Okay, it’s almost Christmas 2019, are you excited kids?! Well, Santa has got your back! Chrimbo is just around the corner and he’s thrilled ahead of his annual world trip.
Christ! It’s Xmas 2019
From my previous columns, it may come across that Christmas is hopelessly behind schedule this year. And that’s because it is.
My elf workforce has plummeted to 87. There’s no time to recruit anyone else, so I’ve loaded them all up on cocaine and cheap brandy to keep them working 24/7.
With toy production on non-stop flow, it’s this time of year where my factory is at its most chaotic and insanely dangerous.
Just last night, my legs caught fire and I had to sprint naked about the factory whilst my head elf, Susan, attempted to douse me with the contents of a spittoon.
I don’t keep fire extinguishers as the red colouring often makes me, when drunk, think I’m looking into a mirror. Don’t ask why, but it once made me insert the extinguisher nozzle into my mouth and I set it off—extinguisher foam clogged my belly and led to serious No. 2 toiletry antics for days afterward. Freud would have a field day with that anecdote, eh?
Anyway, to deal with the stress of being a massively overpaid business owner in an overprivileged position, I’ve taken to drinking heavily.
Regular readers of this column could, erroneously, suggest I already have a chronic over reliance on that tactic.
Tish and pish! Just last week I had a health check with our nurse, Doreen, who said, “I’ve no idea how you’re still alive, but you are. Also, there’s a twenty foot tape worm in your gut, which it’s probably best for you to kill off. Here’s some laxative to flush it out.”
I went, “It’s not the only thing that’s twenty foot down there, babe! Wahey!” And she gave me this, sort of, “Urgh…” look. Dames!
So I took the laxative that night and then nothing happened (apart from a violent episode in the bathroom). Convinced she’s incompetent, I returned and demanded a caesarean section to remove the worm.
She said that was “ridiculous” and I should eat less red meat to ensure I don’t get more worms.
I called her a “Stupid bitch!” and accused her of being in cahoots with the Gestapo. She promptly informed me the secret police force dissolved on 8th May, 1945.
Outraged by her impertinence, I took a swing towards her face with one of my chubby fists, but she’s wise to that one and performed a dramatic dodge roll. I then did a karate type scream and went to boot her with one of my massive man feet. She was wise to that one, too, instead knuckling me in my testicles. She then went, “That’s not twenty foot down there at all. Wahey.” All in a deadpan voice.
Thrust into a narcissistic rage, I staggered off in agony to find my shotgun (not a euphemism).
But I couldn’t. So I settled for a half empty bottle of absinthe. I sat on the floor outside the employee dining area glowering at everyone whilst sipping from the bottle.
Stocking Filler Frenzy
Due to the aforementioned production delays, I’ve had to take shortcuts for the types of presents I’m sending out to people.
To help matters, I’ve come up with a load of sort of acceptable stocking fillers. This surplus will cover off not meeting many people’s presents lists. Here are some of the things you can expect on Christmas day:
- Remember that pet brick craze in the 1970s? Well this is a pet stick. I had Rudolph go out into a nearby forest and harvest 300,000 sticks from the trees, causing considerable damage to the environment in the process. We had another police warning about that one. As always, I told them to, “Piss the hell off!”
- Authentic melted snow in plastic containers. Rudolph and his team of reindeer scooped up 100,000 containers worth of that lot. It’s real snow to begin with, but then melts. Still, it’s a nice bit of North Pole memorabilia for people, I thought. There’s also quite a lot of reindeer drool in there, though, as they were all out of it on crystal meth during the operation, so were dribbling everywhere. No one should notice the difference.
- Authentic reindeer excrement. Out in their shack, I’ve had Susan scooping all their droppings up. Kids like animal crap, right? It’ll put a big grin on their faeces! Jesus, I’m on fine form today.
- Elf corpses. There are still a lot of these lying around clogging up the factory corridors, so I figured we can ship them off to families as a kind of… I don’t know… macabre gift. One per family!
Oh and off on a different tangent, you may remember my wife has left me.
So, I need a new wife… seeing as that bitch Mrs. Santa Claus is still refusing to speak to me!! Cow! Bloody… woman!!
It’s not affecting me that much but, Jesus wept, is it taking me down a deep and dark path of drinking absinthe. Bitch!
Oh, anyway. So there you go, you can expect one of them fillers in your stocking this year. If you don’t have any stockings, then I’ll just shove them into your toilet.
Santa on Instagram
My head elf, Susan, said I needed to “improve the Santa brand”. Which meant joining social media platform Instagram to promote myself.
Previously she made me do a live YouTube stream of a Santa day and… the damage to my public image was incalculable.
She said Instagram would help me get back on track with coming across as a jolly fat man who is “magnanimous”. I had no idea what that word meant, so had to Google it.
I was chugging from a bottle of whiskey at the time and, upon edification, snorted and spewed the alcohol all over my laptop screen. I even had the stuff dribbling from my nose.
WTF?! I’m not even going there. When you’re as wealthy and successful as I am, benevolence only makes you appear lucky and overprivileged. Stupid lazy poor people need to know their place!
Anyway, I thought Instagram was a dating app. So I immediately began uploading my various dick pics.
It turns out that’s against “community guidelines” and my account was banned and I’ve been referred to the police.
You know what the problem here is? Feminism. Back in the good old days, I could upload all the disturbingly graphic and gratuitous imagery of my trouser snake that I wanted. Now? It breaks the law! Goddamn ridiculous.
To make matters worse, prior to my ban one vile troll on the platform was laughing at how “small” it is. I’m not small. It’s just cold for this time of year.
I sent him a load of death threats in response and said I’d go round his place and punch his lights out. And, well, my account was shut down after that. And then the police arrived a few hours later.
By that point I was extremely drunk and, in a narcissistic rage about various things, I charged at them naked whilst bellowing.
Well, the bastards tasered me to the ground and I lay there juddering like a halfwit.
And you know what? That SOB Rudolph saw it all and he just stood there laughing. That horse better be preparing himself for a punch to his stupid red nose! Once I’m out on parole, that is…
How long will Santa be in, before he’s out on parole? Will Christmas be okay?
He might be right about the reindeer poop. My sister gave me dog poop when we were kids. She surprised me by putting it under my pillow. Although not the best gift I’d ever gotten, I decided to return the thought. I took that very same poop, and put it under her pillow. Then she put it under mine, then I put it under hers…. eventually we were sprinkling poop dust under each other’s pillows.
The take away from all that was: It is more fun to give, than to receive.
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According to Santa, absolutely Christmas will be fantastic and everything is running smoothly.
Pooping presents, eh? Do you have whoopee cushions in Canada? They’re fun.