Billy Gates writes to Santa
Dear Santa,

How are you doing? I hope you've had a successful year and have come up with a lot of interesting toys. It's really neat how you're able to do that year after year. I guess that's how you stay number one in the Christmas presents business business.

Actually, I admire the way you run Christmas. You really have a handle on it. You find out what people want (with letters like this and having kids tell you in person), and then you make the presents and control how they are delivered. It's an impressive operation.

I also like how you've got it to where when somebody says "Christmas presents," people automatically think Santa Claus. What a marketing advantage. Best of all, even though you're a huge success, people still don't know much about your private life. It's just rumors. That's so neat.

I think being at the North Pole helps. That was a good move. For example, when you're designing toys, only your elves know what you're doing, and you're way up there where nobody can spy on you and steal your ideas. And even if they do, you can always just let it out that you're making the same stuff to bring to people for free, so why would they buy the other guy's stuff?

Also, other people who make Christmas presents can't deliver them like you can. Yours is the only sleigh on the distribution highway. You must get some great discounts from them, because if they don't play ball you can just refuse to give out their presents. Very Sharp.

What I don't get is why you give away stuff. That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard. I admit, it's why you're number one - who could compete with a deal like that? But it must make it hard to stay in business, especially when you have to visit every kid in the world. You have to keep growing or fail.

Here's an idea on how you can help finance your operation: Give everybody at least one present at Christmas, then you could make batteries and sell them the rest of the year. It would create a demand: You give people something and then sell them what they need to make it work.

Another thing, about you coming down the chimney. That's so slow and inefficient. And what about all the people who don't have chimneys? Santa. I have one word for you--windows. Everybody has windows.

That's about all I have to say. You're probably wondering if I was good or bad this year, but I don't really like to talk about my personal life, if that's O.K. (Just out of curiosity: When you were a boy, did any of the other kids call you a nerd?) Anyway, I don't really have anything to ask for. Mostly I think up something to play with and then build it myself. I guess I'm sort of like you--I make my own toys.

Best of luck,
Billy Gates

A Redneck Christmas
A Redneck Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the trailer
Not a creature was stirrin’ ‘cept a redneck named Taylor.
His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,
And a-runnin’ down his chin was a trickle of spittle.

His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,
And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.
From out in the yard there came such a noise
That Bubba got scared and rousted the boys.

There was Rufus, 12; Jim Bob was 11;
Dud goin’ on 10; Otis was 7.
John, George and Chucky were 5,4, and 3:
The twins were both girls so they just let them be.

They jumped in their overalls, no need for a shirt,
Threw a hat on each head, then turned with a jerk.
They ran to the gun rack that hung on the wall.
There were 17 shotguns; they grabbed them all.

Bubba said to the young’uns, “Now hesh up ya’ll!
The last thing we wanna do is wake up yer Maw.”
Maw was expecting and needed her sleep,
So out they crept out the door without making a peep.

They all looked around, and then they all spit.
The young’uns asked Bubba, “Paw, what is it?”
Bubba just stared; he could not say a word.
This was just like all of the stories he’d heard.

It was Santy Claus up on the roof, darn tootin’
But the boys didn’t know; they was about to start shootin’!
They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake
That would have resulted in venison steak.

Bubba hollered out, “Don’t shoot, boys!”
That’s Santy Claus and he’s brought us some toys.
The dogs were a-barkin’ and a-raisin’ cain,
And Bubba whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

“Down, Spot! Shut up Bullet! Quiet, Pete and Roscoe!
Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and old Joe!”
“Git down from that porch! Git down off that wall!
Quit shakin the trailer, or you’ll make Santy fall!”

The dogs kept a-barkin’ and wouldn’t shut up,
And they trampled poor Pete who was only a pup.
Santy opened his bag, and threw out some toys.
Bubba got most, but left a few for the boys.

From up on the roof Santa heaved a great sigh.
Since the guns had been dropped he just might not die.
He jumped in his sleigh, told his reindeer to hurry.
The trailer started to wobble Santa started to worry.

Just as the reindeer got into the air,
The trailer collapsed, but Bubba didn’t care.
He was busy lookin’ at all his new toys.
Then a thought hit him, and he said to the boys:

“Go check on yer Maw, make sure she’s all right.
That roof fallin’ on her could-a hurt just a might.”
But Maw was OK, and the girls were too.
They fixed up the trailer; it looked good as new.

And as for Bubba, he liked Old St. Nick,
But Santa thought Bubba was a pure-in-tee hick!
Bubba had a nice Christmas, and the boys did, too.
And the Taylors wish a Merry Christmas to you!