Normally, we find Santa’s whimsical rambling rather jolly and entertaining. Take last week’s jaunt through hallucinations and water beds. But this week he seems a little… stressed.
Hopefully he’ll be back to his usual upbeat best next week! But for what it’s worth, here’s his column for this week.
Early Morning Crush
The week started with some fan mail:
“i hate u santa i think you stink”
That’s from six year old Bobby in Rochdale, Lancashire of the UK. That little bastard is getting a sack of charcoal for Christmas, that’s for sure!
I proudly hung that mail on my office doorway. Then I called my entire workforce into my office for a meeting.
With over 500 elves working here, Mary, my head elf, warned me about the possibility of an elf crush in such confined quarters. I gave him a pay cut on the spot for his impertinence!
However, as hundreds of elves began massing in my office I sensed panic welling up as more and more of the little bastards piled in.
My office became more and more compact with elves. So I began drinking straight from my bottle of whiskey while picking my nose and belching.
“HURRY IT ON UP AND GET IN HERE!” I bellowed at the little bastards over the tannoy. That caused a panic at the back and a surge forward.
Needless to say, after 30 minutes we were all stuck.
The elves were jammed so tightly together and crushed up around me and my desk no one could move. The din was appalling! Elves screeching in their stupid high-pitched voices.
I tried appealing for calm but that seemed superfluous because I was panicking insanely. “BITCH WIFE!” I bellowed over and over. No response. “I’LL DIVORCE THAT HAG, I SWEAR!”
And that’s how we stayed. Jammed in and hollering. It was playing all hell with my gout and I also lost control of my bodily functions on several occasions.
Eventually, after 20 minutes stuck in a sweaty panic, the factory foundations ruptured under the weight and plunged downward.
Many elves went headfirst into the sewer system below my quarters. Others were crushed by rubble and elves piling on above them.
We were all still stuck but, thankfully, Rudolph had made his way into the sewer system on a heroin induced bender. He became quite panic-stricken and started this wild honking fit, lashing out with his hind hooves and freeing many elves.
His hooves were a liberation!
But also deadly, as many elves took a concussive whack to the head, or a deadly whomp to the eyeball. It was entertaining viewing, anyway, from my viewpoint behind my desk. “Give it some welly, Rudolph!” I cheered at him while slugging from my whiskey bottle.
After a bit of watching that, I grew bored and whipped my phone out to have a go on Candy Crush. It seemed apt.
And among all the hysterics, cries of agony, honking, dead bodies, and gout-ridden grimacing… I got a high score! Hell yeah, Christmas 2021! Santa is crushing it!
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
A day after all that and there were only a couple of hundred deaths, so I ordered everyone back to work.
My office is a total goddamn disaster zone, so I’ve moved into a makeshift office in the elves’ latrine outside. Because it’s so goddamn cold outside in the North Pole, I can’t be nude as often as I’d like to be.
Due to this unfortunate development, I demanded my elves build me an igloo.
I’m now working from that construction and find it quite captivating and pretty. Igloo life is the best type of life!
However, a day after the crush, Mary seemed a little lightheaded and unusual and was wandering around reciting that stupid nursery rhyme:
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
“SHUT THE HELL UP!” I kept bellowing at her. She wasn’t really up for listening. I tried sticking her on Candy Crush to take her mind off things, but she just burst into tears. So I had Rudolph escort her off to see the nurse.
Turns out Mary has shell shock. Or PTSD. Whatever you want to call it.
“JESUS CHRIST!” I bellowed about the news. Her incompetence in general has been a pain in the flabby arse for TOO LONG. And so I decided to try and rehire my old head elf, Markus.
I had Rudolph hunt him down. It turns out Markus has been running an elf-based digital agency called Elf Enterprises Ltd. in Wigan of Lancashire.
At first, he refused to rejoin the Santa family. So I tried to butter him up with “workplace perks” and all that shit. My offer was extremely generous and included a:
- $1 annual pay rise on his previous salary of $1,000 p/a.
- Free bucket (it’s blue).
- One day of annual holiday.
- Promise of a decrease in grievous bodily harm, health and safety violations, workplace accidents, human rights breaches, and more.
However, Markus informed Rudolph he didn’t believe Santa would ever change his ways and he liked life as a business owner.
In response, that night I had Rudolph burn his agency to the ground. He then went to Markus’ home and chloroformed him, before whisking him back to the North Pole.
Mary has been demoted and now works with our chef, Derek, in the canteen as a commis chef. She’s still reciting that stupid nursery rhyme. Daft bitch.
The first thing I did on Markus’ return was get him set up with his own, personal, private, brilliant, generosity proving quarters.
We built him HIS OWN igloo. Right next to mine!
Despite this, he was quite upset about the whole wanton destruction of his business. I gave him a hearty pat on the back and reminded him that extra $1 p/a goes a long way!
Unfortunately, that first night back a hungry polar bear came across Markus’ igloo. Markus is now with Doreen in the factory infirmary having several limbs stitched back onto his body.
I went to visit him to wave the whole incident off as sod’s law.
But Markus was still in business owner mode, accusing me of all sorts of nasty, libellous, slanderous lies and such. He backed down once I was pointing my bazooka at him. “I’LL DO IT NOW, MARKUS! I SWEAR!” I bellowed at him while nude and very, very, very drunk.
And that’s why I wanted him back. Because he knows me well enough to tell when I’m being serious.
Unlike that pathetic wastrel Mary. All she’s good for is chopping onions!
With Markus back, you’re all rest assured to get your Christmas presents this year! That is the value of having excellent employees. They go the extra mile and don’t mind you waving a bazooka in their face during one of your darker moments.
I encourage all business owners the world over to obliterate your competition to get the best staff. Then pay them sod all so you get a big cut of the loot!
It’s glorious. It’s so glorious I retired to my igloo for the night to drink absinthe and smack up with Rudolph.
We were found the following morning dressed as Morris dancers and covered in our own vomit. The free will capitalism provides you is unmatchable.