Santa has come out of hibernation to provide an inspiring speech to the world. And it’s a Professional Moron exclusive!
That’s thanks to our longstanding Santa Claus newsletters we blackmailed him into doing for us. Enjoy—and feel the inspiration!
Santa’s Special Message
Greetings, you inferior, wretched, fiscally challenged scum. My bitch wife roused me last week from my drunken hibernation with remarkable news.
It appears there’s a global pandemic. Far be it from me to show some empathy, but it did make me stop and say, “Well, shit!”
My wife suggested I do a type of Queen’s speech to gee up the vastly inferior turds of the world.
As I bask in the luxury of my abode, covered in vomit stains after drinking only the finest whiskey money can buy, I realised she’s correct. For once.
It’s essential I share my message to my employees. But upon alighting from hibernation I saw that I had turned yellow. Which was alarming.
I said to my bitch wife, “OI! Why am I this colour?!” I then chucked up a load of strange coloured stuff on the floor and went a bit wonky.
I fell over, smashing into the sculpture of Satan I’d crafted out of smashed whiskey bottles prior to our hibernation. It fell onto the floor and broke a bit.
As I bellowed in fury about that development, the wife went and got our factory nurse, Doreen, out of hibernation.
The daft wench came shuffling in with the other daft wench, both with a concerned expression on their daft wench faces.
I bellowed, “Cut the patronising looks, you daft wenches! Why am I yellow!? Hurry up!”
So, the nurse had a quick look at me and said, “You’ve got jaundice.” I sat on the floor staring up at her in disbelief. “Bondage!? What the hell has that got to do with this!?”
She said again, “No, jaundice. From drinking too much.” I roared back at her disgusted, “You delusional old battleaxe!”
My wife said, “Well, no, dreamboat, you drank five litres of whiskey in 48 hours prior to hibernation. And then passed out. And I put you into bed and you were dribbling and mumbling about how and why you invented plush slippers.”
I shook my head at them, “Whatever! I need to stop being this colour. How do I do that?!”
To cut a long story short, we agreed to paint me back to my normal colour. So the nurse spent an hour covering me in a beige makeup.
The jaundice will have to wait until later. As for my bright yellow eyes, I’ll explain that away as dyeing my eyes to reflect my inner enthusiasm.
Santa’s Test Livestream
So I decided to do the livestream with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was smacked out of his arse on heroin hours before “going live”.
Not much we could do about that. Because of the jaundice I was feeling real bad, so I drank a litre of brandy and felt a lot better. If a little unstable.
Because the nurse had gone on about bondage, I decided to do the stream in a leather thong only. With my big Santa beard, I thought it was a good look.
Anyway, once we went live Rudolph and I talked about why you lot should stop whingeing on, and why the problem is the world is too PC, and the precious snowflakes have to do lockdown when that’s wrong and bad.
Really, in the good old days we’d have just let this whole mess play itself out. That’s what I’d do. Did they have “lockdown” during the Black Death? Do we lockdown because of the common cold?! Do we lockdown because of annual toaster electrocutions!?!? Of course not! It’s preposterous!
The chat section began filling up with all sorts of unsettling vitriol. One user, XBoxSuxx8989, typed out, “Santa is a stupid big fat git and a loser.”
Now, that really triggered me off into a rage. Some sad bastard online with no life and no money or fame isn’t going to call me a “loser”!
First, I began lecturing him about how poor he is and that I have money. He just called me a “tosser”, so I said to him (well, I bellowed it), “If you’re poor, you should work harder!” Then he just called me a “stupid wanker” and seemed to quit the chat.
Furious, I grabbed my shotgun (not a euphemism) and brandished it at the laptop screen. And I roared a load of obscenities and remarked generally about my total superiority and how everyone else is dumb.
I must admit, it probably didn’t come across very well. On reflection, wearing a thong only, being drunk, and getting belligerent was an error.
Regardless, Rudolph and I continued the livestream, indulging heartily in spirits and recreational drugs the red nosed reindeer had thoughtfully brought with him.
We don’t remember much of what happened, really, but upon watching the full stream later it merely resulted in us playing pelting dance music, getting into a fight, and passing out on the floor. Standard stuff. It’s just we don’t usually broadcast that to the watching world.
The next day, our tabloid newspaper here in Antarctica (The Daily Disaster) ran the following headline:
"Santa Loses His Shit In Disturbed Livestream"
Really, what has tabloid journalism come to in this day and age? I rang the editor in a hungover rage and threatened to hack his legs off with a spork.
He reminded me such activities are illegal and I must refrain from them. Further indication of just how far PC, nanny state society has gone!
Santa’s Coronavirus Message
After pleading with me for hours, Mrs. Santa Claus wore me down. And so I decided to write a brief inspirational note. It is below.
Dear bastards, If you all weren't so pathetic and inferior and poor you wouldn't be in this situation. Work harder in future, like I do. Regards, Santa Clause
My bitch wife suggested it was a little cold and could do with some seasonal cheer. And that I spelled my surname wrong.
Bored with her constant criticisms, I simply told her to piss the hell off.