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C|Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials. In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.
Waiting For Santa To Cum
C|Suite Letters
Dear C|Suite,
Many of you already know about me, as The Red Island had described my being as a, “fugly, worthless cunt” after the whole Don Cherry fiasco. Yes, this is J. Allen from CTV’s The Socialist Skanks and I am writing in to C|Suite in order to set the record straight.
Actually, I shouldn’t say “straight” because it is a hetero-normative term that is oppressive; a micro aggression. Instead, I will say that I just want to set the record 'even', as that would imply equal.
Equality!
Wow, just listen to me. I do really need to kill myself. However, admittedly, I am too much of an idiot to know how to commit to such an endeavor. Commitment requires follow-through. I mean, I barely have the energy in the morning to fuck-myself-silly with one of my ten dildos that are located in a special dresser draw; just feet away from my bed; let alone, have the ability to fully commit to a successful suicide.
I just feel that you guys aren't getting the whole background; the full story on me and why I am so worthless…and fugly! Why I am such a horndog for Trudeau’s shit-covered cock, his ‘welfare package’—the need to suck this man’s metaphorical cock so that I can earn a worthless living as a wage-cuck for CTV: My hatred for white, jolly, heterosexual men like Don Cherry and my love of fags, like Justin Trudeau.
Ok, here it goes!
I believe my issues all started on the eve of Christmas when I was fantasizing about my school’s male hockey team and how I yearned for them to railroad me.
I’d go to all their games; I even volunteered to run the clock and perform the box score duties. This way, I had an 'in'. I would chat up all the guys who got penalties: The ‘bad boys’ of the league. I use to slip them my number; they’d never call.
I remember one specific Christmas Eve. I was lying in bed; waiting for Santa to cum…then he pulled- up his pants. I always wondered why Santa’s sack was so big. Well, now I know that it was due to the fact that this man, dressed in red, only came once a year.
Dressed in red, boots so tight, sack so big; came to my bed that night.
Yes, I was molested by Santa Claus. It was horrifying.
When it was all happening I realized that Santa was a 'bad man'; a ‘bad boy’ like all those hockey players. Think about it for a minute. Here is a white heterosexual man that has license to break and enter into everyone’s homes, one night out of the year: carte blanche to do as he pleases; subsequently he pleased me very well which I’ll admit. I feel dirty about at times.
Santa, a man who everyone holds in high regard, a man of integrity, is essentially a creep and a criminal. He breaks into my home and somehow knows if I had been ‘naughty’ all year; how I had been having wet dreams regarding hockey players at my school; how I wanted ‘it’, badly.
I felt violated; my privacy had been penetrated somehow. How did he know I was so horny? How did he know where I slept in the house? How did Santa have all of this intel?
You could just imagine me, J. Allen at this confusing time in her life having a sort of tug-of-war with emotions: Santa, a white heterosexual man, having built his Christmas Empire for hundreds of years; a man with so much power and freedom to move across the world as he pleases.
A man who is allowed to break into our homes, walk around in his shiny black boots like he owns the place, steal and oddly wear my estranged step-dad’s cologne while he sneaks into my room and proceeds to give me his ‘Christmas’ gift. A man who, thereafter our brief time together, proceeded to steal cash, jewelry, break a few things and then carry on his marry way!
Santa pumped and dumped me. He used me.
He didn’t even bring me the make-up kit by Maybelline cosmedics that I asked for over and over!
That make-up kit was supposed to allow me to attract all those hockey players! That is why I could never get with the hockey Chads; Santa fucked it all up! I was scarred for life after that. From that point on I just gave up trying to get fucked by the entire hockey team.
I never worked out or tried to stay thin.
I just became a huge cunt; subsequently my cunt got huge, thusly, due to all the weight I had gained.
Due to this trauma I believed that Santa, a white heterosexual male, was a rapist, burglar and creep. Therefore, all white men are as such. I mean, who then takes the time to don the exact cologne that my step-dad use to wear, to make the experience even more bizarre and confusing?
Santa is a sick, fuck!
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So you see, everyone? That is why I hate Don Cherry. It’s why I have a huge minge and a loud, fat mouth.
I got fucked by Santa Clause. I liked it and it has ruined my life.
I want to hate Santa. I want to hate white men. I have to in order to justify my shameful guilt (lust) of getting excited when this holiday approaches every year.
You think it’s easy to be me, J. Allen, every year and not get horny on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to come? You think it’s fun trying to stay-up super late, wondering if things are going to go 'bump in-the-night'?
You think it’s easy, lying there in bed at night, hoping that he doesn’t forget about you? Expecting that he still remembers you’ve been naughty that year? You think I like being confused? You think I like that some years he doesn’t give me what I actually want (fuck my brains out-make me cum) and just drinks the milk, eats the cookies and leaves nothing behind like an entitled asshole!?
Do you think it’s a joke to see Santa walk-out on you; leave you nothing but an afterglow and a mess to clean-up?
Do you know how annoying and difficult it is to get cookie-crumbs and cum out of your bed sheets?
How would you feel if Santa called you a,“Hoe, hoe, hoe” right as he was giving you a ‘chestnut’; came all over your breasts and turned you into a toaster strudel?
I bet you wouldn't feel all warm inside, right? Just hot and sticky on the outside, like I did.
I am a victim! Feel for me!
Do you people even realize how difficult it is to cope with the thought that maybe this all happened in my head when I was younger and that none of it actually happened?
That I, J. Allen, made the whole thing up in the vein hope, just to get attention 30-years down the road; to become a professional victim-whore in order to land some cash and prizes? Cash and prizes that I feel owed by the daddy-issues I endured? To boost my shitty show on CTV that nobody watches because it’s full of fugly women (like me) who just sit around and produce nothing of value!
A show called ‘The Socialists’ that has nothing to do with Canadian hockey!
Well, there you have it C|Suite.
There it is. My confession and attempt to correct; to excuse my poor behavior.
You try thinking you got raped by Santa and see how your attitude changes.
I believed in Santa. Therefore, Santa is real and he raped me.
In closing, my therapist thought it’d be best to write in to the magazine for starters. In addition, I was instructed that I should also share my rendition to the song, ‘Must Be Santa’ as means to cope.
As part of my recovery, my shrink thought that it would be best to express my thoughts, feelings and emotions about the whole ‘Santa incident’ onto paper. To deal with the trauma in a way that was creative and positive!
Must Be Santa (remix)
By J. Allen
Who’s got a dick that’s long and white?
Santa’s got a dick that’s long and white
Who comes around on a special night?
Santa comes around on a special night
Long and white, special night
Must be Santa, must be Santa Must be Santa, Santa Claus
Who’s got rhythm and shakes the bed
Santa’s got rhythm and shook my bed
Who put a condom on his ‘head’?
Santa put a condom on his ‘head’
Shook my bed, condom on ‘head’
Must be Santa, must be Santa Must be Santa, Santa Claus
Who has a sleigh like a Chevrolet?
Santa has a sleigh like a Chevrolet
Who’s gunna shoot loads of cum my way?
Santa’s gunna shoot loads of cum my way
Chevrolet, cum my way
Must be Santa, must be Santa Must be Santa, Santa Claus
Who’s got a cock like a fire hose?
Santa’s got a cock like a fire hose
Who then calls me a, “hoe, hoe, hoe!”?
Santa then calls me a, “hoe, hoe, hoe!
Fire hose, “hoe, hoe, hoe!”
Must be Santa, must be Santa Must be Santa, Santa Claus…
Yours truly horny,
J. Allen - survivor, victim of 'white' Christmas
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