Almost Christmas. It’s fair to say Santa Claus is well off his present making target, but he appears to be trying his darndest to catch up. Three cheers for Santa!

Christ, it’s Christmas!

With all of the hullabaloo about coronavirus and my various personal disasters, I’m going to have to report we’re well off target.

Here are some key pressing issues:

• Out of the 750 million Barbie dolls we need to make, we’ve so far made 12.
• The factory unit intended for making yo-yos burned to the ground.
• The Star Wars toy factory unit is in lockdown. Not due to coronavirus, but thanks to another plague bacillus outbreak.
• My elf workforce is depleted to just 50. They’re all working 23 hour shifts to try and meet our Christmas deadlines. Most are suffering from malnutrition, scurvy, and exhaustion. They better not expect any sympathy from me.

It’s fair to say this year is a bit of a disaster. Not that I blame myself, this is entirely due to world events and the laziness of my employees.

But I’m in good spirits and believe we can make some deadlines. Drunken me thinks everything is on target. As such, I’m staying drunk 24/7 to maintain my volatile positivity.

Yo, yo, yo, yo-yos

Using all my business acumen and sharp intelligence, I realised the yo-yo factory destruction is a severe issue. That means no yo-yos.

As such, I demanded my head elf, Markus, think of ways in which to make the toys. His ideas were shit, so I came up with the perfect solution. This is what I said:

“You fucking idiot! Why in the name of shit do I employee you, you bastard!? Urgh! Right… there’s only one GODDAMN solution here! I’ve got a hidden reserve of grenades. What you need to do is attach two of them together with string. There we go! Yo-yos! NOW GET THE BLOODY HELL TO IT!!!

My 50 elves, and Rudolph, spent the next 24 hours constructing yo-yo grenades.

In truth, I had no idea whether my moment of genius would work out. But I really need to trust my instincts more. Thanks to my idea, we now have 30 yo-yos!

Although there were some mishaps during the night. A series of unexpected explosions.

I was lying drunk and prone on the floor in a pool of my vomit when Markus, my head elf, approached me rather timidly to say:

“Sire, your grenade concept was indeed a moment of unprecedented genius, but it did have one slight failing.”

At this point, in a rage, I began bellowing obscenities and invective at him. He backed off a bit as I tried throttling him by the neck. He continued:

“Some of the team were trying out the yo-yos and we’ve generally found they often detonate when in use. Which leads to death on a one hundred percent scale. There’s a lot of elf splatter in the factory unit now, I recommend we shut for twenty four hours to clear all that lot up and find a better yo-yo solution.”

Never have I known such rage. Dribbling and gargling, I staggered to my feet and lurched off after the impertinent bastard.

Markus knows the drill on such moments. Leg it. And off he scarpered.

I was too dizzy to keep it together and ended up staggering into the canteen where a dozen shell shocked elves lay about pale and covered in their colleagues’ entrails.

Never had I known such rage! This is why poor people are poor. Laziness! I bellowed:

“GET BACK TO WORK, YOU LAYABOUT WORKING CLASS SCUM!!”

As they all huddled together and then lumbered off to work, I returned to my office to drink heavily. These are trying times. I must find inner reserve to keep Christmas on track!

Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Realising my elves needed to work 24 hour shifts, I knew sleep deprivation tactics and stimulants were the way to keep them going.

First, to help cheer them up a bit, I got a Christmas tree.

Normally I don’t allow any of that crap at my factory, but I felt it would act as a worthwhile manipulation tactic.

To show the remaining elves I wasn’t just doing this for fake reasons, I even put the tree up myself. There was an angel on the top and a few bits and bobs of tinsel. Some electronic lights and all that. They twinkled.

Plus, there was my vomit. I was pretty drunk when I put the tree up and spewed three times over the tree.

And, of course, that interfered with the electronic lights so the tree kind of partially went up in a fireball. Even singeing my big Santa beard in the process.

Luckily, I was able to put the flames out by getting Markus to chuck snowballs at it. It took 30 minutes to put the blaze out while I sat there watching bellowing advice.

Anyway, there wasn’t much left of the tree after. Plus one of the factory walls is seriously charred. But, well… at least there’s a Christmas tree!

My wife said I should put another one up and I just told her to shut the hell up.

Staggering drunk into my office, I ordered via speakerphone to have Markus play that “Oh Christmas Tree, oh Christmas tree” carol on full volume on a 24/7 loop.

That’ll keep my stupid elves awake, along with the cocaine and sugar I’m going to feed them to ensure they stay awake.

Make no mistake about it. Christmas is happening! It’s just not overly jolly. So, perhaps bring a brolly.

Hopefully that little rhyme will take the edge of the savage onslaught of this week’s statement.