Dear Mr Claus, if that is indeed your real name, I am petitioning you at this time not for any personal material gain, though that seems to be the procedure during this ever-adapting pagan celebration, but for the simple will to live.
If it's not too much trouble, I appreciate you're somewhat snowed under at present*, I'd like to sequester a motivation to go on breathing, my belief in your self proving quite inefficient in that area. As a prerequisite, I will be less than satisfied with rainbows, the existence of a benevolent deity, the laughter of little children, your dubious colleague The Easter Bunny, if indeed that is his real name, the tooth fairy, or global nuclear disarmament.
If you are not forthcoming in this request, as an alternative, I will expect you to arrange an appropriate burial when you discover my rotting corpse obstructing my chimney flue upon your all too infrequent visit.
Good will to all men, except Idol, naturally.
*Count them puns, kids.
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