Last time out, Santa Claus hired an orca. That didn’t end well. This time out, there’s been some weird incident with mutant Barbie dolls… we despair, we really do.

Well, calm yourselves. The FBI is involved and you’re all as safe as can be!

Black Market Chemicals

During one of my drunken frenzies, I ordered a load of weird substances online. Most of them illegal. Three tonnes of the stuff turned up 24 hours later by helicopter.

As the helicopter was leaving I cheerily waved to the pilot. He waved back merrily. I bellowed, “Ho, ho, ho!” He gave me the thumbs up. I then yanked out my bazooka (not a euphemism) and unloaded on that bastard. Direct hit! The helicopter exploded in a ball of flames and slammed down into the ground.

Markus, my head elf, just stood there in shock. I cuffed him around the head and ordered him to get the crates of illegal chemicals into the factory.

I got drunk that night.

I can’t remember much about what happened. Vague memories. Concoctions in my secret underground lab. Drunkenness. Maniacal laughter. Smoke, fumes, glowing substances. That’s the hazy stuff I remember.

What I do fully know is I woke up drenched in sweat and piss while draped over last year’s Christmas tree. That meant I was in some utility closet in the factory.

Groaning with a massive bastard of a hangover, I clambered up unsteadily and puked all over the floor. “That’s better!” I chortled. Then I opened the utility closet door. Life would never be the same again…

The Mutant Zombie Barbie Doll!! Problem

Whatever I concocted in that secret underground lab got out through the air vents and spread across the factory and into the outside ground.

Markus, my head elf, days later confirmed my potion mixed with the giant cesspit (my elves’ toilet) and all the 100s of putrefying corpses lounging about the factory.

Boom. Just like that. All the putrefied flesh, skulls, brains, and heads came back to life and slithered about looking for something to attach themselves to. And they all wound up in factory unit one and the 37,000 finished, semi-finished, and early production Barbie dolls.

First I knew about that was in the factory canteen.

I was urinating on the floor, near the latest arrival of fresh vegetables, when the most unholy din kicked up. Groaning, moaning, shuffling.

Then the elves started shrieking hysterics and the factory alarm system kicked off.

“BASTARD!” I bellowed (only I have permission to trigger the alarm). I lumbered toward the canteen doors with urine still flowing out of me and an assortment of onions wrapped around my leg trailing behind.

Bam! Out of the canteen doors. And there, all weird looking, were the Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! And there were 1,000s of the diminutive little fuckers, all 11.5 inches tall.

“Brains! Brains!” They all murmured.

Well, I shit myself laughing at how pathetic they all looked. I laughed my ass off so much I lost control of my bodily functions and shat myself. I did a good knee slapper whack and wheezed away as the Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! looked on unimpressed.

They were about as threatening as a bunch of feminists on a “peaceful march”, rather than being in the kitchen. Where women belong!

“Get back into the kitchen where you belong!” I bellow-laughed at the Barbie dolls and did a knee slap again.

I belched exuberantly, and was about to get on with my day unaffected by this development, when I noticed the diminutive elves, not that much bigger than the Barbies, were in total hysterics. Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! began hurling themselves at the elves and ripping my employees limb from limb.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” I bellowed with world-weary charms, “Each one of those bastards costs me five hundred bucks, you feminist bastards!”

Markus, my head elf, came tearing past me screaming with at least 12 of the damn things yanking at his hair and trying to munch on his elf ears. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, batted the dolls off with my chubby hand, belched exuberantly, and stalked off clutching Markus.

“Right! We’ve got a problem, Markus! Some bastard is responsible for this wave of Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! And I need to save the day!”

Markus was in a state of shock and didn’t say anything. So, I did what I always do in these situations—lumbered off to my quarters to drink heavily.

Dealing with the Americans

After a bottle of gin I declared an international incident at the Santa factory, making a quick statement about how feminism is destroying society and how Barbie dolls will be the collapse of society.

I then called the FBI and demanded the US immediately nuke my factory multiple times over until nothing was left except not even rubble.

The Americans refused to follow my instructions.

I got really angry and started calling them the worst slurs under the North Pole’s feeble sun. “Stupid goddamn Yanks!” and all this other stuff. I then had a moment of genius and threatened to not deliver any presents to American children this Christmas.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Finally, the squeaky voice returned with, “Not even with PlayStation 5s!?” I’d gotten to them! And BELLOWED in response, “NOT EVEN PLAYSTATION BASTARD 5s!”

I could hear a lot of conversation over the phone. One bloke in the background said to the woman on the phone, “Well, I mean, you can just buy a PS5 from the local shop. Santa doesn’t have to deliver it, you know? Wholesale retail isn’t as linear as this guy seems to think it is. It’s not the Fifties anymore. Next he’ll be saying he won’t deliver satsumas.” And the bloke laughed.

Such impertinence! “That bastard on the phone who said that…” And then they hung up on me. My obscenities were so loud they made a polar bear, by happenstance passing the factory outside, run off in a fright.

I went red with rage. I went so red I always keeled over (due to rage). My rage was so intense I had to drink more gin. And then I went on a rampage.

Attack of the Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!!

My rampage didn’t last beyond a few steps away from my desk. After which, I appear to have keeled over drunk, vomited, and wet myself.

I came to the next day very confused. I’d been partially tied up by the Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! Gulliver’s Travels style. However, rather than threatening me they were all kind of just laying prone on the floor.

Markus was sitting in one corner. Seeing I was awake, he ambled over. I began bellowing obscenities. After a few minutes I stopped to let Markus speak.

“Sir… the Attack of the Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! crisis is over.”

“You mean… feminism has been destroyed!?”

“Yes, sir.”

I praised my brilliance, wealth, and success as a business owner for averting this crisis. But I soon found out Rudolph had taken it upon himself to solve the issue. As irresponsible as it was, he was smashed out of it on heroin. Loaded with a flamethrower, he went through the factory flamethrowering all Mutant Zombie Barbie Dolls!! until they were dead again.

“The factory?!” I gasped.

“Partially destroyed, sir.”

Wandering through the factory later, while very drunk, it was like a bomb site. Burning walls, dead elves everywhere, me belching and laughing because this drunken episode was making me pretty merry.

In the end, I decided to throw a party.

I got the surviving elves around a particularly blazing inferno (ironically, it was in the Barbie doll making unit) and we roasted marshmallows over the burning corpses of the fallen elves and Barbie dolls.

The next day, Markus informed me this had caused severe PTSD with 83% of the 512 surviving elves. “Give them a fucking pay cut!” I bellowed.

“Sir, if we give them ‘another’ pay cut, they’ll actually have to start paying you to work here.” I beamed at the idea, but was told that’s also slave labour, or something, and illegal under the UN.

To show my dissatisfaction I ambled across the factory and blew up the elves’ newly built sleeping quarters with 300lbs of Semtex. Markus was appalled. I cuffed him around the ears and barked, “Insomnia is a cure for PTSD, dipshit!” And I promptly demanded a 48 hour non-stop working session to repair the factory.

As a final task, I also got Markus to round up all the disgusting, putrid, charred, foul-smelling Barbie doll corpses littering the factory. I wasn’t letting them go to waste!

Perfect Christmas stocking fillers for the little girls of the world.