With Christmas about a fortnight off, this is when Santa’s factory is a genuine Danger Zone. It’s strictly off limits for the public as this is the point, in order to meet public demand for Christmas Day, I have to start cutting corners in order to meet the present making quota. This ramps up the danger by a factor of 61.2%. That’s the professional way of describing it. For the non-professional name, it’s “Danger Zone” time. In other words, I put that song from Top Gun on and I don my shades. Santa is cool.
Whilst I generally portray myself to be a jolly fat man in the media and marketing communications, during the Christmas run I turn into a frenzied behemoth; pouring sweat, profane, belligerent, physically aggressive, and often a bit drunk, it’s a highly stressful and crazed period offset by the creation of kids toys and regular police warnings due to my manic behaviour. Here are some of the ones I’ve racked up this year.
Santa’s 2017 Police Warnings
- Detonating 400lbs of TNT to scare off a herd of tourists: These hapless idiots often wander into the North Pole expecting to meet me. At this time of year this isn’t acceptable, so I take to exploding TNT, semtex, and bazooka shells within close proximity to them in order to scare them off. The police often complain about this, but we have a tacit agreement it’s the only way to get Christmas “done”. However, and rather unfortunately, I accidentally blew up British explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes who was out on an expedition, causing him to lose another finger. He complained to the cops and they stamped an official warning on me for anti-social behaviour. Explore this! [Editor’s note: Santa informed us he wished it to be known he was groping his crotch inappropriately with the last sentence as way of an insult]
- Detonating an arbitrary iceberg due to it being “the SOB that sank the Titanic!”: During another drinking spree, I detonated a 300 tonne iceberg drifting near to my factory (my factory is located in a most idyllic location – it’s beautiful) under the mistaken belief it was responsible for sinking the Titanic in 1912. Unfortunately, as it blew up, chunks of it landed on the rescue party collecting Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who lost another finger in the incident and, once again, pressed charges.
- Detonating part of Santa’s factory as a “tax dodge”: I swear to Rudolph this was an accident! I simply got drunk one night, as my CCTV confirms, and left 500lbs of semtex cooking in my oven (I thought it was, in my drunken haze, last night’s pizza leftovers). What was intended as a 4am snack resulted in the total destruction of units #1, #2, and #3 of my factory, which has absolutely nothing to do with any of the Capital Gains Tax initiatives I’ve been ranting about on my Facebook account.
- Attempting to detonate Mrs. Santa Claus due to “excessive nagging”: Although the police classed this as “attempted murder” I was let off after telling the Chief Constable about the missus’ relentless nagging. We bonded and he let me off, despite me stockpiling semtex under my wife’s bed and setting it off at 5am in a drunken frenzy. The wife was bruised and battered, but otherwise unhurt. The Chief Constable credited her miraculous survival on her “nagging force field”!! I can tell you, we had a good long laugh about that one. What a wit that man is.
- Detonating 10 tonnes of mince pies in an accidental New Year’s resolution: I made a 4am drunken decision to lose weight in 2018 by cutting back on irrelevant foodstuffs. The result was I blew up my entire stock of mince pies. By 9am I’d realised what a horrendous mistake I’d made, so I ordered my elves to scour the detonation area to recover all the mince pie bits they could. After nine hours I had around a tonne of my pies back, admittedly charred and decimated as they were. So I handed them over to our on-site Head Chef, Cliff, who attempted to bake them into one giant mince pie. Unfortunately, as he was baking them, semtex remnants caused another colossal explosion and the Santa factory now has no kitchen or kitchen staff. Oops.
- Dangerously ridding myself of incendiary materials: After all of the above, the police demanded I rid from my belongings all incendiary materials, or face serious jail time. To do so, I detonated the lot in one mega-explosion which could be heard across most of the northern hemisphere. The extent of this catastrophic eruption, which resulted in an enormous mushroom cloud in the sky, is all of my factory euipment was damaged and Christmas has ground to a shuddering halt. All of my liquor bottles were shattered, too, which is a right bastard. There were also many instances of severe injury, but whatever… at least my hip flasks survived and I was able to drink myself into a stupour. I’m really not sure what happened after that, but later found out my wife paid the cops off with an amount I’m too infuriated to enclose. All I’ll say is THAT’S MY GODDAMN MONEY AND HOW DARE THEY STEAL IT FROM ME!!
Oh well, factory repairs are now in action, but we’re enormously behind schedule. Catch up next week on how that’s going, but take a wild guess right now. It’s not been pretty.