Flashback: Letter To Santa – December 22, 2011

A writer, his friends and Santa… what more can you want?

Letter To Santa – December 22, 2011

Hobbes walked into his living room and sat down at his computer.

“I’ve put this off long enough”, he thought to himself. “It’s time to sit down and finally get this letter out to Santa!”

“Dear Santa”, he began to write. “I’ve been a good man all year long. Well, maybe not great, but fairly good. Well, maybe not all that good, but I haven’t had any Federal warrants served and I haven’t killed anyone… yet. Although there have been a few people who might have been deserving of a high five… to the face… with a steel chair. But I’ve restrained myself and with all of that in mind, I gladly submit to you this… my Christmas list!”

Hobbes sat back and reviewed what he had written.

“Not bad so far. I hope he doesn’t double-check that naughty or nice list or else I’m in trouble.”

Suddenly, a voice came from behind and filled the room.

“A letter to Santa? Really? Really? Really?”, the voice said.

“Hi Miz”, Hobbes replied.

“Wait a moment. I still have two more ‘Really’s’ to do”, Miz answered.

“My bad!”, Hobbes said.

“Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah? Really? Really?”, Miz continued.

“So what are you doing here, Miz?”, Hobbes asked.

“The usual”, Miz answered. “Taking a few days off from the WWE, celebrating the holidays and just being myself.”

“And that is…”, Hobbes asked.

“Good question”, Miz said. “It gives me a chance to do my catch-phrase.”

“I aim to please”, Hobbes smiled.

“Being myself because I’m the Miz and I’m… wait for it… AWESOME!”

“Well done”, Hobbes said.

“Thanks!”, Miz replied. “So a letter to Santa? Are you for real?”

“Absolutely”, Hobbes said. “I know it’s kind of late in the year with Christmas only being a few days away, but I figure it can’t hurt.”

“You know that Santa isn’t real, don’t you?”, Miz asked.

“I think he is”, Hobbes answered. “Not in the real, physical sense, but in the spiritual, subliminal sense.”

“It’s really Mick Foley in a Santa suit”, Miz continued.

“Who? Santa?”, Hobbes asked. “I saw that, but I’m not talking about Foley.”

“Of course not”, Miz said. “Because the only person in the WWE worth talking about is the most must-see WWE Superstar of all time… ME! Because I’m the Miz and I’m…”

“You already did that”, Hobbes reminded him.

“Oh yeah! Sorry!”, Miz said.

“So why are you here Miz?”, Hobbes asked.

“Hell if I know?”, Miz said. “It’s your story and you’re obviously relying on your old crutches again.”

“Wrestlers, super heroes and vampires”, Hobbes muttered.

“Exactly!”, Miz said. “By the way, that damn vampire isn’t around here anymore, is he?”

“Who?”, Hobbes asked.

“You certainly do already know who”, Miz shrieked. “The last two times that I’ve appeared in thse crazy ass stories of yours, I’ve been threatened by that vampire from that old show, Black Shadows or whatever it’s called.”

“You shouldn’t have insulted him”, Hobbes replied.

“I didn’t insult him or his campy sixties bad television show or bad acting or even that he’s boring. And if he was here right now, I’d tell that Barney Rubble bloodsucker..”

“Barnabas”, Hobbes said.

“What?”, Miz asked.

“His name is Barnabas Collins”, Hobbes said.

“Barnabas? Barney Rubble? Bart Gunn? I don’t care! He’s a boring stereotype and joke. He’s a loser and a whiner. He’s a leech!”, Miz continued for a moment and then he stopped. “And he’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”

“Yep”, Hobbes smirked.

Miz slowly turned around and there stood the vampire, from the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows, Barnabas Collins. Barnabas’s eyes were bright red and his fangs were bared.

“Eeeep!”, Miz squeaked before breaking into a panicked run and fleeing for his life.

WIth a loud snarl, Barnabas took off in pursuit of the WWE Superstar as Hobbes stood and watched.

“Well, that was fun”, Hobbes muttered to himself. “And now, I should get back to this letter to Santa.”

Hobbes turned back to his computer and started to write once more when he heard a noise behind him.

“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood… a beautiful day for a neighbor. Won’t you be mine? Can’t you be mine?”, a voice sang out.

“No, it can’t be”, Hobbes thought to himself as he turned around, but there he was. “It’s Mr. Rogers!”

“Hello neighbor”, Mr. Rogers said. “How are you? Did you know that I think you’re special?”

“Did you know that you’re dead?”, Hobbes answered back.

“No, I’m not”, Mr. Rogers replied. “I’m just in syndication.”

“But you’re strange and stiff and creepy. Oh wait, you’ve always been like that”, Hobbes said.

