Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

If we land on your rooftop, let us in, ok?

Happy Ho-Ho-Ho-lidays!

Peace.

Love.

LR & dp

if you wanna land (and from here that seems doubtful), you're more than welcome...just be careful of our roof...try the fallout shelter right next door. Very convenient and a lovely view of the stars.

lookin good dor and l-rod. hot coffee and rice crackers will await you.

judih

doreen peri wrote:

If we land on your rooftop, let us in, ok?

Happy Ho-Ho-Ho-lidays!

Peace.

Love.

LR & dp

Uh, you can stay baby, but the weird skinny faux Santa ain't gonna fool nobody . . .

thanks S.Bob...was wonderin who that was


judih

Rock on! I always knew Santa had a lovely companion with him when he delivered those gifts
I've been a very good girl this year, you guys mind stopping by and having some of my homeade cookies with tea?
We can share some Pell Mells too

We're taking off on the 24th at midnight. We will visit every house in the world including all of yours before the sun comes up. It's a little bit of a jaunt, but hell, Old Skinny Santa's been doin' this gig for years. This is only our 3rd Christmas together. The last 2 years, I stayed home and let him go it alone, but then came all the creepy thank you notes from all these kid's moms. I didn't understand them. Do you think they were a buncha ho-ho-hos?

One of the moms thanked him for the big candy cane! She said "mmmmm... it was delicious!," but he gave her son a video game. I don't get it. Another one of the moms thanked him for the electric toy he gave her, but he gave her kids a railroad set. She signed the darn note, "Vixen, your 'deer." I donno. The list goes on. I don't want to bore you with all the thank you notes he got last year.

This year, I'm going along for the ride to see what's up out there.

Soooo..... if you're all good little gals and pals, we'll drop in and have that cookie and tea with ya!

But seriously, folks.... ..... we wrote this repartee together last year... or was it the year before? Time goes by and we keep writing stuff, but this one is dear to our hearts. He wrote the Santa parts, of course, and I wrote the Mrs. Claus parts.

We hope you enjoy it. It's a little odd, but what did you expect?

-------------------------------

Letters between Santa & Mrs. Claus Right Before Christmas

Dear Santa-

I have a pile of letters from Nova Scotia and Wisconsin
which you haven't looked through yet. There is a child
in New York City who hasn't been able to forget
the time you got stuck in the flue and he took
a picture of you with your boots on fire. He said
his entire neighborhood came over on Christmas night
to view the digital file and all the while his parents claimed
he had aimed the camera into the flame and it was only
a superficial image which he touched up in Photoshop,
digitally. Dear Santa, they don't think you are real. And
I feel it is time that you dealt with these letters and lists.

There is a 7-year-old boy in Troy, Ohio who wants a pair
of skates and a mate for his Ken doll. We don't have enough
Barbies to go around and there is another letter from a clown
for Barnum & Bailey who says nobody believes in him, either.
He is asking you to bring his daughter a babydoll which looks
just like her and has sent a sample of DNA to be sure
you are able to construct a resemblance.

I hesitate to tell you this, but we only have 19 more days
until Christmas, which means 18 until the night before.
How are the elves holding up? Did they get you up for
the puppet assembly line? Dasher came in this morning
and whispered to me that Dancer couldn't awaken you
on Thursday. He said your face was blue and you had
fallen down the stairs. He was scared that green bottle of gin
had done you in.

Are you ready for the holidays?
The children need you.
They want to play.

Love, your Lady

-----------------

My Dear Mrs. Claus

the little brats are what I can't
abide about this job
they are insufferable and greedy,
they only care about their fucking presents.
the only thing I hate worse than children
is water – a despicable beverage
and being exiled in this frozen ocean
is a terrible fate. Crystal water everywhere
It would be better if they froze the children.
Keep them on ice until they are eighteen.

It's no wonder I take to the spirits,
and I don't mean the spirit of Christmas.
All these letters with their endless lists of
plastic toys that will just be broken by new year,
why don't the little brats go
to Wal-Mart for themselves.
They don't believe in me anyway.
It's a giant con. Eight years old and they're
already working their parents.
Sure, they come and sit in my lap
in the mall and act like they don't smell
the cigarettes on my breath,
but they know the score. It's about loot.
The fucking little pirates.
I have to sneak into their homes in the
dark of night just so I won't have
to rub shoulders with them.

