My hands were all shaky, my face had gone pale. A letter from Santa just arrived in the mail! It was hand-written in old-fashioned ink pen. It was handsomely printed and dated twelve ten. "Dear Calvin," it said, "I'm writing because this year I've repealed my 'naught / nice' laws. So now, I urge you: be vulgar and crude! I LIKE it when children are boorish and rude! Burp at the table! Gargle your peas! Never say 'Thank you', 'You're welcome', or 'Please'. Talk back to your mother. Do as you're told. Stick your tongue out at your Dad if he scolds! Drive everyone crazy, I really don't care! Act like a jerk, anytime, anywhere! I'm changing the rules! The BAD girld and boys will be, from now on, the ones who get the toys! Good little kids make me sick, it's no joke. Sincerely, signed Santa." ... and then I awoke. I hate being good (or trying to fake it). Six days until Christmas! I don't think I'll make it.