. Clause needed a big, strong, aggressive elf, not that irritatingly cheerful old man she’s saddled with. (And yes, I know I’m only 3’9’’ – but that’s considered big for a North Pole elf!) And now, that old man stood in the way of our happily ever after.
The next step in the plan came easy now: kill Santa Claus.
Honestly, I’ve been complaining about wanting to kill old Saint Nick for a few years, since he demoted me from Head of Video Game Console Testing to Junior Stuffed Animal Stuffer –– just because I kept throwing controllers through the TVs! I’m sure I’m not the only one who wants the old man gone –– although, everyone I’ve ever asked has been too wimpy to agree that Santa needs a permanent vacation.
You know, I bet word got around. I bet that’s why Mrs. Claus fell in love with me! (Like I said before, big, strong, aggressive elf.) Wow, it all makes sense now!
So back to my secret meeting with my new lover, Mrs. Claus. Together, we crafted an ingenious plan: Mrs. Claus will ask Santa to meet her in the middle of the sports toys and equipment factory. There, I’ll use my massive muscles and equally massive brain to create a “tragic accident” involving a bunch of baseball bats falling onto Santa’s stupid head. Then I’ll whisk Mrs. Claus away to the Keebler factory, where we’ll live out the rest of our days eating cookies and being in love and stuff.
Now, I’ll be honest, it does seem odd that Mrs. Clause would want me to murder her husband in such a high traffic area . . . but who am I to question the will of my beloved? I only hope we can escape before the security elves catch us –– they hang out in all the factories, especially the more dangerous ones like sports and gardening. Oh well! I’m sure my dear Mrs. Claus has her reasons.
Our plan is scheduled for tomorrow. Prepare for me to arrive at the Keebler factory sometime this week! Oh, and maybe keep my and Mrs. Claus’s plans on the down low. You can’t trust anyone these days!
Tell Dad I say ‘hi,’ and remind him that I’m a grown elf and I do not need anger management classes.
See you soon. Your favorite son,
Dingle