“I didn’t die. I just moved to the Land of Make Believe”, Mr. Rogers said.

“So why are you here, Mr. Rogers?”, Hobbes asked.

“It’s your story so you tell me”, Mr. Rogers replied. “I was just playing checkers with King Friday one moment and the next minute, here I am.”

“That’s creepy”, Hobbes said.

“So what are you doing neighbor?”, Mr. Rogers asked. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“I’m writing a letter to Santa”, Hobbes answered.

“Be sure to ask for hookers”, Mr. Rogers replied. “I like hookers!”

“Mr. Rogers?”, Hobbes exclaimed. “I’m shocked! You and hookers?”

“And don’t forget the whiskey”, Mr. Rogers added.

“I didn’t think you were into that kind of stuff”, Hobbes said.

“A man can’t survive on sweaters and slippers alone”, Mr. Rogers replied. “And besides, I’m dead. What have I got to lose now?”

“Good point”, Hobbes said. “But I don’t think I can ask Santa for that kind of stuff. It’s not me.”

“Quit lying”, Mr. Rogers answered. “You’re even worse than Elmo!”

“Elmo?”, Hobbes asked.

“Two hookers a day, plus he likes crack!”, Mr Rogers replied.

“You’re kidding?”, said Hobbes.

“No neighbor”, Mr. Rogers replied. “He started hanging out with Charlie Sheen and…”

“Charlie? You don’t need to say anything else”, Hobbes sighed. “And he used to be so lovable and sweet!”

“Elmo Winning!”, a voice came from off page.

“I think I’d better go with him before he gets in trouble. Are you sure you don’t want my help in your letter to Santa, neighbor?”

“No, I’m good!”, Hobbes replied.

“I’ll leave now. Don’t forget to ask Santa for hookers. Go for the Thai ones. They’re really special… just like you, neighbor”, Mr. Roger said.

“Just go… please”, Hobbes sighed.

“Won’t you please… won’t you please… won’t you please be my neighbor!”, Mr. Rogers sang as he walked away. “Good-bye neighbor!”

Hobbes watched Mr. Rogers leave and sighed loudly once more.

“Now finally, I can get to work and get this Christmas list completed and sent to Santa. I just hope there are no more interruptions.”

And then, as if on cue, the sound of broken glass filled the room.

“It must be time for ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin”, Hobbes said as he turned around to see the newest arrival to his small office. But instead of the expected former WWE Superstar, standing there was from Family Guy, Mr. Peter Griffin.

“Peter, what are you doing here? Where is Stone Cold Steve Austin?”, Hobbes asked.

“I don’t know”, Peter said. “I just came in here looking for Stewie.”

“I haven’t seen him”, Hobbes replied. “But I heard broken glass a few moments ago. Did you break a window?”

“I did not”, Peter replied as he held up his hand, revealing a long shard of glass sticking out.

“Then why do you have glass in your hand, Peter?”, Hobbes asked.

“Geez! This is worse than that time I worked as a make-up artist for the Joker!”

“No flashbacks allowed here, Peter!”, Hobbes said.

“Oops! I just pooped myself! I’ll see you later!”, Peter said as he suddenly ran off page.

“That was weird!”, Hobbes sighed.

Then suddenly, Peter ran back into the room.

“I forgot to tell you that if Lois calls, you didn’t see me because she thinks I’m volunteering at the Friends of Lepers Home, but I’m not.”

“Then what are you doing?”, Hobbes asked.

“Looking for Stewie. He has the keys to the car”, Peter said. “And he’s my ride to Wally World.”

“What are you talking about, Peter?”, Hobbes asked.

“Bird”, Peter said.

“Bird?”, Hobbes replied.

“Bird is the word!”, Peter said.

“Bird is the word?”, Hobbes repeated.

“Yes”, said Peter before wandering off again.

“Okay, that was really weird”, Hobbes said to himself.

Glancing over at the clock, Hobbes sighed once more.

“Look how late it is. I’ll never be able to get this list finished today now. Too many interruptions and disturbances.”

Hobbes reached down and clicked off the computer.

“I’m going to go take a nap. Maybe I’ll try this again later.”

Hobbes got up and walked from the room, clicking off the light switch as he exited through the door.

All was quiet in the dark room.

And then a loud crashing noise filled the air and the silhouette of a small child with a large football shaped head standing on top of the body of a larger man moved in the darkened corner of the room. The small child had a big steel rod and was beating on the larger man for several minutes before finally quitting and stepping into the light.

“I warned you not to mess with me, Fat Man”, Stewie Griffin proclaimed. “And that bitch Lois, she’s next. And victory will be mine!”

Stewie started to scamper from the room, but stopped.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Time to break the fourth wall. For all of you people reading this, have a very Merry Christmas… or else!”



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