Okay, so it’s that time of year again when we’re contractually obliged to have Santa Claus write a weekly (or thereabouts) column for us. As you may know, if you’ve followed these over the years, Santa isn’t quite as mentally stable as his marketing (i.e. propaganda) team makes out. But, well… don’t say we didn’t warn you. Welcome back, Santa.
SANTA IS BACK!
I got up yesterday after a long hibernation session here in the North Pole. I did not feel at my best. Indeed, I was slammed out with a series of ailments. Our on-site doctor here at the Santa factory, Doreen, came to have a look at me and screamed in horror. This was mainly because I was wandering about covered in vomit whilst stark bollock naked. Not a pretty sight, I must admit. Anyway, when she calmed down this is what turned out to be wrong with me:
- Acute pancreatitis
- Delirium tremens
- Tennis elbow
- Radiation poisoning (not surprising, we had a massive nuclear meltdown a few years ago – some of my elves have since grown a third leg)
- Chronic dribbling
- Jargon aphasia (apparently I have been ranting gibberish under the belief I make sense – this is why Doreen has agreed to translate this column for me, which she is doing right now as I dictate)
Right, so with that lot in mind I’m currently incapacitated. This has left me not best pleased, so I’ve been drinking two litres of vodka a day. That stupid bitch Doreen said this would make things worse, but what does that moronic old hag know? She’s barely even a bloody nurse! Incompetent. I can’t stand the sight of her. Putrid example of ageing gone wrong.
I would fire her, but she’s the only ****wit willing to work this far in the middle of bloody nowhere and that stupid ****ing women is here telling me what to do?! I’M SANTA CLAUS! I’M SANTA! She’s just some ****ing stupid **** **** ****ed ****ing **** with **** not that ****ed is within reason, but ****ing as she is, that **** **** ****ing ****ed and her pathetic diminutive stature makes it all the ****ing more reasonable to ensure this ****ing s…
Job Spec: Doctor For Santa’s Factory
Following the recent departure of our long-serving doctor, we’re now in need of an experienced and enthusiastic replacement. This unprecedented opportunity will see you working on-site at Santa Claus’ factory in the North Pole (you must be willing to relocate). Your duties are to ensure the health and safety of all persons present at the site. Your daily activities will include, but aren’t limited to:
- Mopping up pools of vomit (although we don’t have any mops right now, so you may need to scoop it up in your hands and, like, chuck it in a bucket or something)
- Mopping up pools of urine (as above, we have no mops)
- Removing the excrement from the walls, floors, and roof of the factory (as above)
- Lowering the annual death toll in the aftermath of one of Santa’s drunken frenzies
- Ensuring Rudolf doesn’t OD on class A narcotics
- Trying to figure out why we keep having outbreaks of plague bacillus (and stopping the outbreaks, figuring it out isn’t good enough)
- Be capable of dealing with an overwhelming number of severe injuries in a short space of time (this happens a lot – our factory infrastructure is a bit messed up!)
- Can handle 20 hour shifts on a weekly basis with no holiday days (you get a 10 minute lunch break)
In return, you’ll receive a highly competitive wage of £12,000 p/a, your own room in the factory (it has a bed in the form of a mattress on the floor, and a bucket as your toilet – rent is a highly competitive £1,000 p/m for a 10/10 foot box), free meals, and you get to work with Santa!
Send in your applications today. Unfortunately, due to the high number of applicants, if you’ve not heard back from us within 48 hours we believe you to be grossly incompetent, or just outright dismal and pathetic. Santa Claus Ltd. is not an equal opportunity employer – if you’re a bit weird, or just smell funny, then you’re not welcome here.