Since I’ve already tried writing these letters as a kid and had no real luck with a fancy lengthy letter (still waiting for that Barbie dream house, just FYI) I thought I’d keep it short simple and to the point…not to mention I’m writing this on my phone as I’m multitasking at work. I know you have a busy schedule so I’ll get right to it! I think I’ve made it on your nice list year…my co-workers are still alive and
My wish list:
– A Nespresso machine with an unlimited supply of coffee, because a girl needs her caffeine (at least this girl does!) to function properly!
– A time machine/Tardis (Doctor included) so I can get all my reading/blogging done and keep my day job (maybe I have been watching too much Doctor Who lately)!
– A magical wand with the power to make my evil co-worker (who shall remain nameless) disappear at my command, well at least for a while 🙂
– My very own Sephora store…I mean I just give them my money anyway, it would be nice to have my own store to feed my beauty addiction! I’m sure my girls Isa, Laurie and Annie would highly approve of this…
– David Gandy would be nice, but I’m not fighting Annie for him so that’s not happening…but I’ll gladly take him on loan if she lets me. I’m a lover not a fighter 😉 [EDITED: NOPE! Not happening, Lori 😉 ~ Annie]
So if you get this letter Santa, feel free to send any one of these things my way…and if you’re feeling extra generous maybe you can have Mr. handy personally deliver my Nespresso machine…LOL oops, I think that thought just landed me on the naughty list!
Merry Christmas Santa!
The nice list is a lovely rouse, but you’re not fooling me. I know you prefer bad girls. The naughtier, the better, right?
Let’s face it: I don’t meet any classical definition of a “good girl” these days. I drink. I swear. I throw more than my share of tantrums. I manipulate my opponents in business. I manipulate my brothers—lovingly and for their own good. I have meaningless, unfulfilling sex with lamest dudes in the world. (And that doesn’t include what I did after Matt and Lauren’s wedding. That was really bad.)
But anyway…It’s been a short eternity since I last wrote you, and that was when I wanted a baby sister. (Side note: that didn’t turn out like the Barbie/Skipper situation I had in mind. I would have appreciated a gift receipt with that one.) Since then, I’ve been picking up the slack for you around here. I think it’s time for some reciprocity.
You’re an expert at delivering joy to deserving boys and girls, and I’d like my joy in the form of a huge dick. Huge – but he needs to know how to use it.
I’d like to see that dick attached to six feet of sculpted man candy. Throw in some thick, dark hair, intense eyes, hands that know the terrain, and a little dirty talking, and I’m a happy camper. I don’t want dinner and dancing, I don’t want flowers, I don’t want profound conversation, and I don’t want any floofy romance crap.
All I want for Christmas is enough dick so that I can’t quite walk straight for a few days.
If you can have Jesse Williams, Zac Efron, Drake, Chris Hemsworth, or Joe Manganiello under my tree and wrapped up in nothing more than a satin ribbon, I’ll be forever in your debt. (I’ve included recent photos to make it easier on you.) Seriously – the next time you get behind the reindeer after too much eggnog and need someone to deal with the DUI, give me a call.
Oh, and Santa? Let’s just keep this between us.
Man, it’s been awhile since I sat down to write you a letter. I’ve been busy touring and I gotta say I can pretty much buy myself anything I want. For the last few years I’ve had all the big boy toys a guy could ask for–sex, drugs, and rock and roll–life was pretty fucking sweet. Then everything went sideways.
Don’t waste your time checking the list, I know I’m irredeemably naughty. You’ve seen the sex tape, right? Everyone else has. Actually, who handles your PR? All that “see you when you’re sleeping” shit sounds pretty stalker-ish to me…how come the tabloids don’t give YOU a hard time?
Sorry. I’m a little bitter. Not just about the press, but in general. And I’d really like to turn that around. A little Christmas magic would go a long way. See, my agent wants to hook me up with this pop princess for a publicity stunt and I don’t think I can get out of it. Sure, she’s hot as hell and I wouldn’t mind doing a few things to her that would land me on your “Beyond Naughty Banned Forever” list, but I’m trying to be taken seriously as a musician.
So, if you could do something to make the scandal disappear so I don’t have to go through with this sham, that would be awesome. I know that’s asking a lot. If you can’t, there’s this really sweet vintage bass at a grungy guitar shop in Chicago that would make me pretty happy too.
