A nymphomaniac for Christmas

Dear Santa,

I don’t think you exist, but I’m writing this letter in the hope you’ll respond, just to prove me wrong. I don’t believe in you because I’ve never seen you. Well you don’t really expect me to believe those fat men in red velour outfits at the shopping centre are you do you?

I’ve also never seen God, so I don’t believe in him either. Why doesn’t he do it?! It would be so easy. Just pop into existence and torch a few bad people, like rapists (to use a topical example) or appear on the Oprah show and do some mind reading tricks. Even Blain can do stuff like that, so it shouldn’t be too hard to do.

OK Santa, so I guess you’re very busy all year round whipping those elves into a frenzy of toy making, but here’s my plan…you see I don’t believe in nymphomaniacs either. You’ve guessed it, I’ve never met one, so as far as I’m concerned, they just don’t exist. I think nymphomaniacs are an urban myth, a figment of the fevered and wishful imagination of the male psyche. I really want to believe in them, so they should have a head start on the game. All I need is for one to bump into me on the corner of Throgmorten Street on a chilly December evening and entice me back to her house for an hour or two. Perhaps her interest in me would last until the cold clutches of Winter fade, warming me up with her sensuous, urgent love-making, before turing her attentions on another, less spent man.

So the plan…yes! Here it is Santa. You can prove your existence to me, and the existence of nymphomaniacs by delivering one to me as my Christmas present. Two for the price of one. And God? I’ve got less selfish plans for him.

Your sincerely,
P.S. I have been a good boy this year! Honestly.

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