Chapter Text
Let it here be recorded that Nathaniel Northwest, famous in his native Gravity Falls for standing in the park and hitting himself with a large boating oar until he blacked out, was chosen to become the patsy mayor of Gravity Falls. Northwest spoke in a series of grunts and screams and often yelled his trademark phrase: "I am going to eat this entire oak tree because I am a powerful wizard!"
The fabled founder of Gravity Falls was, in fact, a fraud. His last moments on Earth were spent choking on a giant piece of bark, attempting to live out his beautiful dream. He was hated by everyone that knew him. He will not be missed.
Thomas Jefferson was actually just two kids in an overcoat standing on each other's shoulders. The current and forever President of the United States is actually Santa Claus. Under the reign of Mr. Claus, America is not a democracy, but a jollyocracy. The statues at Mount Rushmore are actually gigantic presidential-faced robots that will be called into action when America needs them the most. An enormous, evil, time-traveling baby from another dimension is frozen in an Atlantic glacier. Fortunately, glaciers never melt, so we should be fine. Writing jokes for cartoons is more important than sleep. If you recite the pledge of allegiance backwards, you'll gain secret wizard powers! (This one is true, kids! Try it at home!)
The true founder of Gravity Falls was:
SIR LORD. QUENTIN TREMBLEY, III, ESQ.
Pacifica must have read the document more than two hundred times since Dipper had shoved it at her way back in June. Still, sitting at her new, smaller desk in her new, smaller bedroom in her family's new, smaller house, she read it again.
This little piece of paper had rocked the foundations of her world in a lot of different ways since she'd first read it. Today, however, she was mostly concerned with two sentences in particular.
The current and forever President of the United States is actually Santa Claus. Under the reign of Mr. Claus, America is not a democracy, but a jollyocracy.
When six-year-old Pacifica had written a letter to Santa asking for a second pony (fearing that her first one may have been getting lonely) and burst into tears upon receiving a piece of coal instead, her parents had told her not to concern herself with the opinion of a fat man she'd never met. They'd told her that neither of them had ever been on his Nice List either, back when they were children. They'd told her that his judgment was dumb and meaningless and only mattered for poor people. Then they'd taken her outside and shown her the three new ponies that they'd bought for her.
For six Christmases since then, Pacifica had believed them. She'd written no letters to Santa asking for gifts, scoffed at anyone who talked about him in her presence, and dismissed the idea that the coal in her stocking could possibly mean anything at all about her character.
But now she knew better. Now she knew just how cruel and selfish her parents were. Now she knew that she didn't have to follow their example, and that choosing to do so had made her cruel and selfish too. Now she knew how much of her family's power was a lie, or was built on lies. Now she knew that Santa was truly far more influential than her parents had ever guessed.
His opinion did matter. The fact that he'd put her on the Naughty List every year did mean something.
Dipper and Mabel had said that they believed she could change. She hoped fervently that they were right.
Pacifica got out a piece of paper and a pen. Dear Santa, she wrote. Then she stopped.
Now that she knew he was the President, would he want her to address him as such? On the one hand, his Presidency was clearly supposed to be kept secret. On the other hand, no one would read this letter other than her and the man himself, so it's not like she was revealing the secret to anyone.
She crossed out the first line and started again.
Dear President Santa,
I hope it's okay that I'm writing to you again after all these years. I My parents For a long time I didn't think it mattered whether you thought I was naughty or nice. But this year I've had a bit of a major change in perspective. I know that's wrong now.
I've never been nice. But I'm trying now. I want to become nice.
I want This year I can't think of any particular present I especially want to ask you for. I still have more money and stuff than I really need. Most of the things I want I can just buy, and the things I can't buy are also things I can't expect you to give me. It would be insulting to ask for you to make my family richer, or for you to make Dipp the boy I like fall in love with me.
I guess I just want to know if I'm doing a good job. Am I worthy of being on the Nice List yet? Am I at least on the right track? Please let me know.
Yours,
Pacifica Northwest
Once finished writing, she looked the letter over. "Good enough," she decided. At the very least, it was sincere. Sincerity, she'd learned, was a lot more important to being truly good than perfect presentation.
She stood up and went to look for an envelope and a stamp.