If you could swing a Christmas miracle to make the scandal disappear so I don’t have to go through with this sham, that would be awesome. And I know I’m asking for a lot…but if you’re already working a miracle, there’s this really sweet vintage bass at a grungy guitar shop in Chicago that would make me pretty ho-fucking-ho-happy too.
That about covers it. A band-aid for my music career. A killer bass. And above all, no gorgeous pop star who smells like heaven and kisses like sin and makes me forget everything I’ve been working for. Definitely not that.
Bassist for the band Half-Life
I heard that the nasty rumor that I’m a mean woman has put me on your naughty list. I’m writing to convince you to rethink your list and remind you to fill my stocking. I’m adding the requested items here in order to make your job easier:
- volume 3 of the Bette Davis DVD collection,
- keys to a new red convertible,
- a top of the line electronic-cigarette kit for Janice.
While it’s true I’m probably not nice most times, I don’t think of it as being mean. I think of it as being real. Don’t get me wrong, like almost everyone else, there are occasions I’m mean. Sometimes it’s because nice is boring, and if I’m not feeling it, I ain’t gonna fake it. Usually, it’s because the situation doesn’t call for nice.
As for the naughty part, well, that’s between the pool boy and me. Catch my drift, Santa Sweetie?
So, consider this. Maybe I’m not mean or naughty. Maybe I’m simply not nice. Maybe you and your minions, or elves as you like to call them, don’t like me. That’s fine. You don’t have to like me, but I’ll do everything possible to make certain you respect me.
One thing is for sure. When you need my P.I. services, you’ll want real. You won’t give a damn about nice.
A last thought for your consideration—I have pictures of your last trip to see the ladies at “the pole” AND I have Mrs. Claus’s number.
In all sincerity,
It’s been a very long time since I’ve written a letter to Santa. I have a bizarre compilation of “Santa Baby,” and “Grown-up Christmas List,” playing in my head. But if I could ask Santa for anything, I think I would want to share all of that good fortune with you. Let’s see here…
This year for Christmas there are so many things I might like. I have been a good girl this year. My characters take care of the naughty-side quite nicely so that leaves me to be sweet most of the time. So, for me, I would simply love more time to write. A few hours here and there where I can get lost in my Realm and let my characters tell their sexy stories. Maybe some of those fantastic leather bound journals I love and a few sexy stories from other authors. Oh, and that yummy pink lip gloss that makes my lips kissably soft. That would make my Christmas more than complete!
I can think of so many more important things I’d love you to give this world though: peace, love, patience, kindness, and calm. If you could bring those, what an amazing change we could make.
In my second novel, Lessons Learned, Sam, one of my all-time favorite characters, tells Rainer that the whole entire world works either for fear or for love because those are the only teams. Rainer needed the advice on how to repair a relationship with the only woman that had ever meant anything to him. But, I think Sam’s advice is the truth. I think people act either in love or in fear. And a lot of evil comes from acting out of fear. So, maybe we could give the world a healthy dose of love this year, Santa, and maybe a great deal of courage to take a step out of fear and into love.
Maybe that’s asking too much. Maybe I should wish for love and courage for everyone on a smaller scale. Could you bring everyone a stunningly sexy kiss from someone they find stunningly sexy? Or maybe just a bolt of courage that would help them take one small step towards something incredible? I wonder if you could bring everyone someone to love that would love them back.
Or maybe the very best of gifts come in smaller packages, a fantastic book to read, a pretty flower to smell, a deep breath, a long walk, a moment of clarity, a bubble bath. Maybe we could find love and courage in the gifts that sometimes seem insignificant. Whatever you bring us Santa, I do hope that 2015 will be a year of love instead of a year where fear reigns supreme.
And since I love to play Santa myself, I’d like to wish everyone A Very Merry Christmas from…
What can I say? It’s been a hard year and yes, maybe I slept with a married man—but I didn’t know he was married. And maybe I thought about pouring some laxative on my brother’s beer, but he was being a jerk. Can you blame me?
I don’t think those pesky issues call for the naughty list, do you?
Honestly, if I’ve known about the wife, I would’ve restrained myself. JC, my brother, well he’s JC and has his moments. But I haven’t harmed him—yet.
