I know this is late, and I apologize, but I need to amend my original Christmas wish list.  No doubt your elves have built the modded SEGA Dreamcast I so dearly wanted weeks ago, but I’m sure there’s another young man out there that would love it. Maybe Other Chris. You’re Santa Claus, you can fix it.

Here’s my new wish list.

Chris Plante’s Wish-List for X-Mas 2008
1.) Valkyria Chronicles
2.) Sam Ryan, Dead

Ok, I know it’s an unusual thing to ask for, but I have good reasons. Namely, I love Stategy RPGs. As for Sam, I believe this wish won’t be a problem. I’ve attached his address along with a picture.

Love,
Chris Plante

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Dear Chris,

I’m sorry young man, but holiday wishes exclude such Scroogey things as murder. As for Valkyria, we’ll see what ol’ Santa and his elves can whip up. No promises.

Yours,
Santa

———————–

Dear Santa,

He leaves for work every day at 8:50am, and usually forgets to lock the door. After work on Tuesdays and Thursdays he goes to the gym, returns home and promptly takes a shower. His shower lacks any real grip, and can become very slippery. If you were to sneak into his apartment during the afternoon while the other tenants are at work, and spread a thin layer of baby oil over the shower’s ceramic floor the whole thing would look like an accident.

No one ever said anything about murder. Well, no one, but you, Santa.

Regards,
Chris Plante

———————–

Dear Santa,

I hate to intrude, what with the holidays only a few days away, but I need to change my Christmas wish list. Ever since I left Chris behind in the final map of No Mercy in Left 4 Dead things just haven’t been the same.  I have reason to believe he has asked you to kill me, because he told me he had asked you to kill me. This has given me perspective about what’s important this Christmas. I’ve pasted my revised Wish List below.

- Sony Playstation 3
- LittleBigPlanet
- Metal Gear Solid 4
- Sanctuary

Sincerely,
Sam

———————–
Chris,

Forget the Nice Santa bullshit, and let’s talk business.

He left u behind?! Why didn’t u tell me, man? What a total d-bag! Amirite!? Operation Johnson & Johnson is in effect.

Signed,
Anon (jk, it’s Claus… time stamped pic attached for da proofz)

———————–
Dear Chris,

Please forgive me for leaving you behind in No Mercy. I wanted to save you, but you kept dicking around and I wasn’t sure I could trust you. You ran around picking up every godamn gas can and propane tank, throwing them near me or Charlie. I think it really pissed Charlie off, but he’s kind of quiet and he wouldn’t say anything. I mean, I know it pissed him off when you told him to stand by the gas station, and then you shot it and it blew up and killed him. That was a dicky thing to do.

Yeah, you know what, fuck you. And fuck Santa, friggin’ goody-goody poser. I know he’s going to take your side because deep inside he’s a griefer, just like you. Guy gives coal to peeps, just to feel superior.

Whatevs. You should move in with him at the North Pole. You two can be as cold on the outside as you are on the inside.

Go fuck yourself,

Sam

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Dear Mr. Christopher Plante,

I’ve tried to contact you by phone and have stopped by your apartment a few times, but you seem to be a tough guy to pin down. When you get a chance, please stop by the station; we’d like to ask you a few questions. We have a Mr. Claus here. It seems he tried to break into the apartment of your former roommate, Sam Ryan. Don’t worry, Mr. Ryan’s OK, but, as I said, we’d like to ask you a few questions when you get the chance.

Detective Tim Elliot

———————–

Dear Sam,

I apologize. I overreacted. Let’s be brosephs again. Left4Dead Wednesday at 8?

Chris

———————–

Yo dude,

Sounds great. I’ll invite Charlie.

Your broseph,
Sam

———————–
Dear Chris,

Please answer my calls. Jail isn’t a safe place for a pleasantly plump and blush cheeked  old man.

Please don’t tell Mrs. Claus, but when I tried to break into Sam’s I couldn’t fit through the door. I decided to grease myself with the baby oil, but that only got me stuck in the doorframe. Now the other prisoners, they can smell it. They can smell the baby oil. They treat me like a greased man toy. They call me Pickled Porky Pig.

Please help me.

Your friend,
Santa