Greetings. Since 2012 we’ve all had to endure these columns. We can’t break out of the contract. Santa will continue on until we’re all… dead, presumably. “Enjoy”.
James the Janitor
I’ve hired our new janitor. He’s a mass murderer at large who goes by the name of James. I don’t think that’s his real name because his CV and documents are obvious forgeries. He explained to me he’s looking for somewhere to:
“Lay low and just work hard without killing anybody honest, guv I don’t wanna do no one no harm to no one no more.”
His honesty impressed me. Most employees usually surface act their way into roles, but James was dribbling noticeably and burst into tears thrice.
On his CV, which is blood-spattered (naturally), it states:
“I is great with chainsaws, have a brilliant evil laugh, can tear your head off in an instant and like instant noodles."
I said aloud to myself, “This young man will go far!” And then I belched exuberantly as I’d been drinking beer all day.
James started yesterday but, unfortunately, immediately tried to go on a murderous rampage with his mop and bucket. Rudolph rugby tackled him before he did anyone any harm.
I decided to give him a dressing-down in my office and told him thus of my intentions. He was initially delighted as he thought he was getting my dressing gown.
When he instead received a verbal warning on professionalism, he became verbally abusive. Stamping his feet and screaming obscenities at me, he grabbed hold of one of my spare Santa hats and attempted to defecate in it.
I informed him such behaviour was a breach of regulations, but he just flipped his middle finger at me. I saw red. And when that happens out comes my shotgun and then everything is pretty hazy.
I don’t remember anything over the next 12 hours, but this morning I found James in the medical unit with his right arm missing and his hair gone. Pumped full of morphine, he greeted me cheerfully and promised to behave in future.
I said aloud to myself again, “This young man will go far!” And then I puked all over the floor because my hangover was really bad.
Down to a skeleton workforce of a mere eight elves, I sent Rudolph and the other reindeer out to kidnap some more. I ordered them to raid forests in the Scandinavian region. Elves typically frolic in Germanic-speaking nations.
Last night they returned. Of course, I was in one of my manic episodes so don’t remember much. But, apparently, as Rudolph came into land at the factory I emerged onto the roof with a shotgun and began unloading on him.
After being hit in a hoof, Rudolph lost control and smashed into a factory wall.
The scene of chaos and destruction is mighty, the clean-up operation will take weeks. There’s an enormous hole in the side of the factory and a lot brain matter everywhere.
I saw the CCTV footage this morning. Whilst Mrs. Santa Claus appeared to find it distressing, I laughed my goddamn ass off. I’m such a good shot! I should enter the Olympics!
Anyway, the reindeer had a good haul. 650 of the high-pitched voice little bastards. But it turns out 277 of the elves were annihilated in the impact. 150 more require immediate medical assistance.
With 223 able-bodied elves, I left the others to fend for themselves. James the janitor soon got to clearing up the mess, disposing of the corpses etc. Tricky for him with just the one arm. But then he shouldn’t have enraged me, should he!?
I immediately frogmarched my new employees into factory unit 1. You have to show these little shits who’s boss, you know? I began bellowing in incomprehensible English and fired my shotgun wildly into the air on several occasions. I then walked out to leave them all to it.
Of course, Vincent (my head elf) will give them instructions etc. They basically have to create all the toys in the world from the letters that come through to us from spoiled brat kids and dumb bastard adults.
Simple, right? No, it’s backbreaking work. Within 30 minutes a dozen elves were flattened by a crate of dinosaur toys. Now the dinos aren’t the only ones extinct!!!
Three others dislocated their lungs and one fell into a machine and was decapitated by Barbie doll heads.
It’s like this every year. Elves are like women out of the kitchen. They panic and get themselves stuck in stupid situations.
Some could suggest it’s a human rights breach to kidnap them and force upon the species work they don’t want to partake in. I say – so? If they’re poor, they should work harder!
I became extremely intoxicated in the evening and don’t remember anything after 9pm. I awoke at 6am covered in slobber and draped over a box of instant noodles in the factory kitchen.
My head elf, Vincent (still with a Christmas tree protruding from his gut after last week’s tsunami incident), filled me in on the details.
Apparently, I was quite psychotically insistent I order “many bulldozers” for the factory. Every attempt from my staff and wife to stop me ended in physical assault. So that’s what I did, online I went and ordered 750 of the goddamn things. That comes to around £20 million in expenditure.
That budget was not intended for bulldozers. That is my annual wage! If I can’t cancel this order I’ll have to take a normal wage like my inferior scumbag employees.
Panicking, I drank another bottle of whiskey and got on the phone to the construction companies I signed contracts with. No matter how much bellowing, swearing, and threats of physical violence I made – none of them backed down!
So that’s it. 750 bulldozers will be arriving at the factory… what the hell am I going to do with that lot? I’ll have to give some away as presents to kids, I guess.
Kids like bulldozers. Especially little girls. Or is that Barbie dolls? Well, they both start with a “b” so there’s got to be some sort of fascination there. Little girls are stupid, they’ll love bulldozers.
Fabulous! Off to a great start for the new season.
Santa, perhaps a few elves can be taught to use the bulldozers to dig new toilet pits.
You are having toilet pits gain this year? Then again, I haven’t read the new column. You might already be onto that!
Indeed, you can’t stop the guy can you? Good entertainment, no matter how close he comes to becoming unfit for society.
At Professional Moron we have a toilet. It’s not in a pit. That is not civilised, madam.
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I’m a bit confused about the pit here?
Brad Pitt? He’s not confusing. He’s an actor. Thespian, if you will.
Are we talking Prad Bitt?
Bard Pitt? He’s a good musician!