Dear Santa,
I have been a good Neither. I'm a grown man.
It really wasn't my fault what happened at She knows's Christmas party. It was So does she who spiked the punch with too much Bourbon. I can't help it if I drank fifth glasses. It was so good---smelled and tasted just like fishbait.
I thought it was funny when I put I'll get back to you on that's pith helmet on my head and danced the square on the Lt Worf's chair while singing `Won't Be Fooled Again'. I didn't mean to break She knows's sybian and don't know why She knows would sue me for Watergate.
I don't remember calling Henry's wife a (*)^#$@+^|! Liberal---even though she looked like one with translucent eye shadow and pale lipstick!
And when I threw up on none of your business's husband's pain, it was only because I ate too much of that buffet.
After all that fun, I admit I was a little tired. So I fell asleep on my way home and drove my motorhome through my neighbor's payment. I don't think that was any reason for my neighbor to call me a bloody hell's worth Politician and have me arrested for genocide for fun and profit!
So, Santa...here I sit in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, all screaming fantods and (many explitives deleted). And I'm really not to blame for any of this adjective stuff. Please bring me what I want the most---bail money!
Sincerely and orgasmic yours,
DocL (Really a nice Neither. I'm a grown man!)
P.S. It's only infinity bucks!