Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your na… oh, sorry. We were thinking about a song. Instead, we suppose we should focus on introducing you to Santa again. Once a week we have to go through this ordeal… good grief. Well, we can’t do anything about it, so let’s get our Happy Hat on and welcome back this morbidly obese living legend!
The Santa factory is a formidable place, surrounded as it is with a solid fortress-like wall made from solid steel. There are snipers on the perimeter and snarling guard dogs snarling away at the front gates. Got to keep those plebs out, you know? But, unfortunately, sometimes Santa has to let them in. Business meetings and what have you.
As such, in our reception area, we have a welcoming welcome mat. This mat has to be excellent. First impressions mean a lot, which is why I often attend business meetings stark bollock naked.
The sight of my grotesque, stinking frame puts them on edge, more so after they’ve seen a nice welcome mat that says “Hello” on it. Such little details… are what make a successful… success person… Christ, excuse me. I just vomited on myself. I really need a mixer for this goddamn absinthe.
But, anyway, it’s a different from my approach last year. Got to role with the times and innovate, you know? In 2017, my welcome mat was a booby trap – anyone treading on it was blown to smithereens! It was brilliant. But was the local authorities intervened, I had to remove it for this year. Goddamn PC, nanny state, loony lefty scum!
Admittedly, every time it blew up, which was a lot, there was collateral damage to many of my HR team, as well as elves, plus my property was getting shredded. So getting this new welcome mat is a new lease of life for us. Which is – wait for it – welcome. Santa’s got the wit!
To spruce up my welcoming ceremony (i.e. stepping onto the mat), I have also introduced a swarm of bats. So anyone arriving will step on the mat, then they are besieged! The bats swoop in and threaten rabies left-right-and-centre with their manic nipping and flapping.
I also find that, when stricken with rabies, many of my staff members perform their work with a new sense of urgency. Frothing wildly at the mouth and ranting gobbledygook as they rush about with barely contained wild abandon.
After 24 hours, though, they’re typically reduced to lying prone on the floor. There they rant gibberish interspersed with high-pitched screaming. I’ve found they’re pretty much ineffective as workers from this point, so my policy is to have them taken out back where they’re left in the snow. They either recover or freeze to death – their choice. Bloody snowflakes.
300 tonnes of cement also turned up this week. I had no idea why, until I checked my internet history. It seems that, during a drunken frenzy at 3 am, I placed this order. I left a delivery note as well that reads, verbatim: “die you bastards”. I guess I was in a misanthropic mood…
That’s not enhanced with the arrival of all this cement. What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Well, after a bit of thinking I’ve siphoned it off to my various R&D departments. I noticed the cement is analogous, sort of, to the “dusted sugar” look on cakes, mince pies etc.
So to save on sugar this year, all mince pies and Christmas cakes for production will, indeed, have cement covering them. Just a little trade secret there between you and I.
I don’t normally divulge such details, but after a pint of absinthe the charming 10ft pink cow that has appeared is telling me it’s a great idea to have a “transparent business moodel”. I’ve named the cow Bessy and… she’s very attractive I must say haaahhAHhaaa!
After further discussion, Bessy also told me I should stop “moodering” people. Additionally, I’m to appoint a “mooketing manager” to handle her predicted influx of cow-related queries this year. She also wants plastic “moonure” presents to make up 99% of my toy production. Plus, I am to “moorry” Bessy in a “mooving and moomerable” wedding ceremony…
What the Hell is that stupid cow on about?! I love my wife! I think. I mean, I’m utterly (or, should that be, udderly!) sick of the sight of her, but no matter how good looking Bessy is, I’m not gallivanting off with a cow. Even if – wait for it – that’s what I call my wife most of the time, anyway! *bah dum tish*