Dear Santa,
I hope you’ve been well because I’ve been better.
As I sit here sipping my Ovaltine, staring at a sculpture of an infected spleen, I can’t help but bemoan my level of desperation. I am chilled to find myself sitting at my desk, addressing a letter to the North Pole at 3:00 am on a Tuesday.
I last wrote in 1949 when I received what I coveted the most, a bright, shiny stethoscope. I also asked for a slinky and hula-hoop that same year and didn’t receive either. It’s ok. I’m over it.
At this point in the note, I’d like to address the elephant in the room. You are not real. But ironically, this brings me to the reason for my letter and my request.
For Christmas, may I have the name of your PR guy?
An odd request. I know.
You see, Santa, we humans are in the middle of quite a crisis. Some people don’t believe in science. Frightening, I know! (Not such a huge deal day to day, though.) However, now there’s pandemic. Not to sweep climate change under the Earth rug, but there are only so many science-related crises I can handle in my giant Fauci brain.
Science is real, as real as my love of Xanax, yet we have many non-believers. You are a fake large man, yet millions upon millions believe in you. So I thought to myself, “Faucinator…who has the best marketing on the planet? Who has this ‘convincing humans thing’ dialed in?’ The answer was clear.
Santa, your team has managed to keep your gig going since 280AD! Oh, sure, once upon a time, a monk named St. Nicholas was kind to kids, big whoop! It’s 2020 AD.
Some people still believe the Earth is flat for Pythagoras’ sake, yet still download the Santa Tracker each December!
How do they do it? HOW?
The cookies, the reindeer, the ‘he sees you while you’re sleeping’ bologna. I’m simply astounded that they can hoodwink us all into believing that a 400lb man can fit down a standard size chimney. Yet, I can’t convince ‘Margaret’ to stay 6 feet away from ‘Henry’ because it may result in manslaughter. IT’S INSANE!
Honestly, this whole thing is supremely irritating.
I’m a whip-smart gentleman who helped solve the Ebola crisis. Yet, my science acumen is ignored like some crazy uncle ranting about his Phlebitis!
I. Know. Stuff. Sciencey stuff! Maybe a cross-promotion like a COVID/Fauci beer koozie or a small sticker on mall Santa jackets: Polio Had Salk. Covid’s Got Fauci! Catchy, no?
Usually, I’m pretty calm, but FUCKING A MAN, I’VE HAD IT! Enough is enough. Perhaps it’s time for a little less ‘Jingle Bells?’ and a little more ‘Suck my Fauci balls, you ignorant douche bags!” (I am more than happy to set this to music if you want.)
And I KNOW that’s not helpful. AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Sorry to get so angry. I do thank you for your time, Santa. I know how busy you are. Your list must be overwhelming this year, with children needing broadband, nurses requiring PPE, and the highly requested do-it-yourself morphine drip. That is quite a load for ‘one jolly bearded fellow.’
Please Santa. I’m begging you!
COME ON.
Thank you, Santa.
Respectfully,
Dr. Anthony Fauci
Ps. Please don’t send coal to bad children this year. We have enough breathing issues without rock dust.
PPS. Seriously. I JUST heard someone mention 5G towers. For the love of Newton! I’m dying here. PLEASE SEND NAME(S) ASAP!
PPPS. I’d also love a PS5.