Christmas comes but once a year and now Santa has completed his annual rush to deliver your presents. Not at all helped after the revelations during Santa’s Christmas medical.

Sure, it’s been disastrous. Everything. And his Christmas Eve run was… satanical, you could say. But we hope you’ve got the presents you wanted. Maybe. So like as you like citrus fruits.

Christmas Eve: The Santa Spaceship

The 24th of Christmas is always about the prep. Psyching myself up to take on the world. There are 195 countries and Santa got to do his thing for all of them.

And so I downed a bottle of whiskey and donned my Santa costume once again.

Feeling heroic, I strode to the down the factory corridors towards the launchpad, the 100 surviving elves of my workforce lining the corridors clapping politely as we prepared for launch.

It was a proud moment. Out of factory unit 1 went Santa, into the snowy wilderness, staring up at the glorious 100ft Santa Spaceship before me. I swelled with pride. Then I belched exuberantly.

Oh yeah, I did mention a while back I’d entered the space race (see Dandelion & Burdock & Space). I kept my plans for that quiet.

Until now! The big moment! Blast off! Kaboom!

As a high achieving billionaire, it’s important for me to strut my high achieving billionaire success. And what better way than to shake up my Christmas delivery routine? Innovation drives excellence!

And so I shoved my bitch wife out of the way as she tried to give me one final peck on the cheek, stuck on my Santa spacesuit, and clambered into the space rocket.

The plan being to get into Earth’s orbit and distribute the toys around the world, with them descending through the Earth’s atmosphere to land gently on every individual property’s front door. Brilliant, right?

Of course, there were naysayers. The communists who can’t hack a bit of innovation and PROGRESS. Markus was particularly outspoken. His issues:

• The toys would all burn up on re-entry to the Earth’s atmosphere.
• Even if that didn’t happen, there’s no way to get all 100+ billion toys to land perfectly where I want them to.
• The whole plan doesn’t make any sense and is just ridiculous showboating.

“HORSE SHIT!” I had bellowed at Markus. What does that jumped up little turd know!? Nothing! That’s what!

It took three hours for the elves to get me strapped into the spaceship. And once I was in there, alone and waiting for take off,  I sat there triumphant. I had never been more sure of my staggering genius and superiority over everybody else on Earth.

Then I realised I badly needed the toilet.

It hit hard, like one of those moments where there’s no warning. I jammed the communication button and bellowed into the mike, “MARKUS! I gotta take a dump!”

There was a delay on the intercom. “MARKUS!? ANSWER ME, MAN!”

“Sir?”

“I GOTTA USE THE TOILET!”

“Sir, there’s no time, lift off is in 35 seconds.”

“WHAT?! STOP THE LAUNCH!”

“Sir, we can’t…”

“STOP IT NOW, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!”

“Sir, do…”

“THAT’S IT! I’M GETTING OUT OF THIS GODDAMN THING!”

“Sir! Don’t leave the spaceship, it’s about to take off! You’ll be incinerated!”

“SHUT YOUR STUPID ELF FACE!”

My chubby big Santa hands flapped about trying to undo the straps on my seat, when the rumbling began. It was my stomach. And then my backside.

“ABORT! ABORT! ABORT, ABORT, ABORT!” I bellowed over and over.

To cut a long story short, while flapping about in a panic like a crazed walrus I punched the spaceship’s dashboard.

That caused all the fancy equipment in there to short circuit, just as the spaceship was about to lift off, and all the smoke and flames were kicking off.

That all abruptly ended. And this is what happened:

• The Santa spaceship rose 30ft into the air, stopped, then smashed back down to earth.
• Upon hitting the ground, its props shattered and the spaceship keeled over to one side, smashing into a group of elves.
• 50 elves were obliterated.
• I fouled myself.

There was a great silence after those moments, broken only by the odd gurgling noises from my stomach.

Eventually a rescue crew got into my area and began freeing me from the seatbelts.

Because the ship was at an acute angle, once the straps were undone Santa flopped out of his seat and smashed into the floor below.

I’d passed out drunk by that point anyway, I just saw all that from the onboard CCTV.

I watched it at 1am with a cup of hot chocolate (with absinthe) wrapped in my favourite warm blankie as I, shaking from fury at it all, bellowed orders at my stupid elves.

I wasn’t going to let this screw Christmas.

The stupid little brats of the world need stupid presents! And I will deliver on my business mission through qualitative and quantitative ideation!

 Santa Saves Christmas 2021

One of the big problems with the Santa Spaceship disaster was 97% of the toys in the cargo area were destroyed by fire.

We were already 77% behind target for 2021 anyway, what with one problem and another, so now all of a sudden I had enough toys for about 0.1% of the world’s population of snotty nosed little shits.

I called an emergency meeting in my office.

Markus arrived first with a clipboard containing the details of the 3% of toys available. These turned out to be:

• An assortment of frumpy socks.
• An assortment of frumpy Christmas jumpers.
• Several thousand bags of those horrible nuts covered in a thin layer of chocolate.

As always, a genius business idea hit me.

“The frumpy socks… use those as Christmas stockings! And insert the horrible nuts covered in a thing layer of cholate into those! Thus, we have an exceptional gift for many!”

“And what about the frumpy Christmas jumpers, sir?”

I sat and pondered that for a few moments. While doing so, Rudolph trotted into the office out of it on a mixture of heroin and cocaine.

“Get him out of here!” I barked. Markus led him out by the antlers. “NO… WAIT! MARKUS! I’ll need them… ROUND UP THE REINDEER AND MY SLEIGH!”

I’d just had my greatest business epiphany since time began. I knew exactly how to save Christmas!

It was simple. As all great ideas are! A simple moment of perfection.

I’m sure your kids around the world are all enjoying now, and as proud parents you stare at them in delight at their delight, safe in the knowledge Santa is superior than all of you.

You know those free newspapers dished out in cities around the world? The Metro and things like that.

Yeah, I rolled out my old sleigh, flew around the world to each city gathering those, and delivered them to the each household of the region!

Sure, that kind of turned Santa into a glorified paperboy. But I was done by 6am!

I returned home and immediately launched a slap up celebration on booze, wearing frumpy socks, and Christmas jumpers, while eating those horrible nuts covered in a thin layer of chocolate.

We revelled! We danced! Rudolph shot up on heroin right in front of everyone and we cheered the lovable rogue on! It was wild night.

The Backlash Against Santa

Okay, so it turns out you fuckwits weren’t so happy with Santa’s last minute corner cutting. Ungrateful bunch of bastards.

These are some of the headlines from around the world:

• CHEAPSKATE Santa is the world’s first billionaire PAPERBOY
• Santa BLOWS $20 billion on spaceship and RUINS Christmas
• Revealed: Santa’s sad sack of Shitsmas
• Father Christmas generates ennui with failed ubiquitous familiarities enabling a cessation on ceremonial festivities

I also had millions of angry parents ringing the Santa hotline to vent their ire. I told Markus to cut the phone line. I’ve had it with that shit for another year!

Then I got really drunk on Boxing Day and wandered around outside, surveying this year’s damage to the Santa factory.

Feeling philosophical, I wandered over to the Santa Spaceship.

It was there, now covered in snow and ice, 50 elf corpses pulped underneath it. I took a swig from my absinthe bottle and belched.

“Elf today… gone tomorrow.” I quipped. And I laughed. Because I am successful.