At least I have the reindeer.
They are sensible creatures
and they don't mind my drinking.
The elves look too much like children
for my taste, with their diligent
small fingers. Why was I
cursed with Sainthood?
Not only that, I get a wife
who wants me
to satisfy the lists of these
diminutive scavengers who
make a commercial mockery of
my holiday.

I must go now, my dear,
and fortify myself for an endless
night of sooty chimneys.

Love, Nick

-----------------------

Dear Nick.

Nobody made you a Saint except yourself.
It was you who pronounced the new idea
that giving should be a paramount endeavor
and whether you think I or anyone else
assigned this task for you to undertake,
it doesn't matter.

What matters is there are children's hearts
at stake and the patter of flying deer is expected
on rooftops far and near, whether the night is
clear or whether a storm is pending.

Those tots have a lot of various enhancements
to their myriad of enchantments, sure.
We have delivered more varieties of video games
and neopets and railroad trains than our brains
had ever thought possible but it is in the vein
of a gift for which we exist and yes, I am your wife,
and I insist, you must deliver.

Don't worry about that little girl in Minnesota
who has requested the toy Toyota for her
Bratz. She's just like that because her parents
have assured her YOU are real. You could give her
Silly Putty or an Etch-a-Sketch or a coloring book.
It won't matter anyway because she's not going to look
at the quality of the merchandise. All she cares about
is the wrapping which she'll rip off so quick,
her mom and dad won't know what hit them.

Suspend your mind from those concerns
and turn your spirit above the clouds.
You are a Saint, not because your voice is
so loud when you're imbibing, but because
the young children know that if they believe in you,
they will grow up to understand what a gift
truly is.

Now, wipe that Wal-Mart jizz off your beard
and quit calling this YOUR holiday.
I made you a tray of cookies, by the way,
and left them on the kitchen counter for you.
Of course the kids want the loot.
You're the one who puts your boots on
and you're the one who carries the bag.

It's a drag, I'm sure, when the deadline
comes near. But dear man, it is time.
All of our reindeer have been charged
with heinous crimes and are hiding out
with us to make amends.

It's about time you send out the love
you have promised. I'm sorry the gin
made you vomit last night.

Let's not fight
about it or whine.
The elves are not children.
They have taken their time
to help you through.
And I am here, too, for you,
though if you keep mixing
up Vixen with Donner,
Comet won't have a way
to navigate and I must say,
it's been quite evident
that you want her,
though I'll never mention it,
I promise.

Remember Thomas
The choo-choo train?
There's a slick dude
living on the street, destitute,
who wants to know if we can
make him again?

I wrote back and told him
if anybody could do it, Nick could.
Just in the nick of time, he replied
that he would forgive you if you don't
arrive with the goods.

The elves are little hoods, by the way.
They have taken to mischief when
they are supposed to be at work.
That imp who calls himself "Jacque"
is such a jerk.

Could you fire him, please?
Then, afterward, I'll sit on your lap
and tell you what I want.
Oh, and did you put the antifreeze
in Dasher's saddlebag?

Nick, your eyelids are beginning
to sag. Make your list and check it twice.
That would be nice.

-Missus

---------------
Mrs. -

I've told you the story.
I maxed out my credit cards sometime in the middle ages
that's why I was condemned to sainthood and exiled to
this frosty wilderness of toys. And the elves, small torments
to remind me of children.

Infants are a pestilence and toddlers are even worse.
at least I don't have to wipe thier mouths or butts.
you and the reigndeer are my only comfort besides gin.
this red suit frees me from sin, and it's a curse.

Sainthood ain't all it's cracked up to be.
I'm supposed to like these damned brats, and
I tell you it's a stretch. They give me infections.
And those fucking cookies, peanut butter and oatmeal
I hate oatmeal. It doesn't go well with gin.

