Last year, I did not receive any presents. That lump of coal is still sitting beneath the floor boards of my parent’s old house. It’s a sad reminder of what my life has become. Look, I know I wasn’t a perfect angel this year either. In fact, my outing in Halloween 2 was much worse than in Rob Zombie’s first effort. You have to believe me though Santa, I really did try to bring fans what they wanted this year. I bulked up, grew out my beard, acquired a homeless man’s wardrobe, and successfully learned to grunt. I did my best, but I'm not sure everyone else involved did. So can you really blame me? How about giving me the presents intended for Rob and Scout.
Due to the nature of my job, I hardly ever get Christmas presents. Sure, there have been a few sabbaticals here and there, which allowed me to stock up on holiday joy. I really need a break this time Mr. Clause, because next year is going to be rough. 3D most certainly means no presents for Mikey. My iconography is entering a new stage—one that is depressing and degrading. I can think of only one thing that will make this transformation sting a little less…okay maybe two things: If John Carpenter were to direct me once again and if I were to get a few presents under the tree.
If you get this letter, I hope you are enjoying the weather in the North Pole. It’s a bit nippy here in Illinois, so I’d like a new coat, preferably one that doesn’t reek of cheap vodka and aging vomit. I’d also appreciate some scissors, or if you are really touched by this letter, an electric razor. Maybe the ones that give you a real close shave. That would be really nice of you. Well, I have to get going. The cops are kicking us out of the abandoned barn again.
From One Holiday Icon to Another,