Let bygones be bygones and forget that list of yours. Clean my record, be a pal and swing by my studio.
It’s not like I’m going to ask you again for that pony—you never brought me a pony. Yes, for five years I asked for it and it never came. But, can we talk about a kitty?
Tiny, greish with pretty eyes.
Or we can compromise and find some middle ground between a pony and a kitty.
How about a boyfriend for Christmas. One that looks like this guy (see attached):
Oh and please if you can, keep the flu away from my kindergarten students, last year I had a nasty case because they all went down.
P.S. I promise to leave you real cookies and none of those sugar free, flourless, organic cookies my parents use to make for you.
I feel a little silly writing a Dear Santa letter, but my English students are like me—tired, grouchy, and ready for Christmas break. So their assignment for today is to write a letter to Santa. The kicker is they can’t ask Santa for a gift for themselves. They have to ask Santa for something they know someone else needs. Something they know will help someone have the merriest of Christmases.
I promised them I’d write a letter, too, so here I am.
What an insane year it’s been! If you’d told me this time last year that I’d be married and living near an army base in Georgia, I would have called you crazy. They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, but maybe they just didn’t marry the right guy.
My soldier is the man of my dreams in so many ways. Brandon loves me, even though I didn’t really make it easy for him in the beginning. My hatred for all things military could have ruined everything. I’m so glad he fell in love with me, in spite of my irrational fears and hang-ups. And now, we’ve been married a year, and I know there’s only one thing my husband wants for Christmas.
He wants us to have a baby.
I’m gun-shy, obviously. While we have no reason to believe his duty station will change, we always live under this cloud of uncertainty. That’s the life of a soldier, and I accepted it when I married him. But am I ready to have a baby? I just don’t know.
But I want to be ready. I want to be ready for him.
So, I’m asking Santa for peace of mind. I know I’m cheating a little, by asking for something to benefit me, but it’s a means to an end. If I can have peace of mind, maybe I can give my husband the one thing money can’t buy this Christmas.
If Santa grants my wish, then who knows? Maybe this time next year, my letter will be a little different. Maybe I’ll ask Santa for a healthy baby boy with Brandon’s strawberry-blonde hair. Or a healthy little girl with his sweet smile.
Brandon sent me this picture just this morning. He’s not subtle at all.
Merry Christmas, Santa!
All I really want this year for Christmas is Charlie Hunnam. Don’t roll your eyes at me fat man. I know Mrs. Claus is asking for the same thing. How could she not…look at him. He’s adorable.
Now, if you’re against human kidnapping and trafficking, then I suggest you get those elves of yours to figure something out. I’d prefer not to have a repeat of Christmas 1992. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t pretend with me dream crusher. Remember? The year I asked for Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder, only to awake Christmas morning to suffer the pain of not receiving the gift I asked for even though I wasted an entire fucking year of being good? Ugh. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well, sucks to be me.
In the essence for extending an olive branch, or bribery, your choice on the terminology (even though technically only one of us is an author), I’m attaching this photo of Charlie adorning your hat. It’s a ridiculous hat, but on him, it’s damn sexy. I can hear Mrs. Claus purring from the North Pole.
It’s fine, happy to share to get on the ‘nice’ list and seal this deal.
Looking forward to receiving my gift, and if not, the chaos and darkness that will no less result from another disappointing Christmas morning.
All the best,
Dear Santa –
All I want for Christmas is for those damn elves to stop impersonating me with their cheap and tawdry fake-ass strip clubs. They wouldn’t know a classy adult-only joint if it slapped them in their little rosey cheeks.
I run an upstanding establishment where my girls earn a decent living. More than decent, and they would never look like a two-bit hooker from Monster High hanging on a pole in the back room.
At the Electric Tunnel, our VIP rooms are outfitted in the finest of fabrics and leathers, so our patrons and dancers are more than comfortable. It is like being in the most plush man cave that ever existed with the music pumping through high-end speakers and top of line scotch flowing from the bar.
And our women are wrapped around the man––not the freaking pole.
Take my lovely girl, Sadie. She took over for our very own Sienna Flower, and she is like Barbie on fucking steroids. Natural tits, hips for miles, long blond hair, and plump pink lips. And she is not reserved for the main stage only…
Just keep your hands to yourself because Billy over there in the corner is not a very nice elf––and Sadie is his little Santa’s helper. Wink, wink.
