Last time out, Santa worried about the Millennium bug. This time out, he’s back to do some mundane paperwork.
Yes, even Santa sometimes has to just knuckle down and churn out tax documents and all that jazz. Find out more in this “riveting” column!
Santa’s Sad Sack of Paperwork
Urgh. After delaying some essential paperwork over the last 30 years, I finally got round to doing it in my office.
Plonking a bottle of absinthe on my desk, I took a swig from the bottle and readied myself for the inane bollocks. Which included:
- Documentation of bylaws
- Operating agreement (LLC)
- Non-disclosure agreement
- Employment agreement
- Business plan
- Business reports
- Finance documents
- Transaction documents
- Compliance and regulatory documents
- Insurance documents
“Jesus H CHRIST!!!” I wailed as I began the colossal mound stacked on and around my desk. I couldn’t quite believe I had to work my way through that crap.
“There’s nothing else for it!” I roared. Then I proceeded to drink the rest of the absinthe bottle.
Things got hazy after that, but I recall getting access to Rudolph’s cocaine and heroin supply. Then there’s really no other information available from my brain.
A few days later I regained my sensory faculties and I asked my demented wife whether I’d done the paperwork. “Yes, dear.” Is what she said.
I was satisfied with that and to celebrate I belched exuberantly. Then I hit the champagne big time!
When you do that tedious paperwork crap, you know you’ve worked hard enough to be paying yourself 430% more than your stupid employees!
The Legal Ramifications of Santa’s Sad Sack of Paperwork
Okay, then it turned out I’d arguably not completed the paperwork in the way you’re supposed to.
I mean… how was I to know!? I haven’t done any business paperwork since 1991. So I made some errors in judgement and other miscalculations.
And this has put me in a spot of legal bother with regulators and the government. This is what I did for each paperwork requirement:
- Documentation of bylaws: I defecated on the paper and mailed that off in an envelope.
- Operating agreement (LLC): This was a bizarre love letter scrawled out to former tennis superstar Martina Hingis. The letter was also covered in excrement and was written in crayons. I didn’t even know I had any crayons.
- NB: Here’s a segment of the love letter: “Martina Hingis, your tennis hinges on the Martinis I drink in your honour. You make me want to marry a tennis ball. Let us run away together and start a welding business.” I thought it was quite cute!
- Non-disclosure agreement: This document was drenched in blood and it was unclear who the blood belonged to. The local government pressed me to determine who’s blood it was and I tried dismissing them by roaring down the phone, “DOES IT REALLY MATTER!?”
- NB: It does really matter, they confirmed, and the paperwork underwent DNA checks. It emerged it wasn’t blood, just a red bile. In other words, I’d chucked up all over the document and mailed it in like that.
- Employment agreement: I didn’t actually fill this one in and no one has noticed yet! They’re too preoccupied dealing with the other stuff. Ha. Hahaha!
- Business plan: “There is no business plan!” I told regulators. “Well how do you run the business?” They asked. “Through the sheer genius of my vision! This is why I’m rich and YOU aren’t!” I bellowed. That solved that one.
- Business reports: I filed this with a simple sentence stating, “All is fine.” This document, it turned out, was also drenched in red bile, blood, and paint stripper. The regulators disagreed with my assessment and stated an official will be round to check my factory. Bastards.
- Finance documents: Yeah, these were all over the place. I have no idea about the business’ finances, all I know is I’m rich because I’ve worked harder than everyone else.
- NB: This explanation, scrawled in blue crayon on some excrement stained paper, didn’t wash with the regulators and I’m now under scrutiny for tax evasion and general embezzlement.
- Transaction documents: Non-existent.
- Compliance and regulatory documents: Non-existent.
- Insurance documents: Don’t exist as I’m not insured. But I ENSURED the regulators this was all fine and everything was under control and my ENSURANCE was enough. To which they said that wasn’t a “legally substantiated claim”. So I told them to piss off.
The regulators asked why so many of my documents were covered in bodily functions, to which I told them to mind their own business (or face certain death).
Santa’s Poetic Paperwork Poetry
I am prone to bouts of intellectualised melancholia from time to time, usually brought about by a temporary window opened up by binge drinking.
During these spells, I enter a period of repose and can be most calm and measured. My wife calls these periods Stanza Santa, as I become quite poetic.
For example, after my paperwork escapades I penned this delightful haiku:
Paperwork is like a turd in the street,
Crying out to be trodden in by hapless feet.
I was most pleased with that one. I then wrote this beautiful poem about my paperwork experiences:
Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.
It’s like the only thing that matters is paperwork.
But should I not have some fun?
Such as running about wildly with a shotgun?
No, I must do the paperwork.
Even though it drives me berserk.
And makes me a cantankerous old jerk.
Poignant, no? Anyway, those are the two I penned. After several more brandies I became a tad more incoherent.
Frustrated with my inability to form further works of genius, I became somewhat volatile. This led to the usual stark naked rampage through the factory whilst attacking anything in sight with my grubby, chubby hands.
Even I tire myself out with such generic and repetitive behaviour.
After that insipid frenzy, I decided to try and write another poem to calm myself down. But I could only write down “BASTARD” repeatedly. Angered, I smashed my pen over a random elf’s head.
The elf keeled over dead with blood spraying everywhere, including onto the paper with which I’d used to write my incredible poems!
Realising the importance of this development, I finally filed this to the employee agreement department (one of the bits of paperwork I’d missed) with a sanctimonious statement showing I could, indeed, fill my documents out in time.
When the regulators asked whose blood was on the paper this time, I indicated it was that of an elf and constituted a valid signature.
They informed me that, no, it didn’t constitute a legal signature and was also a breach of my duty of care as an employer.
To get them to back off from legal consequences, I sent Rudolph round with a rusty chainsaw. 24 hours later they sent me a selection pack of bonbons in the mail as a Christmas gift.
Brutality is often a means for the most splendid Christmas presents.