Dear Santa,

I know it has been a long time since I’ve written…twenty-five years to be exact.  And I know it seems like I’m a little old to be writing.  But this is an emergency and I really need your help.  You see, I have a special request this Christmas and I think you’re the only one that can help.

I need a hooker.

I haven’t been laid in two years, Santa.  Do you know how long that is?  Of course you don’t.  You have Mrs. Claus up there all year.  I’ll bet you get laid all the time.

Listen, after my divorce, things just went downhill.  I gained a lot of weight.  I started smoking.  I drink too much.  My complexion went to hell and I rarely shave.  I’ve taken a job where I can work from home so I never go out.  I have no friends.  I’m not sure I can actually reach my dick anymore, Santa!  You have to help.

I really don’t have much money.  That’s why I’m asking you.

And, if you would, tell her to bring me another bucket of cheeseburgers!