Exclusive Santa Column: Singles, Shingles, Gout, & Yuletide Prep

Christmas cheer
Huzzah! Please note – we do not condone or endorse this woman’s actions.

With Santa back on his feet and able to move again (after a chronic batch of gout), he’s getting into the Christmas spirit. His weekly columns will continue unabated, as will his lingering gout, so please prepare yourselves for bouts of belligerence, profanity, and lewd behaviour. It’s great to have him back…

New Christmas Song

Because I’m so sick and goddamn tired of hearing the same old goddamn Christmas songs, I’ve penned my goddamn own. Now, Santa sings with a fine baritone. And with a makeshift recording studio in the factory, plus a backing vocal troop in the form of Mrs. Santa Claus and some of my more harmonic elves, I’ve put together this new classic: The Christmas Grimace. Here are some of the lyrics:

Christmas makes me suspicious/Like I've witnessed something malicious/But I've got some unfinished business/'Cos of some lingering sickness/I should eat some citrus/An' make sure it ain't renamed Shitmas. 

Chorus: Grimace this Christmas/No kisses this Christmas/Grimace this Christmas [repeat X3].

Good, yeah? It’s sung like a rap song, but with an orchestral choir type thing in the background. I’m pumping in a £50 million marketing campaign to get it to No. 1. The accompanying music video (which I recorded whilst in a severe bout of alcohol withdrawal and shingles) consists of me (naked, obviously) sitting staring into the camera whilst dribbling. Bring on the Christmas cheer!


I’ve also decided we need more drama this Christmas. What induces drama? If there’s anything films have taught me, it’s fog does just that! So I went and bought 335 fog machines and positioned them around Santa’s factory where they belched out fog 24/7 to ramp up the sense of grandiosity and purpose.

You want drama? You got it. None of us could see a fucking thing! I flattened three elves this week as I barged about drunkenly and partially blind. On several occasions I was heard remarking, whilst inebriated, “Well, who the Hell decided to buy these stupid things?!” only to remember it was me. At which point I shut up and remarked about how fantastic fog machines are.

Unfortunately, a helicopter delivering a shipment of Barbie doll body parts lost its way in the mass of fog. It careered out of control and smashed, replete with an incredible explosion, into our marketing department. Luckily, none of my marketing team was on-site, but the helicopter pilots were killed instantaneously. I don’t know who they were, though, so it’s difficult to get too emotional about that. But it did mean the police confiscated 334 of the fog machines, although they missed one. It’s now hidden in my bedroom.


The fog issue returned, in a way, once I fired up the manufacturing departments of my factory. They were soon belching out pollution on an industrial scale – a sight that’s enough to make any grown man weep, wet himself, and dribble slightly. That’s what I did, anyway! But within 48 hours there was a heavy layer of smog over our vicinity – gotta ruin the world to make money, you know!

The downside of the smog is the follow-up helicopter with the Barbie doll body parts also got lost, became unstable, and crashed wildly into the new location for our marketing department. Unfortunately, this time the staff were present. With that lot obliterated, I had to hand over all ad hoc advertising duties to some of my more business savvy elves. To boost their confidence, I told them: “Get your shit in order, fast! Promote! Promote! Promote! I want to set the marketing world alight!”.


The elves’ concept of marketing was flawed. After my talk, which was intended to gee them up with ideas, they went off and poured petrol on the roof of the factory. After setting this on fire, there was mass panic – the police, army, and fire departments were all on the scene to try and quell the raging inferno.

To be fair, this did get us in all of the local newspapers. I’ll give them credit for that. Unfortunately, though, another helicopter arriving with yet more Barbie doll parts lost control in all the smoke and crashed in a hellish fireball into our open cesspit (we don’t have many toilets at Santa’s factory, so the elves just “go” in that).

I think that final incident sums up our entire endeavour of late – seeing one excrement soaked survivor crawling his way out of that mess pleading for mercy. You have to laugh. Well, I did anyway. Plus, some of the Barbie doll parts remained intact. So there’s always some shite at the end of the tunnel. Yeah?


  1. Ah, Santa really knows how to shake things up at Christmas. I’ve already got his new song repeating over and over in my mind, and I don’t even know the beat. Cheers!


Dispense with some gibberish!

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