Santa used to have game.

I remember once spending every minute of a six hour drive to my grandparents farm on Christmas Eve staring up at the stars looking for Santa in the sky. I remember being so nervous, I couldn't sleep, I just stargazed hour after hour.

Christmas was magical and exciting. One time I honestly believed I caught a glimpse of his sleigh shooting across the sky. But that was back when I was just seventeen. I've moved on.

Now, Santa is just overweight, overpayed and obviously overdosing on drugs (As you can clearly see from the images). Whatever happened to you Santa? Why did you fall off the wagon?

You used to bring me gifts like giant water pistols and boogey boards, radio controlled cars and lego sets, cricket sets and soccer balls. You used to excite me. And now? Oh now how things have changed Mr Saint Nick... Mr Kringle... Mr poopy pants... now?

...Now you just bring me underpants and deodorant.

You didn't even bring me a seven-pack of underwear, so as I can wear a different pair of underpants each day. And lucky I wasn't holding my breath for a three-pack, so I could wear each pair for two days, and spend the 7th day in the week naked and pant-free as was commanded in the bible.

You bring me one pair. One solitary pair of underpants. Why Santa? You know that I am too lazy to wash them every night. What am I meant to do with one pair of underpants? You place me square in the middle of underpant crossroads and make me choose...

...to wear, or not to wear... that is the question.

Do I dare endure the smell of unwashed underwear for seven days, or be underwear free, and risk catching myself in my fly...

Santa, you used to have game... next year I'm putting Arsenic in your cookies.