A full copy/paste of the letter:

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Dear Santa;

Happy Holidays and all that nonsense.

So Listen up you bearded wonder. We seem to be having a missed connection for the past several years, so once again I'm writing my yearly letter hoping that maybe this year you will actually read it and do what it is you're supposed to do, instead of what you have done in past years, which was;

Nadda. Zip. Zilch. You stiffed me.

I know you're a busy dude and I've tried to be patient, but this patience crap is wearing thin, so this year I'm all done being Mr. Nice Guy, which means you should consider this a wake up call, or threat or whatever you want--as long as it gets your attention.

Since you supposedly know who has been naughty or nice, you should already know that I've been doing my very best to be a good boy--except for that one time when I as surfing the net and found that website and I kinda let my imagination kinda run away from me....... and well......one thing led to another and. . .. . .well, things happen, but I'm sure you get the picture. Anyway, I'm sorry about that. The good news is I didn't go blind like my mother told me I would back when I was a little boy, but I digress.

So anyway, I was lead to believe if I always did the right thing, karma would come back to me and I would live a prosperous and healthy life, you know....the happily ever after thing...yada yada yada. If what they say is true and you know if we are naughty or nice, you should already know that I try my best to treat people with dignity and respect, even when they don't deserve it. You should already know how I try to hold myself to a higher standard than what I constantly see around me. You should already know how I realize it is all those 'little things' that don't mean anything, somehow mean everything. Yet, wtf, another holiday season is quickly approaching and guess what? Yup, I am still by myself--trying my very best to put on a happy face and pretend everything is just fine.

Perhaps I should whack you upside the head to help jog your memory of who I am? I'm that subjectively good looking, clean cut, physically fit guy. The guy who is more street smart than book smart, yet is still intelligent enough to construct a proper sentence. The guy who is more comfortable staying home cooking dinner than going out to a bar or club. The guy who understands the difference between kindness and weakness and is wise enough to know when to speak up or when to keep quiet. The guy who isn't afraid to go after what he wants. The guy who is simply missing the kind of inspiration only the right woman by his side can provide to do just that. Are you starting to remember me yet old man?

Last year, I sent a well thought out letter stating that all I wished for was one thing. I asked you to send me a one of your most amazing elves. Now don't be a smart-ass and send me a male elf because you know I don't swing that way. I want a real, live, intelligent, warm, engaging and exciting female elf. My letter explained that she would be somewhere between 30 and 50 years old and of course be good looking, and by good looking I meant she would be good looking 'to me' and what others thought was not important. I explained that while I wasn't seeking perfection in the true meaning of the word, that it would cool if she were perfect just to me, because we all know, or at least should know, that quite often it is all the little imperfections a person has that makes them seem so perfect. She would know the difference between needing man in her life and wanting one, because we both know there is a big difference. She would have the potential to become the missing in my life. Worse case scenario, if there wasn't any kind of chemistry or romantic connection and things weren't going to end up as some kind of fairy tale romance (after all, this is the craigslist), at the very least, we would both gain a new friend of the opposite sex to talk to or possibly go and do things with. Is that too much to ask for?

Come to think of it, I've been asking for the same flippin' present for the past several couple of years. Damn man, I even left you extra freaking cookies last year. Sorry to tell you Santa, but the more I write, the more I realize I've lost my patience with you. It is often said that nice guys finish last and I'm starting to believe that may be true, so I'm all done with the Mr. Nice Guy crap. It's high time I just cut right to the chase.

WTF is going on you fat bastard?? Damn it--I want some answers I want them now. No more excuses or bullshit Christmas commercials, because I swear, as soon I start seeing those sappy "every kiss begins with Kay" commercials, I'm going to go postal. I should also remind you that I'm not above making threats, so I'd hate for there be some kind of tragic hunting accident with your favorite reindeer Rudolph. Picture the smirk on the Ole' Grinchs face as he carves the "Roast Rudolph" at the Whoville Christmas dinner. Better yet, how would you like it if I posted that video of Mr. Grinch and Mrs. Claus messing around behind your back while you were working out in the toy factory? I bet you didn't know about that, did you. Yup it's true, and rumor has it the Grinch's heart wasn't the only organ that grew three times it's normal size that night and rumor has it he gave your old lady a present she'll remember for a very long time. Needless to say Mrs. C. was one happy ho ho ho....

So you better come through for me this year or I'll publish that video faster than you can twinkle your nose, or scratch your ear, or grab your crotch, or whatever it is you do to get your fat ass up the fucking chimney. Geez.....Now look what you made me do. I'm writing words that will never end up on a Hallmark card.

One more reminder Santa. If you know me like you say you do, you'll remember my integrity is very important to me and if I say I am going to do something, I do it--end of story. So I strongly suggest you don't make me have to prove it to you.

So that's it. This is your last chance you crotchety old man. I've had enough of your "better be good for goodness sake" bullshit for another year. I know people who know people and I'm sure I could call in a favor. Come to think of it, word on the street is that ever since Hermey that freak-show misfit elf/dentist wannabe yanked out all the Abominable Snowman's teeth, Ole' Bumbles is just itching to kick your ass, especially after you humiliated him by making him place the star on top of your lame-ass Christmas tree out in the toy factory.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. One of your other creepy little elves told me I should always include a picture when I send a letter to you. He (or she--I couldn't tell) said it would be likely to get more results, to which I replied that in all honesty, I would be mortified if someone I knew actually found out I was still writing letters to you after all these years.

So that's it Santa. This is your last chance. You have been warned.

Signed,

You know who.