Christmas Letter

Christmas Letter

Dear Santa (and God),

Please please please do NOT give my sister Margaret anything for Christmas. She is a total fucker. Sorry. She will probably tell you that I was the sinner and not her, but that is a LIE. Margaret used to play with me all the time, but ever since she got Elliot as a boyfriend she is so mean. All they do is laugh at me. Yesterday they were teasing me calling me “Poo Pile Paul” and Margaret said she had to draw some poo piles on my Taylor Swift folder.

I got mad and I hit her accidentally in the face with Elliot’s iphone. Then the iphone flew out of my hand and hit the wall. It wouldn’t turn back on and Margaret said I was stupid and in big trouble. I said sorry, but she didn’t care. She said that mom would tell Santa not to give me anything for Christmas. I begged her not to tell mom, but she did. Mom said “Paul no hitting! Go to bed without supper.” And that really sucked (sorry) because I set the table and it was spaghetti night and spaghetti is my favorite and Margaret got to have it and I didn’t. I think Margaret is going to Hell. Sorry, but am I right?

Also, um… Margaret has enough stuff. She doesn’t need any gifts. If you are going to give her something, please let it be something crappy like a book. Just don’t give her more presents than me ok? That’s what happened last year and I had to break one of her presents so it was fair. Also, please find a nice boyfriend for my mom that is better than Ted. All he does is drink Bud Light and watch Pawn Stars reruns on the couch. And he makes pisssss sounds with his mouth while he is peeing. I know because he never shuts the door. I told my mom and all she said was “Well, at least he’s consistent.”

He is no good. His shirts are too small for him and the bottom of his belly always pops out. When I see it, it makes me not want to eat my breakfast. My mom deserves better.

Thanks, Paul

P.S. Please don’t forget to give me all of the stuff I want that I wrote about in my other letter. Amen.


Cleaning My Room

I am all for not living in filth. Really, I am. In theory. It’s just that every time I start to clean my room, I become really interested in doing other stuff. Everything distracts me. Take today for example: I found some books that I thought I had lost, so I sat on my bed and looked at them and thought about reading them. That took awhile. Then I started to look around the room at the mess. It was overwhelming, so I decided to make a list of what was most important to clean.

I know that having dirty dishes in the bedroom is gross because of bad smells and bugs, so those were number one on my list. The same goes for food in the trash can, spilled food, and sugary drinks. I decided that the cups of coffee were okay unless they had milk and therefore should not be left in the room for much longer. The clean clothes pile had somehow gotten itself mixed up with the dirty clothes pile, so now all clothes had to be re-smelled and re-piled. I wrote down dust because dust being all over everything is unfortunate. Then I crossed it out. As long as I remember to pick things up slowly, my allergies wont act up. If I don’t open my curtains during the day, you can’t even tell that there is any dust at all. I got bored writing the list and decided I had better start cleaning. I took the dirty dishes to the kitchen and made some coffee.

A few hours later I came back to my room and started to sort through the clothes on the floor. It turned out to be much easier than I thought. Since all the clothes were touching and some were dirty, I decided they were all dirty. Therefore it did not matter how I separated them just as long as I made a clear path from my bed to the bathroom. It should have only taken a few minutes, but I was watching myself in the mirror. I was trying to decide whether or not I looked believable as a cleaning person. Not because I am white or anything, just based on my posture or technique or whatever.

I tried watching myself fold some shirts, but that only made me hungry. Then I realized that every time I fold clothes I get hungry. That means I eat more when I clean. That means cleaning makes me gain weight. After this revelation, I had to rethink my priorities. How badly did I want a clean room? Pretty badly. Was it worth gaining five pounds? Definitely not. I needed a solution. I needed to think. I decided to play some word challenge on facebook so I could clear my head. After beating all my friend’s high scores, I came up with the answer. Christmas is two weeks away and I am going to St. Louis. Instead of putting away all my clothes, I would just pack them. If you pack like I do (the stuffing method), then it doesn’t feel like cleaning at all. Plus it’s fun because you get to think about where you are going and who you are going to see. I finished cleaning my room and I am all packed. Now I just have to find something to wear tomorrow.