Jim Hopkins: And the cry goes out throughout the land: Please, Santa

NEWSFLASH: In a daring midnight raid on the Post Office, several fearless mail nickers have successfully "liberated" some revealing letters which we have no choice but to publish - in the public interest, of course:

Dear Santa:

Congratulations on another wonderful year. No doubt you've been very busy whipping your elves into a frenzy of enhanced productivity, but I'm sure you'll be able to accommodate one last request. Permit me to explain.

I act as the secretary/spokesperson for a new organisation, Swanc, (the Seriously Wealthy Autocued Newsreaders Collective) which has been formed to advocate for a small but significant group of social victims whose maternal stature and reputation has been grievously damaged in recent days.

In fact, one beloved member of our collective has suffered the most flagrant blatancy, not to mention the heaping of inappropriate opprobrium upon her saintly head when all she's done is successfully complete a fair and reasonable salary negotiation with her enormously wealthy employer who keeps on getting heaps of extra millions from the Government.

So why shouldn't our wonderful member put the odd $800,000 in her pocket? Bear in mind that Inland Ravenous will get half of it anyway. And, furthermore, that it's not easy being a newsreader for the Ministry of Propaganda. No one enjoys presenting bulletins that consistently ignore Government scandals and persistently allow the PM to bag the other politicians while denying them the opportunity to bag her.

In the old days of "real" work, people used to get dirt money for that sort of thing and Swanc believes that should still apply.

Having advised you of this, my request is simple. We in Swanc beseech you to ignore comments about "a culture of extravagance" and also talkback suggestions that our member should "play Santa herself and stick a few b@%&y presents under other people's trees".

Such remarks don't recognise the importance of having the right person saying "Good Evening. In your news hour tonight ... " and "Now here's Kay with the weather."

Only you can redress the balance and ensure our member is showered with gifts, as if she were an indigent orphan or party of limited means. We simply ask that you match vituperation with charity and give our member the small, private island she so richly deserves.

Yrs,

P. Holmes (secretary-general, Swanc Outer Roa - currently on garden leave)

Dear Satna:

I am are studint witch is planing 2 go 2 Cannabrie Unadversity and. Studdy creative ryting but b4 I X-pend lardge ermount's on a studint lone I thawt I wood, ask 4 yaw. Help! U C, it seams vat, the peeple at Cannabrie is finding thirst year studint's has paw Generals' knolwedge and car'nt string; a sentense 2getha. Well, my Generals' knodwelge is prutty good. I nose about General Store, whoo led the a tack on Warehouse Gully andorlso Sir Keith Britain whom fort the Battle of the Park but sumtimes.

My sentenses am, knot qwite watt they should. Be. Sew, this Exmas, Satna I, wos wandering if yew cood give me 12 years of schoolings 2 makeup 4 the onez Ive had sofa sew vat maybee I wull. Bee, reddy 4 unadversity when I glow.

Yrs,

R.A.K. Thomas-Bracken, jun

Dear Santa:

All I want for Christmas is my own prison cell.

Yrs,

A. Smoker.

Dear Santa:

And all I want for Christmas is the name and address of the person who just asked you for their own prison cell.

Yrs,

A. Smoke-Detective

Dear Santa:

How do i get rid of Margaret?

Yrs,

H. Clark.

Dear Santa:

Re my earlier letter: pls disregard perplexed inquiry. I think I've found a way.

Yrs again,

H. Clark.

Dear Santa:

For years we've been told we have to Slip, Slop, Slap to avoid getting burned by the sun. But I'm getting burned by the polls so what I would like is some Flip, Flop, Flap to protect me from any more damage in the daze ahead.

Yrs,

Dr D.

Dear Santa,

Cd I have sum of them Amnesia Pills that you can put in reservoirs to make people forget.

Yrs,

Master J. Tamihere

PS: If it wd help, I cd leave sum money in a paper bag by the chimney. Trust me, you don't have to tell people you've got it.

Dear Mr K. Kringel (alleged role model):

We are a concerned group of health professionals whose tireless commitment to self-importance leads us to persistently hector the general public about their unhealthy behaviour, even though the consequences of that behaviour is what pays our bills and helps us put an extra room on the catamaran.

Following a nationwide series of hui and extensive public consultation (much of it with ourselves) we have decided that you are a dreadful example to our multicultural peoples. Put simply, you're fat, man!

And there's no Ho Ho Ho in hobesity, flab-features.

In a nation overrun with people worrying about other people's health, diet is a huge problem and your obvious dependency on fast foods sends all the wrong signals, blobbo.

So, unless you're prepared to cut the kilo's, Claus, and agree to front a national television campaign on the theme, No Blubba - More Hubba Hubba we will be forced to tell the Government to pass a law against you.

And don't think they won't, lard-whiskers!!!

Yrs in nurture,

Brenda Phynne (and 50 other anxious community wellness practitioners).