Dear Santa: I am In Hell

Dear Santa,
!
I'm pissed off. Living in Florida is starting to make me feel all Grinch-like. True, the sunshine state lives up to it's moniker and provides us with a heaping helping of Vitamin D each and every blessed day, and also true that everything is pretty much raining palm trees and flamingo snatch. Now, I know that most people would give their last ounce of Metamucil to live in sunny Florida...but I am not most people.
!
"Ooooooooooh, it's too cold. Brrrrrrr, I hate having to put on a shawl! Gah! My peanut brittle is...brittle!"
!
Really? Let me tell you what I detest. I resent the fact that my Christmas will consist of 80 degree weather and pancake pits. A sunburn to guide your sleigh Santa? Yes, the weather forecast has us once again dreaming of a white Christmas. Unfortunately, the only white Christmas that we might achieve will resemble cocaine on some dead hookers rump. The analogy is of course that Florida is a den of sin...check into it!.
!
One of my fondest childhood memories involves peering out of my parents Oldsmobile on the way to Grandma's house on Christmas eve and seeing quaint little farmhouses in the distance. Blankets of snow glistened under illuminating allure coming from the soft yellow light of their living rooms. I would press my face to the car window as we pass by; my cheek would almost vibrate against the cold glass in contrast to the warmth that the people, cozy inside of their homes, must have felt.
!
There is a house across the street from me here in Orlando decorated to the hilt in honor of our dear Savior's birth (Jesus loves dancing lights!) but alas...as I once again press my face to the glass, dipping into that bit of nostalgia, I scorch my forehead as I am reminded that a Florida winter exists only in snow globes.
!