Exclusive Santa Column: Take a Tour of Santa’s Factory

Santa's Factory
Ho ho ho!

Excuse me, I’m incredibly hungover and just barfed a little bit on the keyboard while (I’m using while instead of whilst, even though Professional Moron’s style guidelines tell me not to – they can take a ****ing hike) typing. This was supposed to be a live vlog for an exclusive tour of my factory, but as I’m struggling to keep it together it’ll have to be just me sitting here typing out what is where and all that crap. Okay, let’s get on with this.

Santa’s Factory – The Tour!

I strongly recommend no one actually visit my factory unannounced as I don’t really dig that. Let’s just say many a cheery traveler has thought it would be a great idea, only to have to flee for their lives once I let the rottweilers loose. Look, I run a billion dollar business here and need to keep a tight ship together otherwise snotty nosed brats don’t get Barbie dolls. So, hopefully, after reading this post your interests in my factory will have been slaked.

Factory Entrance (i.e. front door)

It’s big, imposing, secure, and guarded at all times by guards skilled in the art of guarding. There are 155 guards around this door and they have a combined total of 1,000 years of experience guarding stuff. I sometimes like to take a moment of my time to just stop and stare at the sight of 155 men in shades and puffy jackets looking all serious and occasionally grunting. It’s a beautiful sight and it often makes me weep happy tears.


There are 12 receptionists who work five hour shifts on a cyclical basis to ensure the reception is open 24 hours a day all year round. I believe the reception is the most important part of any business, so I pay my receptionists minimum wage for their sterling efforts. Duties involve sitting about answering phones, typically with the following message: “Santa Claus will not donate any money to charity”.

All of my receptionists are called Wendy as I believe this is the perfect name for a receptionist. Male receptionists aren’t allowed, of course, as men would be terrible at this job as they are too foul smelling and hairy. Have you ever seen a male receptionist? Exactly. I have no shame in admitting I would be an awful receptionist.


There are three toilets at the property, although one of them is currently out of service as I was in there last night and, somehow, the toilet got clogged and when I flushed it all the water started gushing out everywhere. It’s a bit embarrassing I suppose, but I’ve told everyone Mrs. Santa Claus did it to save face. I’m not sure if Rudolph believes me as he gave a sort of “Whatever…” skeptical look when I saw him this morning, or perhaps he’s just on heroin again as his eyes get like that when he’s tripping on class A narcotics.

Anyway, the toilets are closed from 11 pm so they can be serviced (i.e. they’re saved for my personal use only). This means my 1,001 elf workers, who sleep at the factory in their quarters (we won’t be visiting there – it’s just a big room with a load of elves in it), are required to use the cess pit I made them dig out back. Obviously, as this is the North Pole, temperatures can plunge to -40 below and I’ve found many a frozen elf corpse squatting by the pit doing their thing. This is pretty hilarious, although the other elves don’t agree with me.

So, there has been the odd toilet-based ruckus and the threat of strikes in the name of more toilets. I don’t know how I feel about this… but, I do know relenting would be a sign of weakness, which Santa most not subscribe to. Weakness must not be tolerated!

Still, the toilets remain a constant source of conflict at the Santa factory. The elves insist we need more than three, I say two is an extravagance, and Mrs. Santa Claus just keeps her mouth shut because she knows I’m a toilet tyrant and I’ll exert my autocratic, dictatorial approach to running a business with the appropriate number of toilets. Time is money and if my staff is busy using the toilet every minute of the day then those Barbie dolls don’t hit the production line and little girls are left heartbroken at Christmas.

Do I look like a man who could deal with the PTSD which would be created by that outcome? Every year on Christmas Day, it’s estimated hundreds of little girls burst into tears because they didn’t get the Barbie doll they deserved – do you know what the root cause of that is? Toilets. If there were fewer of them in this world, this world would be a better place.

Warehouses 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

I have 10 warehouses all of which are the size of a football stadium – this is where your toys are created and stored. Warehouse 11 blew up recently after an impertinent elf, to spite Santa, destroyed it as I kept calling him Stupid Sid instead of just Sid. To punish him, Stupid Sid is now responsible for guarding the cess pit.


My elves need to eat and they do so in the dining area. Our cook is Doreen and she has a fondness for mashed potato. Indeed, 90% of the weekly menu consists of mashed potato. I’m a bit mashed potatoed out, I must admit, but I can’t fire Doreen as she is Mrs. Santa Claus’ sister. I guess I better get to love mashed potato.

And finally… Santa’s private Quarters!

This is private, you ain’t getting a look around in there. All I’ll say is there’s a bed, my drinking room, an exercise bike which I never use, and a beard trimmer. There’s also a secret fourth toilet I haven’t told anyone about. Keep shtum, huh?


    • Okay, I had to Google him. I should know who he is, but I don’t. Perhaps Leach is a figment of everyone elses’ imaginations and we’re correct. Yes. I stand by that assessment.


Dispense with some gibberish!

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