It’s that time of year again! It’s the Christmas push for 2023 and, due to our ability to blackmail him, Santa Claus is back with his weekly column!

We must thank him for joining us once more this year.

We look forward to hearing about his numerous jolly adventures and what we’ll all be getting for Chrimbo. Over to you, Santa!

The Christmas Business Rival

Santa’s got a business rival.

My head elf, Markus, woke me from my post-Christmas hibernation last week and hit me with the news. The business is called Glorious Gift Land and is run by a dodgy wheeler dealer called Jeremy Windfellow.

He’s stationed here in the North Pole.

Though my eyesight is bloodshot, bleary, and often through double-vision, I can see his factory off in the distance about five miles off smoking away. The pollution is quite disgusting! 

Not met him this “Windfellow” yet but I can tell by his surname the guy is mentally ill. I just stalked his business profile on LinkedIn. Stalked it, while slugging from a vodka bottle, and becoming increasingly outraged.

In the end, pissed out of my head, I sent him a bunch of death threats.

Know he responded?

He called me “childish” and blocked me! My bellowing could be heard outside the factory. My fists were slamming on my desk. I called Markus in over the tannoy system with a plan. He scuttled in and stood staring at me obediently.

“Markus!”

“Yes sir?”

“We must welcome Mr. Windfellow to the region in classic Santa Claus style!”

“Sir… we don’t want to go through all that again…”

“TISH AND PISH, YOU WHINING LITTLE GIT!”

One look at my grimacing mug and Markus knew what had to be done. It would be a grand celebration! And one where I could get my sweet, sweet revenge (and lots of scrumptious cake).

🎂🎂 Santa’s Welcome Cake Ceremony 🎂🎂

Santa’s Welcome Cake Ceremony is a tactic I roll out only for the most extreme of emergencies. It’s a clever bit of manipulation. My victim thinks:

“Gee whizz! Santa Claus has invited me over for cake! What a fine gentleman he most certainly is! I’d marry him if he wasn’t so obviously many millions of miles out of my league and also he obviously isn’t gay because he’s far too manly and superior for that but I’m sure if I was (or were) a woman I’d marry him at the drop of a hat!”

With that brainwashed mindset, they make hay for the Santa factory under the belief they’ll be getting my glorious company AND free cake. What better combination is there?!?

NONE!

Naturally, Santa has an ulterior motive to all this. In my case the plan is to get that stupid bastard over here so I can SPIKE his cake. Spike it with bits cut off from the Santa Claus bog brush I use. Haha. Hahaha!

So I can stand there watching Windy Windfellow eating bits of bog brush and I know he’s really getting a dose of nasty bacteria that’ll leave him rolling around in agony on the floor for weeks to come.

For any sad acts saying this is “cruel” or “immoral” I merely sneer down at your pathetic inability to do the dirty work AS and WHEN is needed.

How Santa’s Welcome Cake Ceremony Went

So, Windfellow turned up that same night. He dresses in a really poncy way. Suit, dickie bow, pince-nez.

I took one look at him and took a slug at his face with my Santa first.

Markus and the others were then able to pin me down and apologised for my conduct. I was steaming pissed by that point. Nurse Doreen (also our chef) also hadn’t cooked a cake. Because she doesn’t know how.

Instead, we handed out raw instant noodles slathered in squirty cream. Windfellow wasn’t impressed and looked snottily at the food we handed him. I offered him a slug from my vodka bottle but he sneered at that as well.

“What’s your problem, toff!?” I barked.

Anyway, it turns out he wasn’t really interested in cake. He just wanted to size me up as a business rival. The “Great Santa Claus”. But he wasn’t impressed, particularly when I started listing over onto the floor while trying to prop myself up. Then I threw up over myself and blamed it on the missus (who I hadn’t seen at all!).

Before I blacked out I attempted to assault Windfellow with the bog brush from my sleeping quarters. However, it turns out he’s skilled with martial arts and had me pinned down face first into the goddamn ground while I slobbered and wheezed all over the place. Jesus H Christ!

Markus later told me Windfellow had immediately left via helicopter to return to his factory. That SOB… have I met my match? No… I’ll get that bastard if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do! EVEN IF IT COSTS YOU ALL CHRISTMAS 2023!

Divorce and Diapers

Oh yeah, the wife left me. She left me this note I read after coming out of my post-Windfellow blackout:

“Dear snuggums,

As you are a complete and utter psychotic bastard, I have had enough and will be moving to Barbados for a long overdue holiday. Divorce papers will soon follow.

Yours with fond regards,

Mrs. Santa Claus

I sat down for the next 35 minutes and raged. My head elf, Markus, popped into the office to see me, saw that my face was bright red and I was shaking, and he scuttled out leaving me to it.

Like any real man, I quickly bottled up these burning emotions and ignored them in favour of appearing heroic and noble to my elf workforce. Naturally, I also started drinking very heavily indeed! Slugging from a vodka bottle, I went out into the factory to reminisce about my wife with my employees.

Later that night I found myself sitting on the edge of the giant cesspit out back of the factory (the elves’ toilet), legs dangling over the edge above the mess.

Santa did wonder whether to end it all there and then.

Hurl myself into the vat of effluence and drown and disappear and NO CHRISTMAS 2023 for the brats of the world. They’re all TOO SOFT these days. They don’t know they’re born!

Luckily, the delirious euphoria from the booze was kicking in and Santa saw sense. No. The world needs me.

Standing up my Santa pants fell down exposing my heavily stained underpants. Normally the wife would chastise me for that. Not now. Not ever! Santa was free!

Slugging from the bottle of gin I staggered off looking for Rudolph.

Maybe I’ll marry him. We’ll see.