All I want for Christmas this year, Santa my friend, is a GPS. I don’t want a bike or world peace or even for my hair to stop its slow recession into oblivion. No, I want a GPS. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, I don’t just want any GPS, I want a GPS that you can imbed into my brain so it doesn’t get stolen out my vehicle, but more on that later.
You may ask yourself why I so desperately want a GPS this Christmas. Well let me tell you Santa, my sense of direction is not only suspect, it is non-existant. A retarded monkey on morphine has a better sense of direction than I do. I would get lost going to the bathroom at work if there weren’t signs posted everywhere. I especially tend to get lost driving when I really have to pee. I figure it is high-time that I put my days of bladder cramps due to my direction ineptitude behind me.
As for the whole imbedded in my brain thing, well, it seems that everyone wants what you have these days. Instead of people going out and, you know, working for a living, they would rather break into your home and/or car and steal what’s yours. Instead of having to buy a piece and gunning down lil’ ghettorats, I just figured I could avoid such an occurrence by having the system lodged between the wrinkles in my brain. It would also be cool if I was the only one hearing the directions, preferably in say, Sean Connery’s voice. Or maybe Kathleen Turner’s voice before she turned into Jabba the Hut.
Thanks for reading my letter Santa. Oh, and just so you know, if I don’t get what I want this Christmas, I’m going to hunt you down and cut off one of your toes. Please and thank you.