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A Letter to Santa from Noah Cruickshank
Dear Santa,
During the course of this year I, Noah Cruickshank,
have
been a very good boy. I apologize for never having written
to you
before. Please do not think that my lack of my
communication is at
all indicative of an absence of belief on my
part. To the contrary,
I simply have lived by the philosophy:
"waste not, want not". I
recognized then that you,
Santa, did not want to be an agent of crass
materialism and thus
I withheld writing for all those years so as not
to abuse your
awesome generosity.
More to the point: where I sleep
it is very dark. There
is acid and bile everywhere and it smells
like fish. These are
inadequate quarters for one as dignified
and goodly as I, Noah
Cruickshank. The walls quiver, the floor
shakes, never a moment's
peace, never even a brief respite. To
clarify, I live in the
cavernous body of a whale.
And so I write to you, Mr. Nicholas, in order to request
a United States Navy nuclear submarine and several torpedoes. If you
deem me worthy of such a gift I would greatly appreciate it.
Forever Yours,
Noah
Cruickshank
P.S. For the love of God, I'm being eaten
alive!
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