Santa’s Christmas 2023 run is on the way (see Santa’s Business Rival)! With a business rival to fend off, and a wife divorcing him, he’s been feeling a little low.

The result is he’s gone on what can only be described as a noodles bender. It’s alarming to read about. We hope Santa can do some serious soul searching and come out of the other side of this one…

Santa’s Lost (Noodle) Weekend

When a Santa reaches rock bottom he does a weird thing. He eats a lot of instant noodles. Mountains of the crap.

I had Nurse Doreen up 24/7 existing off energy drinks and cocaine to power herself through her week-long shift. What was she doing!? Boiling the goddamn kettle over and over to cook instant noodles. Then my head elf, Markus, would bring the noodles through.

Santa (that’s me) is sitting there in my quarters stark bollock naked and very, very, very drunk. Slugging from a vodka bottle. Bellowing obscenities. Belching.

And, of course, eating them LOVELY noodles!

Santa loves noodles! I could eat them all day. So I have done! Sheesh, it’s given me the worst possible gas imaginable. Pretty sure my blood pressure is off the charts cos of all that salt and refined sugar, too.

But you can’t beat noodles!

After a while I started going a little stir fry crazy. 137 instant noodles in and I was cackling like a madman and draping the instant noodles over my locks of grey Santa hair.

“OH LOOK! MARKUS! MARKUS! MARKUS! MARKUS!” I bellowed.

“Yes, sir?”

“GUESS WHO I AM!? GUESS!”

“You’re Santa Claus, sir.”

“NO, YOU STUPID ELF GIT! Guess again! I’m a famous blonde!”

“Erm… Britney Spears?”

“NO!”

“Uhm… Margot Robbie?”

“NO!”

“Eh… Marilyn Monroe?”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, MAN, THIS IS TAKING TOO LONG!”

And I hurled a bowl of instant noodle juice over the pathetic wastrel and gave him the evils. The harsh glare of my crazed male gaze is enough to put hairs on anyone’s chest! Even that diminutive elf pleb.

Anyway, the point was that I looked like GOLDILOCKS. See? The gold noodles resplendent over one’s bearded visage.

I was getting pretty pissed by then off all the vodka so I decided to act out the whole Goldilocks and the Three Bears thing for ships and giggles. So in my drunken, half naked state I staggered out of the Santa factory on the lookout for polar bears.

Markus scuttled behind me all concerned yakking about “my hernia” until I snapped, turned violent, and barked at him.

“I DO NOT HAVE A HERNIA, MARKUS! SHUT UP!”

Anyway, turns out (as Santa realised later) he meant “hypothermia” but he said I wasn’t hearing him properly or some crap like that. I always ignore Markus. What he has to say is irrelevant—he doesn’t even earn a six figure salary for bastarding sake!

Yeah so I was staggering around looking like Goldilocks.

Eventually I found a polar bear also staggering around on the hunt for seals. I approached it confidently and demanded it to kneel before me. I went thus.

“YOU! Polar bear! KNEEL BEFORE ME, YOUR SUPERIOR!”

Well, that fucker lurcher forward and chomped down on my leg and threw me into the air. And while I was able to flee (helped by Markus chucking an emergency distress flare at the beast) I lost a lot of blood and was distraught that my Goldilocks concept was ruined.

There’s nothing else for it. I really must start drinking more heavily.

Santa the Malingerer

Truth is, all of the above was just a bout of procrastination.

I’m not really in the mood to get on with this Christmas 2023 crap right now. It’s the usual stuff I got to do:

• 10 billion toys to create.
• 3 billion of them are Barbie dolls.
• All of it needs doing and I’m horribly understaffed (due to the relentless on-site employee injuries and deaths).

Since my wife left me, I’ve been more reliant on Rudolph and Markus for support. Rudolph’s heroin addiction is at an all-time low and he spends most of his time passed out and slobbering over the floor.

Consequently, he has few new ideas for this Christmas push.

Markus is an obedient little prick and all the more useless for it. No. I need some fresh ideas… I’ll have to catch up with that odious toff Jeremy Windfellow (owner of the nearby Glorious Gift Land) at his factory and see how he’s getting on.

I’ll take him a packet of instant noodles to “break the ice”.

I also have lice at the moment, so I’ll be sure to embrace him at some point and get all those little parasitic buggers over him! A lice outbreak will put a serious dent into his productivity goals for this year. lol

The Loveliest Love Hearts of Lovely

Oh yeah, and on that divorce note…

To try and win the wife (Mrs. Santa Claus) back I went out and bought 30 metric tonnes of Love Hearts sweets. Got Markus to fly them in via helicopter—took 48 hours to get them all here, where he dumped them out back next to the elves’ cesspit.

Naturally, he managed to crash land (through exhaustion) into the cesspit. This splattered some 77% of the Love Hearts pile in effluence.

Nothing is more romantic than chalky, powdery, starchy, and strangely worded confectionary. Nothing. Especially when it’s drenched in a romantic, foul-smelling brown substance… which I’m just going to pretend is HP sauce.

Markus was all right… he’s got a pay cut for destroying company property, though, and a serious abrasion across his forehead. He was also covered in elf shit, which didn’t do his mood any good.

I got Nurse Doreen to give him some raw instant noodles and an injection of cortisone. He’s now back working.

As for the Love Hearts candy, I’ve saved them for when my wife (inevitably) returns to me. Because why wouldn’t she?! These are the things that are amazing about ME:

• Successful
• Rich
• Santa Claus
• Stunningly good looking
• Huge wobbly beer belly
• Charming
• Interesting
• Sexy
• Only minor body odour issues
• Chronic gout
• Drinking problem is under control
• Highly romantic (note the Love Hearts thing)

While I await her return, I had a few tipples and made a few notes in my vomit-stained computer diary. I think I must have passed out drunk on the keyboard because the entire entry is just that for 600,000 characters. I found it the next morning:

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I’d also soiled myself and barfed up everywhere. I threw my dirty undies out onto the Love Hearts pile out back.

I guess that’s one of the most romantic gestures I ever have done.

I’m too good for that stupid woman, me. Maybe I should get a NEW wife! Mrs. Santa Claus 2.0. Yes! One I can build to match my EXACT specifications of perfection for a woman.

I’ll get started later. I’ve just fouled myself again and need to clean myself up.