Gin is the only reason, you see
that I can tolerate this season
the elves are named Mattel and Hasbrow
and Milton Bradley and Schwin and Nike

I hate the elves like I hate all children
they are unionized; it's a conspiracy.
organized for our torment.
Only the reigndeer understand me,
we played poker the other day
Donner and Vixen were timid
Comet and Cupit ran out of chips
But Blitzen gave me a run for my money
Rudolph folded, he thinks he's a star

I love the companionship of beasts
much better than greedy people with their commercials
my whole summer was consumed by doing those comercials
when I should have been in the islands drinking rum coctails.
Sainthood is a bitch.

-Nick

-------------------------

Santa, Inc.
Memo to Mrs. Claus

Ms.--

I got my royalty check from Sony today.
The work I did last year on Playstation II
Really paid off. I’ll be on the beach in Aruba
In February because of it. It’s my only relief from
This damned snow and the toys and the elves.
I’m thinking about replacing the little buggers with machines.
They remind me too much of children, the odious little beasts. I would
Keep them, but when they joined the Teamsters that was the last straw.
All we do here at the Pole these days is burn discs for video games
And cast an occasional action figure. The rest we outsource.

This season exhausts me so. I’m considering using body doubles
Because this Mall business is so taxing. My lawyers tell me that the
Franchises on my name and image are doing well.
Hallmark alone is worth millions and it’s a good thing too
because reindeer feed isn’t cheap.

I had no clue that this ‘cristmas spirit’ thing was going to be such a bonanza.
I couldn’t afford to quit now, no matter how much I hate
Those little brats that I have to service.

Oh well, it pays for our off-season in the islands with hot and
Cold running rum coctails. It won’t be long before this whole thing
Is over for another year, my dear and we can retire to our leisure.
It’s much better than the old days when we had to work year round
To supply the rascals with their loot.

Our cottage industry has turned into BIG BUSINESS.

Nick

---------------------

My dear Nicholas -

What's all this fuss
about the snow and the mall?

Did you know that the president
of Milton Bradley called the other day
to say they are merging with Nintendo
and he wanted to know if you would be interested
in being the star of their new game, "Mario
Meets St. Nick." He said he thought the name
would stick to the headlines like glue and you
could have your own theme song. We didn't chat
very long because that elf who's so damn sure
of himself that he's set his whole family up to
collect on the wealth of stock dividends he's expecting in
from Target, interrupted me. He barged in like a Ninja
and didn't have a tinge of guilt on his face.

"Mrs. Claus!", he screamed while I was on the phone.
"I simply CANNOT handle all the orders for "War Zone"
alone!"

What could I do? I had to hang up. It embarassed me so
much that he would make such a major issue about
filling orders when we have a stack of applications from
elves from other nations who could fill his pointed shoes.

I've got news for him, Nick. Next time he sticks
his pudge nose through the door uninvited,
I'll make sure our attorneys have him indicted
for impeding the season of Christmas. Just like the Grinch.
My telephone call was none of his business!
He knew Milton Bradley doesn't contract with Target
or any other department store and he wanted to be sure
his stock didn't plummet.

It's big business alright, Nick. It's enough to make
me vomit. Do you realize they had your photo plastered
all over Neiman Marcus the day after Halloween with
what seemed to be an authentic charge card in your hand?
I don't understand who these people think they are.
The headline said, "Give the gift of the season.
Think of the reason for the holiday."

In a way, I was surprised that they didn't engrave
the Neiman Marcus logo in the sparkle from your eye.
Why don't they understand that we need a vacation in Aruba.
One minute they want you to spread the wealth of giving.
The next minute they steal your face for advertisements
and then they want to sue ya.

I got his number. Don't worry.
He said that the goal of the game was for Mario
to do ya in. I said, "I don't think Nick will go for that."
Then he told me the programmers already had
their scripts written and it was going to be you
or Schwarzenegger. I told him we'd call him
in a day or two.

He sounded like a begger. Who knew?
Maybe we should put some kind of legal lock
on stock options.

Did you check Dancer's hooves and
Prancer's reign? Let's not do this
next year. This whole process
is driving me insane.

If you land on my roof, you better be bringing me some presents, Mrs. CLaus, and remember, if they don't include caffeine, nicotine, or alcohlic beverages, then the present ain't for us artsy farts!
Season's greetings from the land of coffee and cigarettes
---K