Dear Santa,

I know I should have written sooner, but I’ve been really busy trying to save the free world. I have been a good girl; really I have, so I hope you can bring me the things on my list. Being a compassionate, charitable and caring person, I have also included some gifts I would like you bring to other people. After all, it’s not all about me.

Here’s my list.

Information I can use to prove that that Barack asshole has some icky disease that makes his wizzle drip.

Some dirt on Oprah would really be swell too.

A decent voice coach.

A pill that promotes erectile dysfunction, so I can sneak it into Bill’s fried cheese sandwiches.

An ass lift (No, I don’t mean a balloon ride for Bill)

Some kickass weed (For medicinal purposes, of course)

Wonder Woman panties

A mirror that tells me I’m the fairest of them all.

A boob job (No, I don’t mean a gig for Bill. It kills me that Nancy has better tits than I do.)

Gifts for others

Tooth decay and baldness for that smarmy prick, John Edwards.

Explosive diarrhea for that lardass Tim Russert the next time he’s live on TV.

Chronic laryngitis for those jackboot-wearing, right-wing, fascist, racist radio talk show bastards, who constantly say I have no compassion. Pricks, they should eternally burn in hell. (Sorry, Santa. I got carried away there.)

A clue for Barbra Streisand (I know she’s trying to help, but, my God, she’s killing me with stupid).

For Bill, an exploding cigar.

Like I said, Santa, I’ve been a really, really good girl, and I really, really hope you can bring everything I’ve asked for. I left you some yummy chocolate chip cookies and a nice glass of milk.

Your pal,
Hilly

P.S. But, remember one thing. If you screw this up, your fat ass is mine once I become the President. Got it?