To whom it may concern slash Santa: All I want for Christmas is a personal phone call from Santa himself. No one else, just Santa. And the real one, too. Not some dirty imposter. Yours, a slightly simple child.

Santa, is that really you? 

Seeing as we’re getting the willies – what with it being *counts* two weeks or something till Santy starts on his dolly rounds – thoughts have naturellement turned to that special somet’ing one can get for one’s loved one(s). And they don’t get much more special needs than this.

So what it is, is, Santa calls you up. We know! You go this site ‘ere, you place your order we’re guessing with one of his elves or with Mrs Santa Claus or with the baby Jesus as he’s branching out these days, and the real-life Santy calls you up and leaves you a nice message. Which you then play really really loudly over and over from the back seats of the upstairs deck on any random London bus despite protestations from fellow passengers or not as the case may be ’cause they’re scared you’ll kill them.

And that’s it in a nutty shell, really. We think it’s cute, fairly retarded, and like pornography the gift that keeps on giving.

The end.

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One comment to “To whom it may concern slash Santa: All I want for Christmas is a personal phone call from Santa himself. No one else, just Santa. And the real one, too. Not some dirty imposter. Yours, a slightly simple child.”

  1. I don’t know how Santa does it – he’s must be exhausted.

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