Santa Claus is in one horrendously bad mood this week (much the same as in last week’s Santa Newsletter), so anyone with a propensity for panicking had best not read what’s in store. My word, he’s been a naughty boy, which by his rules means he doesn’t get any presents this year. Which is a bummer. Oh well, at least Professional Moron will send him a nice, neatly wrapped packet of blu-tack for him to enjoy!
Santa’s Christmas Newsletter #2
Santa (that’s me, idiot) is not at all merry at this time of year. In addition to the ****ing enormous workload I have to manage, I’m facing pressing legal issues from the local, and international, authorities after a series of not entirely related “whoopsies” on my part.
Call it gross negligence or the activities of a rampant sadist if you may, but I simply have to be Santa at this time of year – I’ve got 30 billion toys to make and I will complete my duties as ruthlessly as necessary. Got a problem with that? Well then perhaps you should have asked for a few less items off of Santa this year; do you really need those £400 smart high heels which, in a posh British accent, actively warn you of the precariousness of your tottering? Of course not, fool, but 560 million of you ordered them. Freaks!
In my gusto to get the job done this year, however, I made a few minor miscalculations. One of which was…
A Minor Nuclear Mishap
Probably the worst “problem” is that I decided to speed up present making this year by utilising nuclear power. The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) hasn’t been best pleased by my reckless approach to harnessing this means of energy creation. They accused me of being “reckless” – this is because I accidentally set off a minor nuclear reaction in a fit of rage (I stubbed my toe and so punched a hole through our nuclear reactor with my bazooka).
The local wildlife in a 100 mile radius of the Santa Claus premises was incinerated and the IAEA immediately visited to perform tests. It soon became apparent some 100% of my toys have been polluted with toxic gamma radiation. We’re not making them again, so you can join in the radioactive cheer this year when I visit on the 25th… or whenever Christmas ****ing well is! Anyway, apparently this attitude makes Santa a very bad man indeed, and the IAEA are pursuing me through some legal process I neither understand nor care to bother understanding.
You know what I have to say about those goddamn Hippies at the IAEA? I say this: IAEA? It stands for: Incompetent ***wipes Eat Acorns. Take that you morally righteous, atom preserving bunch of vagabonds!
The catastrophic explosion we enjoyed during the nuclear incident also led to a local government investigation. Following this we were slapped with a warning for noise pollution by the local police. I told them to take a ****ing hike, which led to additional charges of verbal abuse and general belligerence.
Upon being accosted with such information, I became highly belligerent. This only seemed to make the matter worse, and I spent the night in the cells with a drunken student and a far right political lunatic. Me and the latter got on super well and are going out on a date next week. It’s not romantic, or anything, but he is a total dreamboat!
Probably On Course For Christmas
These setbacks aside, everything is right on course! Sort of. Half of my workforce was eradicated in the nuclear mishap, whilst the other half was irradiated and largely just sits around complaining of nausea and chronic fatigue whilst their skin peels off. Goddamn Hippies, you can’t get proper staff these days!
Their chronic ineptitude has promoted productivity issues, not at all aided by the chronic gout in my right foot from chronic overindulgence in mince pies (I eat over four dozen a day). To solve the matter I decided to blast my foot from my body with a double barrelled shotgun.
After completing this undertaking, as you can imagine, I induced mobility issues. No longer able to hobble around in gout-ridden agony as before, I had to visit hospital and have a new foot grafted on by expert doctors. My body has accepted the new lower extremity with good cheer, and I now intend to blast my head from my body and have Brad Pitt’s handsome skull replace it in time for my hot date. Wish me luck!