Sacred Haven of Debauchery

Hello, Grandfather Frost! My name is Kostik. I am 16 years old! Not too young, not too old, but I believe and hope that you exist and are reading my letter right now. My mother is a very mean aunt. She doesn't allow me to write letters to you, so I'm sitting under the bed and writing this letter. Mom only lets me go out to play until 3:00 PM. When I don't listen to her, she throws a knife at me and often hits me right in the butt =( One day, I couldn't take it anymore and said to her: "I'm a badass!". My dad works as an engineer, and when he comes home from work in a bad mood, he yells: "You son of a bitch!" and makes me fix his hand. But I don't know how to fix anything, so I just make a mess of it. He gets even angrier and forbids me from playing Counter-Strike with my friends. Dad also came up with a nickname for me and calls me not Kostik, but "little cutie"! This is very offensive. In general, Grandfather Frost, if you're not a loser, you'll understand how bad things are for me. Dear Grandfather Frost, you with your red nose, take me with you or send me a knife. Also, make it so that the people close to me love me and give me money for Tortuga more often. My beloved Grandfather Frost, you are my last chance. I hope that for the New Year, I will find a little crocodile under the Christmas tree. Grandfather Frost, understand how bad things are for me. If you don't read this letter or it doesn't reach you, I'm screwed. Remember that I believe in you, you bastard!