Dear Madam or Sir,

Or whoever you are who invented the mini-Santas; those mindless abominations that have invaded my country and attached themselves to every balcony on the island, spreading like plague of shallow taste and mediocrity.

You corporate junky, sitting in your office somewhere, swimming in your profits, getting rich out of exploiting the commercialization of the once-beautiful and simple holiday; laughing at the gullible populace, buying the identical, stupid miniatures of an obese, pagan phenomenon entitled as a saint.  Couldn’t you have chosen flying angels? They are at least pretty.

[Assumes a french accent] I spit in your general direction. [French accent is dropped]

I thank you for your time and look forward to your next creation. Not!

Best regards,

A Disgusted Citizen whose Christmas Spirit is Ruined Every time a New Balcony Succumbs to your Menace

—

This is a continuation of the long rant I placed in Christmas is Here, sorry if this ruins the spirit and all, but I need to vent!