Okay, so we read your letter in the STAR last Saturday, December 29th underscoring your reasons for avoiding St Lucia at Christmas 2012, and maybe even for good. But please-please-please, Santa, please: can you rethink your position and maybe pay a late visit to fair Helen.
After all, we are going back to that “Simply beautiful” tagline, you know, even though maybe the first thing I should beg for is a huge vacuum cleaner to clean out all that garbage lying around the country. I can already hear your ho, ho, hos. (No, Santa, I wasn’t referring to the hired help!) No, neither am I talking about politicians, even though, ah what the heck, let’s just forget that.
But really, Santa, we need some handouts, er, gifts, from you really bad, Santa. Now I know you traded in your sleigh for a hefty loan from the bank that gave out a bunch of bad hotel loans in 2011. So in case you have not bought your own red-jet as yet, I can send you a first class ticket, taxes absorbed and all, to land at any of our two major airports. I promise you’ll be welcomed by our very own Bikini Bombshells. So take along a case or two of reindeer-horn bois bande. (You never know who or what will let you down these days!)
Santa, I am sure you would realize by now that we are late-late-late with our request list and for that we extend apologies and olive branches. But last year you warned us about just sending you requests without first of all helping to tally who has been naughty or nice. And so we did and the first count showed that 86998 had been naughty and 87002 had been good. We tallied again and this time it turned out 86999 had been naughty and 87001 nice.
So you see we couldn’t in the spirit of Christmas send you a letter with the possibility that we may have made a mistake. What if little Kenny Twoface, Johnny Kumlately, Dick Enns and Dora Douce were good for once. And what if some of them then went and had a change of heart?
We were really scared of being sued and the next thing you know there are a ton of lawyers up your big ole butt, Santa. That one lawyer we sought advice from was too busy mousing around and involving himself with trafficking of one kind or another on the day in question. And so we enlisted some NICE red elves to STEP up and help with the tallying. But you know how that goes: funds ran out and everybody just stopped working two days before Christmas. Damn ingrates!
Then we tried sourcing some computers from the Taiwanese but that had to go through some kind of fund or account. You know what I mean? No more hand-tohand red envelopes and all that, so that took some sorting out.
Okay so no more excuses Santa, because after I’m putting this together in the STAR editorial room, not from a political platform. So instead of going all zero on you like some politicians and sending you no mail at all, we have decided that at least there were some among us deserving of a gift from you, albeit late and in spite of your letter as to why you stayed away this year.
So please bear with us, Santa. At least consider some of our requests.
For our good Prime Minister I really want a dictionary. At least then he would know what “immediately” means. I mean we are all still waiting for that promised immediate revocation of the airport development tax that was mentioned since May. Then again he would find some synonyms for “anguish” and words about other body parts other than his heart that “bleeds” so often it’s a wonder it’s got any juice left.
A year’s supply of Slim Fast for the opposition leader, since that Rasta vegan thing just eh workin’ for he. Maybe he love too much pork, Santa?
W’er in dire need of a new Pied Piper for the city, Santa. Okay, so they took away our last one Jimmy boy after he failed to catch a single rat and placed him in a cabinet of rodents the like of which no one knew even existed. So Santa can you lend a hand with these rats and their stray-dog bodyguards? I hear some of them have taken refuge with the new mayor up north. I tell you, Santa e sum bal fini. No Santa, dat eh Latin, is stir-friend pure creole!
For our good friend Boo (nah, not de one with dem blonde curls we see on TV, this Boo we talking about about eh even got hair!), we need a cross for him to carry around. You know, like the Pope. I mean, with so much faith and hope in the Creative Industries thing, the man should be next in line to be canonized. But the trouble with carrying big crosses whether on your shoulders or on your neck, is, well, let’s not get too deep into that . . .
For Mongstar a national medal award is in order, for getting every little kid to sing “Saint Lucia We Love” even those who know nuthin’ about Independence, Compie or Walcott and Lewis the Elder.
Ambi needs to collect his royalties check Santa, from the creators of “Ramen,” for that long playing advertisement that also had every little boy and girl singing “Ramen, Ramen as VAT com-ing.”
We won’t call names Santa but for some DJs and radio announcers we need a Thesaurus as well as some reading lessons, which ever one you can manage first. Santa with so many bullets they burst daily, it’s amazing the homicide rate was not higher in 2013.
For Mac 11 we need some money to help with his doctor bills and a get well card in a brand new pink Jansport bag.
To Chris Hunte, who is still busy trying to figure out this Consultancy thing at the Ministry of Tourism and Creative Industries, a more cordial approach to his fellow workers, talentless as they are, and someone to explain Chris’ job description.
Santa we need a bigger cabinet, more ministry space and a new job for the head of the Public Service Commission. You see, more jobs will be invented, Santa, more consultants will be brought in, and it look like there’ll be no need a Public Service Commission in the coming better days.
And, and, Santa we need a central bank to print our own money. We have none left and it is causing our eyeballs to hurt, Santa.
For SLASPA, Santa: a fire system that actually works and for the trade unions the same handbook you sent the bus drivers last year. After all, these guys were able to get EC$2 million from your temporary replacement whilst the unions got zilch.
And oh how we love Darren Sammy, Santa. We know he is looking forward to a bundle of joy in the New Year, so Santa please ensure a healthy delivery, no missed catches, and a full supply of pampers.
For Sean Edwards Santa we need a few cricket lessons from Sammy. Maybe then he will actually earn the cricket stripes we keep hearing about but not even our sports maven Dave Pascal can talk about that.
But you know what the electorate would really appreciate from you Santa? A lie detector test like Maury’s. (You don’t know him?) Well anyway, the detector would have told us it was a lie when we were told the prices of some goods would go up and some would go down after VAT—if we had one last year, Santa. In our case what goes up never comes down. We would also have known someone was fibbing when we were told medication and computers would be VAT free, too. Trouble is that thing would be beeping so often no one would get to sleep. Hey, we would also have known the promise of jobs, jobs, jobs was real, right? We were never told who would get the jobs, jobs, jobs in the better days but that promise was at least true, for some.
Finally, Santa: I understand the country is fast soon be running outta weaves, fake nails and eyelashes. That’s because men and women are buying like never before. Forget the gloom, we still happy and bright. And when it come to being gay, dey have nothing on us back there in an Francisco.
Santa we could ask for a couple more things, like a proper and reliable public transport system; proper playgrounds for our children; half-decent healthcare; Vat-free medication; housing for human habitation; a politician who actually believes in and stands up for something and at least a couple of better days in 2013. We could ask, Santa, but we won’t. After all, there are things even you can’t deliver and already we’ve had a bellyful of false promises. You like that one, Santa? A bellyful of promises? Ho-ho-ho!
