Santa Column: Father Christmas Engages Nice Mode

Season's Greetings Christmas card with polar bears
Santa sent us this Christmas card, with a live polar bear as a gift. We’ve returned the beast back to the wild.

Okay, after a relentless series of disasters Santa has pledged to become a better jolly fat man. He’s embracing niceness. Let’s see how that goes.


My wife, Mrs. Santa Claus, has threatened to leave me. So now I’m going to have to try and be nice so she sticks around to clean the gunk out of my underpants.

I’ve had to engage what I call “nice mode”. This enables me to bullshit and manipulate people into thinking I’m not a horrible person.

By putting on the jolly fat man charm offensive, it’s amazing how many cretins overlook my foul stench and how I obviously use them for personal gain.

Whatever, I began a week of niceties to encourage my wife not to leave me. And to… *grit teeth*… do something pleasant for my layabout, freeloading, SOB, bastard employees!

So in a drunken stupour one night I dreamt up a list of nice things to do for those vile turds. This is what I came up with:

  • Sky lanterns.
  • Sky lanterns with laser beams.
  • A business-wide wage increase (quickly changed my mind on this one).
  • Free daily chewing gum.
  • Returning to an electric power plant, as opposed to nuclear, so everyone can recover from radiation sickness.
  • Me to take a course in empathy to try and tone down the “tyranny”.

Seems like a decent list, but viewing it through hungover eyes I’m not sure what drunk Santa was thinking (especially with that wage increase one). So I settled for the easiest option.

Sky Lanterns

I ordered in 300,000 sky lanterns as a nice nightime event for my “hardworking” elves.

The laser beam option piqued my interest, so I fitted 500 of them to the lanterns. I got the things from a black market laser beam company called Laser Beams “R” Us.

Anyway, I launched it all as a big surprise one evening. The elves were all slaving away and Mrs. Santa Claus was sobbing hopelessly in our quarters. Over the tannoy system I, drunkenly I must admit, announced, “EVERYONE OUTSIDE NOW IT’S AN EMERGENCY! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!!”

In the mad panic crush that followed 13 elves were flattened. But the rest all made it outside okay.

They were greeted by me in a mid-state of undress (I tend to strip off when inebriated, it’s a bad habit). Bellowing cheerfully at them, I primed my flamethrower (not a euphemism) and blasted the 300,000 sky lanterns positioned out on the snow in front of the factory gates.

I had the reindeer around the perimeter of that lot all armed with flamethrowers. They let rip too and the whole lot went up!

But that didn’t go according to plan. Immediately, several of the sky lantern/laser beam hybrids malfunctioned and began firing capriciously and without mercy.

In the ensuing mass panic, various elves were incinerated by the laser beams. Mrs. Santa Claus dived to the floor in dramatic fashion. Like in a Hollywood movie or something. What has that stupid woman been watching now?

To my disgust, as the elves ran around trying to find safety they missed the 100 or so sky lanterns that drifted off beautifully into the starry night sky.

I spent £300,000 on those bloody things and this is how they repay me! Bah! Some people just don’t know a good thing when they see it.

Meanwhile, I took in the beauty of the scene, amongst the high-pitched wailing and screams of terror, and shed a tear. Nature—sure is a sight to behold!

Chewing Gum

Later that night I caught up with my staff. They were all huddled in terror inside the factory, fearful for their very existence.

I found that pretty hilarious and roared with laughter. My head elf, Susan, had a laser beam mark across her forehead and was juddering visibly.

Giving her a hearty thump on the back, I congratulated her for, “a job well done!” She eyed me cautiously whilst shuddering and tried to smile, instead bursting into hysterics.

Christ, you try and be nice to people and they have a bloody mental breakdown. Ridiculous!

With many of the survivors suffering from PTSD, severe burns, and lifethreatening injuries I made another nice gesture.

I went around the elves handing out free chewing gum. Some of them, in their PTSD state, stuffed it into their faces in droves and began choking. I was too drunk to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre so left them to fend for themselves.

Mrs. Santa Claus

Staggering drunkenly back into my quarters I found Mrs. Santa Claus with a face reading total fury. “Hello, sweetums!” I bellowed.

She did a sort of scream and then ran at me, flapping her arms about and smacking me. “Calm it, woman!” I roared. She failed to desist so I belched exuberantly, the foul smell forcing her to back off.

“That is grievous bodily assault, or something, you stupid… witch!” I was pretty drunk I must say and I don’t really remember anything else after that.

The next day I woke up with my head in the toilet. Apparently I’d crawled there to throw up, but most of that stuff was back on the floor in my bedroom.

Getting up and wandering out of the bathroom to get into my bed, with my head pounding, I looked around and all her stuff was gone!

Mrs. Santa Claus… has left me. Bitch! I’ve ordered Rudolph to get out there with my sleigh and find her.

Meanwhile, I hurtled out onto the snowy wastleand on a bulldozer leftover from the whole Santa thing a while back.

It’ll be like one of those chase movies. Duel! Remember that!? I’ll be the marauding psychopath hunting down some poor innocent (i.e. the wife). Oh well, it’s Christmas, you’ve got to enjoy yourself!


Dispense with some gibberish!

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