PRS Operatives have managed (Don’t ask) to get a copy of Mrs. Obama’s letter to Santa. Enjoy.

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a really, really good girl this year, if for no other reason than I have managed not to strangle that arrogant, whiny, girlie man prick that I’m married to. I thought that I wood let you know what I wood like for Christmas. I am confidint that you will leve me these things, because, although my *spit* husband may be an arrogant, whiny, girlie man prick, he could federalize your operation with the stroke of a pen. Keep that in mind, Fatso.

Here goes:

1. Belts, lots of belts — wide belts. You know, the ones that separate my boobs from my ass. Everyone says that my belts are very slimming (even though I don’t really need slimming).

2. A hula hoop. I am a kickass hula hooper and a woman of the Peeps. Just ask any one of my dozens of staff members.

3. When you come by, could you puh-leeze take that pissass dog away with you on the sleigh. He always barks at my mama and shits in my shoes. The Secret Service guys like him, but I hate him

4. Twinkies, Devil Dogs and some killer éclairs. Please wrap these in plain brown wrapper and leave them in the cabinet under the sink. Know what I’m sayin?

5. Could you please hit that Smartass Suzette on the head with a flaming meteorite? I’m tired of redding the terribel things she says about me. If you can’t do the meteorite thing, please leave some reindeer shit under her tree.

6. I really would like a tutu and ballet shoes. People tell me that I look like a ballerina and that I’d look really, totally hot in a tutu. I’d like the tutu in something purple and yellow (sequins would make it really special) and the shoes in size 13 EEEE.

7. I also could use a new – what the hell is it called? – A nine iron, or some shit (Pardon my French,Santa). You see, one day, Himself was bitching and moaning about Fox News and Mama said, “Yo, Bitch! You sound like a gottdamned pussy with all that whinin’ ‘n shit!” (Pardon my mama’s French, Santa). She smacked him upside his head with the club and broke it. He tells me he really needs a new one, because he has a golf date with a bunch of Kenyans. Friggin’ Kenyan relatives of his … they show up here at the White House and wipe their asses on the sheets. What the hell was I thinking when I married this mutt?

8. I’d love a Sarah Palin wig hat. I figure that would get a rise out of Himself.

9. A few Poppers. I hear Himself and that slobbering jackwad Barney Frank talk on the phone about them, but I’m not sure what there are. Please leave me a package so I can see what the hell they are talking about. I somehow don’t think they are party favors.

10. Oh, and could you please find all those people who put my picture on the internet next to the picture of that goddamned Wookie and strike their sorry asses dead. I’m goddamned totally hot and those rat bastards know it. Hell, Janet Napolitano once grabbed my ass, and she doesn’t grab just any old ass.

Thanks, Santa.

Reguards,
Your pal (i.e. BFF)
Michelle

P.S. I left some sweet ‘tater pie on the counter (mama made it). Hep yourself.