Kneel before me! I said KNEEL! I’m just joking. It is I, Loki, of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose. Yes, yes, Loki, brother of Thor. Great Odin’s Raven, why do all you people only recognize me as Thor’s brother? Have you all but forgotten my laborious list of accomplishments? I almost destroyed the world as Thor idly fretted while his beloved Jane Foster was impregnated by a French ballet dancer. I have the glow-stick of destiny, he has but a hammer. He uses Axe two in one body wash on his hair, I buy Bumble and Bumble products. I, in any case I digress. I do not write you carelessly Santa. I understand your power. Though I question you using it to provide children, children no more virtuous than yourself, with gifts that they do not deserve. What a waste of power. Real power. Speaking of real power, to my wish list, I was hoping really for only one thing, the Tesseract, if at all possible. Now I realize I previously attempted to use the Tesseract to claim Earth as my own, I assure you such is not my intention in this case. I simply want to take over but one city. Preferably one with good hair stylists and women. Perhaps Los Angeles, the weather seems preferable there to Asgard and I have read there are little to no bilgesnipe. If that doesn’t work I would appreciate my muzzle being removed. If that doesn’t work I wouldn’t mind being untethered from this rock, which I’m chained to by one of my son’s entrails until Ragnarok, and which makes writing a letter to you quite difficult. If not that, and if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll take that drink now.
I apologize for not writing you a thank you letter last year for the robes and jewelry and shrunken headpiece. You must understand that I fell into the black sleep of Kali and when I awoke I had forgotten I had not written to you. I also apologize for not keeping all of the promises I made to you last year, but you are in a position unsuitable to give orders, and the Thugi cult did at least halve our number of ritual sacrifices in 2012. So, acknowledging those, all I ask of you this year is to help me find one of the Sankara stones. I still need two, yes, but I realize I am not the only person in the world with requests and you are very busy. I do not need to be greedy. If you wonder why you should give me the stone, beyond the happiness it would bring me, and beyond the fact that, because you are only giving me one, it will be impossible for the Thugi cult to take over the world any time soon, imagine how much less work the children who I enslave under Pankot Palace will have to do. And I know you are all about the children. Also, if I do not receive the stone, but you do give Loki the Tesseract, I will punish you. I will not remove your heart, no, but I will remove your stomach, and shrink it in my grasp, and you will not be able to enjoy your milk and cookies.
I mean Jesus Christ. I really need to write a letter? Yeah I’m in prison and I have a lot of free time. But I’m trying to act like a f*cking professional, and a professional doesn’t write a letter to Santa. I appreciate that I’m the sole survivor of that failed heist. But what am I supposed to thank you for? For f*cking letting me live? I mean not to sound ungrateful but Jesus Christ, you aren’t Jesus. You’re Santa. Besides letting me live only meant I pretty much had to accept full responsibility for everything that happened. Including the ear. And for what? I was the one that knew there was a rat. I was the one that tried to calm everything down. I was the one trying to act like a f*cking professional when everyone else was acting like a first year f*cking thief. I was the one that’s spent the last 2 decades known exclusively as Mr. Pink. And you ignore me why? Because I don’t tip? I mean you don’t come down the chimney and expect kids to leave you a tip do you? Actually that was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but I guess you kind of do, that’s that whole milk and cookie business isn’t it? I never left those for you either. Probably why you stopped showing up after a point. Alright, for you I’ll leave milk and cookies, but normally I’d never do this. Now, in terms of what I want, potentially, a shank, I quit smoking, but if you’ve got cigarettes I’ll take them, those diamonds, and a new name, I mean something, anything, other than Mr. Pink. Jesus Christ.
I seeeeeeee you.
But not as well as I should. I’d like a monocle.
Hmmmmm, I remember, hmmmmm a Santa, when I, when I was home hmmmm. Our Santa he, hmmmmm, turned out to be taking liberties, hmmmm, with the children, hmmmm. I stabbed him to death in the forest. Left him bleeding in the snow. I was nine. Hmmmmm. I was doing pretty well this year. Until. Hmmmmm. Until the shoot-out at the brothel. Hmmmm. I don’t imagine you have much sympathy for those I killed. Hmmm. And I assure you they did have it coming. All 50 of them. Hmmmmm. But you probably have less sympathy for me. Hmmmm. And I understand this. Hmmmm. War, in all its forms, does strange things to men. Hmmmm. Like love. Hmmmm. And spiked eggnog. All I ask is for world peace. Hmmm. And an improved singing voice for my caroling. Hmmmm. “Tis the season, hmmmmm, to be, hmmmm…jol…hmmm…ly.” Hmmmm. Thank hmmmm you. Hmmmm.
You’ll see in this picture I am waiting for you with your milk. Do not be afraid. I did not say I am waiting for you. I am simply waiting for your cookies to come out of the oven. Then I will go to sleep. Just a head’s up. I sleep on the couch with my eyes open clutching a captive bolt pistol. No, there’s no truth to the rumor that the Easter Bunny hired me to kill you and take your bag. You don’t need to tell me where the bag is. I know something better than where the bag is. I know where it’s going. No, I’m still going to need you to come down the chimney sir. That’s your rule. The chimney. Though I wonder. If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule? I haven’t asked you for a gift yet have I? Why don’t we just wait until we meet in person? We’ll discuss it then. I can sit in your lap. Whisper in your ear. No? You know what’s going to happen now. You should just admit your situation. There would be more dignity in it. As much dignity as a man in your shape and with your wardrobe choices can have that is.
Screeeech Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech
I would like a J Crew cabal knit sweater in either sea foam green or chartreuse. I would like a pair of Beats by Dre noise cancelling headphones on the off chance that it is possible to hear someone, other than me, scream in space. I would like an HR Geiger coffee table book for entertaining when me or my brood sneak aboard the Nostromo or Prometheus or some similar ship. Oh and as many warm stomachs as possible for incubating my children. Oh and a Burberry scarf.