Exclusive Santa Column: The Banana Boat Conundrum

Crazy Santa and plenty of bananas and banana boats

Last week, Santa was ranting about gout. This week, he’s got a banana problem. What could possibly be worse than that? Let’s find out!

The Banana Boat Conundrum

This banana boat turned up and I’m not sure what to make of it. Hungover one morning, I staggered into the factory reception and it was there.

A delivery guy delivered it and Markus, my head elf, signed for it.

Outraged, I charged at the delivery guy. He panicked, shrieked, and did a runner into the icy wilderness of the North Pole with me chasing after him stark bollock naked.

When I returned a few minutes later (my gout hinders my chasing abilities), the banana boat was still there. A few things on this:

  1. I don’t like bananas
  2. I don’t like boats

Therefore, it’s natural for me to have an immediate dislike for banana boats. Consequently, I ordered it to be destroyed in a controlled (or uncontrolled) explosion out back. Accordingly, I was expectant on that.

But Markus said to me, “Sir, we can’t destroy it.”

I eyeballed him haughtily.

“Sir, it’s a present from one of your stakeholders.”

I bellowed many obscenities. Because I knew the investor who sent the banana boat—Reginald Archibald. A billionaire with a penchant for brandy, caviar, and berserk maliciousness. What he means by sending me a banana boat is I have to make use of the banana boat.

Make no mistake. It was no gift.

Archibald was mocking me. The little power he exerts over me is his wealth. As an extremely wealthy and successful and handsome man myself, Santa is still reliant on certain stakeholders to perform black market duties and cover up my various misdemeanours (such as the ongoing slaughter of my elf workforce).

With the banana boat here, I was going to have to make use of it on the icy water of the North Pole. Problem is, that water is goddamn freezing!

Skinny dipping it’s not good for. I’ve found that out the hard way over the years with drunken errors of judgement.

But I wasn’t going to let Archibald take the piss like this and win. No. This was a chance to show the bastard I was boss!

🎉🍌 Santa’s Banana Boat Party! 🍌🎉

Santa does like to throw a good party. Here’s what Santa likes about parties:

  • Drinking
  • Alcohol
  • Opportunities to strut my funky stuff
  • Nudity
  • Gross indecency
  • Telling everyone what I really think about them
  • Copious vomiting

I demanded Markus, my head elf, organise a banana boat party. Under the stipulation Reginald Archibald be invited as my HEAD GUEST as my best stakeholder.

Well, I didn’t think he’d fall for that.

But he did (maybe he was drunk, or something, when he accepted the invite). Because he agreed to turn up and was flown in from New York by personal jet.

There’s something about the personal airspace around Santa’s factory that always results in high speed crashes and explosions. It’s like we’re the goddamn Bermuda Triangle, but with Barbie dolls. The Barbie Doll Triangle. I like that…

Anyway, cut to the moment and Archibald was coming in to land when both of the jet’s engines exploded. His plane careered violently into the ocean in a hellish fireball—all to the sounds of my roars of laughter and flipping the bird at the plane.

With the plane in the drink, it was the perfect opportunity to roll the banana boat out for its inaugural demonstration!

I mean I was really drunk by that point. It was a few hours before the party, of course, so it’s to be expected. Markus towed the banana boat out to the verge of the icy tundra, with Archibald’s plane a mile out in the water.

Markus launched the banana boat onto the water.

Stripping stark bollock naked, I jumped onto it (the boat). Markus then got his little powerboat and guided us out there, with me bellowing all the way a moving rendition of Rebecca Black’s hit single Friday.

When we reached the plane pretty much everyone was frozen solid. But we did find Archibald the billionaire floating with a lifejacket in the water. His teeth chattering like he was doing the can-can.

I saw him.

He saw me on the banana boat.

The irony clearly wasn’t lost on him. He pointed feebly at me and gurgled in a panic. I roared in my finest bellow, “FEAR NOT, ARCHIBALD REGINALD! SANTA IS HERE TO SAVE YOU!”

I wasted no time and shot him with the harpoon cannon we have attached on Markus’ boat. Went straight through his chest, it did! And we towed the billionaire back to shore. Markus was fussing and panicking about that, thinking I’d murdered Reginald Archibald.

SHUT UP, MARKUS! He’s fine!!” I bellowed back.

Well, yeah… turns out he didn’t make it. Truth be told, I was aiming for his stupid face. But the chest was a decent shot given how drunk I was.

Markus pronounced him dead upon the shores of the icy tundra.

Sir… how… what… how do we explain this to the other stakeholders?”

To answer Markus’ question I went on an enormous drinking spree. I really can’t say I remember very much over the following days. Although by the time my blackout ended I found Archibald Reginald’s corpse atop a Christmas tree like a fairy.

Turns out I’d put him up there while intoxicated. He was stinking pretty bad by now, so I had Markus drag the cadaver out back and hurl it into the elves’ cesspit.

It’s what he would have wanted.

Panic on the Streets of the North Pole

The next day I had a massive bout of DTs and anxiety. I was trying to climb up walls at the slightest bump or creak I could hear.

At one point, I nearly gave myself a heart attack by belching violently.

In a panic, I hit the bottle. Demanding Markus enter my quarters, I commanded him to go out back and detonate the cesspit.

“Erm… why, sir?”

I belaboured him aggressively for questioning his superior. ME! But I was also panicking… I could not believe I’d harpooned Reginald Archibald in the chest. He was frothing blood from the mouth and everything.

If the other stakeholders find out… why, I’d have to harpoon them all in the chest as well! But then I’d have no investors left. Santa’s $400 million bonus… down the drain.

There was no other option but to violently cover my tracks.

Markus went out back and, using 1,000lbs of Semtex, detonated the cesspit with Reginald Archibald’s corpse still in there.

A shower of shit rained down on the area for miles around.

Meanwhile, still panicking wildly, I rushed out to the banana boat with my flamethrower and flamethrowered the living bejeezus out of it for a solid hour. By the time Santa was done, there was a 30ft goddamn hole in the ground from all the melted snow and ice. Markus had to get a truck and winch system to get me out of the hole.

Despite the horrendous stench, I was in a good mood.

It wasn’t even 8am, but I was in the mood to celebrate. Even as the media cycles began that morning reporting the missing Reginald Archibald, “last seen near the North Pole”, I was jeering at the TV and beating my massive beer belly with my fists.

By midday I’d passed out and vomited everywhere. Problem solved.


Dispense with some gibberish!

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