But, sit your ass down on the purple banquette and let my girl wind her legs and arms around you, breathe in her fresh scent when she leans her chest close, and don’t forget to tip heavily. I take care of my Tunnel ladies. They make big bucks and they would never be caught dead with a few lines of blow or hanging with a dick-in-the-box. These women are the real deal.
Look with your eyes, not your hands, gentlemen. If you want to touch, Big Mike can give you escort over to the Leop.
I think that’s where those pesky elves get their cruddy ideas.
As for those crappy threesomes, those elves should be careful. Those good times can have consequences. You should warn them, Santa.
As for me, I got my present all wrapped up in my bed.
Long, lush, curvy, exotic and naked.
So, I gotta roll.
Peace out and a very merry Christmas and all that bullshit,
Owner, The Electric Tunnel
Sin City’s Finest Adult-Only Establishment
After a few drinks and a hell of a Christmas party for our Forever Steel employees with my bros, I decided I’d make you a little list of my own.
I’m Jase, you know the one that usually sits at the top of your naughty list. I’ve decided I want you to bring me a fresh piece of ass. I’m sick of banging bitches who know damn well I would sooner pierce my cock, again, than settle the fuck down.
Here’s what’s up, Fatty Clause, your list sucks dick. You get to judge me based on what?
Yeah, think about that shit while I tell you a little about yourself there, Saint dick-a-less.
I think you and all those pervy mall Santa’s are a bunch of fucking old dick-less ass hats who sit around for eleven months out of the year, spanking the monkey watching porn on the internet, just waiting for the month you get those hot moms bringing their kids to sit on your lap. By the way, do you think you could wash your fucking suit, you nasty bastard? I was at the mall the other day and I swear to fuck I caught an eye infection just looking in your direction. Even the kids know you’re a fucked up mess. Screaming on your lap cause their scared of your ass, and what do you do? Make ‘em sit there. Fucked up man. You should get some help, like serious help.
You sit around eating fucking cookies, making child size people, bang out toys for good girls and boys? I call bullshit. While the Mrs. is cooking and singing and taking care of all them fucking elves I know what you been doing. Banging them little ladies. You should be ashamed of yourself! You probably have a pint sized dick with that big ass gut taking over an inch at a time. Step away from the cookies fat ass and eat your wives pussy. Taste great, less filling.
He sees you when you’re sleeping? He knows when you’re awake? That’s a fucking felony you creepy bastard. Stay the fuck outta my window or I’ll pop a cap in your, saggy old ass.
Flying reindeer? Around the world delivering packages all over the world in one night?
For fuck sake, I have ho- ho- ho’s in different area codes, but when I’m inside their pussy I’m-a make sure they come, selfish lazy fuck!
So you, my selfish, judgmental, pervy, dirty, bastard, are on my list.
I want the motherfucking naughty list. More specifically, I want the female side of that list. Not fair to waste that on you. You don’t even know it’s worth.
Hand it over fatty,
It’s been a while. So how’s it going? I’m pretty good. Although, to be honest I’m a little concerned as to whether I actually made it onto the Nice list this year. I mean, I honestly think it’s a toss up at this point. I’m not all bad but I do know I’ve kind of been an asshole at times, but can you blame me? People can be so trying. Clearly you must know this since you manage THE Lists!
Anyhooizle, on the off chance that I did make the cut, here’s my wish list:
1) A library like Belle’s…in a castle…in England. Beast need not be included, unless he looks like Stuart Reardon…which brings me to my next item.
2) Stuart Reardon because have you seen those thighs… and pecs, shoulders, arms, etc.
3) A wine cellar just as big as my new library…and don’t forget to stock it please. Wine and books, a girl has got to have her priorities, am I right?
4) And lastly, the ability to make everything I pin on Pinterest end up in my house, in my closet, on my face, or on my dinner table, etc.
Well, that wraps it up for me! Send my regards to the Mrs. Bundle up, it’s cold and soggy out there. Oh, and I’ll leave some cookies, a glass of milk and a glass of scotch by the mantle. Feel free to take your pick.
Isalys from Book Soulmates
Annie (Under the Covers Book Blog)
Read our Dear Santa letters from previous years!
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