Of course, dear Santa column reader, you remember last year when Santa hired an orca.

That went so spectacularly well, and as he’s in dire need of some new staff, he’s gone out to hire a walrus.

Absolutely nothing could ever possibly go wrong with such a decision.

Bargaining and Bazookas

Markus, my head elf, prodded me awake with a stick. I was wedged into the washing machine in the utility closet next to Nurse Doreen’s nursing room.

While it’s most unusual for me to wash my stained underwear, since the wife divorced me I’ve got no other bloody ruddy bloody choice now, have I?! Unfortunately, I got very drunk and decided to just wash myself in the washing machine.

Fortunately, I passed out before managing to hit the “on” button.

I heaved my enormous, flabby beer gut out of the machine and plopped out onto the floor and lay on my back hungover to all cripes. Markus prodded me with the stick again.

“STOP THAT!!!” I bellowed.

“Okay. Sir, I’ve got this for you.”

He handed me a jar of marmalade. I glared at the jar of marmalade.

“Markus, what the hell is this?!”

“It’s a jar of marmalade. Your business rival, Jeremy Windfellow, sent it over as a present. He says he’d like to meet you again to start afresh.”

Scoffing at Markus, I wobbled up to my feet and almost fell over when a wave of hangover faintness floated through me.

“Have the marmalade destroyed. Also, fire a warning shot at his factory! From a bazooka. Try and hit his factory, give him a proper jolt!”

“Sir, are you sure that’s…”

“SANTA CANNOT BE BARGAINED WITH!”

I gave Markus the evils and stalked off, remembering my drunken decision making last night. I had a proper mission! One to bolster my dwindling workforce!

Santa must hire a walrus!

Stumping out of the room, my gout playing up in both ankles and a big toe, I turned sharply to remind Markus of this. To my DISGUST he’d opened the jar of marmalade and was EATING from it!

So appalled was I by this display of impertinence I went to boot him up the arse… but my gout got the better of me.

Markus just stood there eating the marmalade.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Yes, you stupid elf git!”

With that, I turned and hobbled off. Is Santa getting soft? Probably not… with only 33 elves left alive from 2022’s Christmas push, I needed as many aimlessly obedient little dorks around as possible. And some heavies!

Hiring a Walrus

My plan for the walrus was simple—he was going to be my bodyguard!

These things can weigh up to 1,000kg. Rudolph told me that! I’m pretty sure he wasn’t smacked out of his head on heroin when he did, so I’ve reason to believe he’s telling the truth.

Rudolph had told me last night he knew of a walrus called Kenneth. He texted him to meet me outside the factory gates at 10am for an interview.

I’d done my research on walruses to prep.

They’re massive beasts, but very sociable! That’s good. If he’s going to be my bodyguard he better be ready with a funny quip or two! Santa likes a jolly old guffaw in between bouts of throttling idiotic elf employees by the throat.

Walruses (walrusi?) are also prone to:

• Snorting
• Bellowing

Hmmm… does that ring a bell about anyone? No. Don’t be stupid, Santa! Anyway, I also researched that a walrus is extremely aggressive during mating season.

I’ve no idea when mating season is, but if one of those big bastards (including Kenneth) attempts to mate with Santa Claus… well, we’re talking a swift jab to the gut and an elbow to his stupid face for good measure!

I’ll bloody fight anything, me, no bastard walrus is…

Oh cripes I was hungover, so I had to stop off at the factory canteen to drink half a litre of gin to get myself in the mood. Nurse Doreen was there and I gave her a cheeky, flirty wink as I slurped down the gin. She stared at me impassively… weird woman. She’s always been immune to my immense charms!

Then I drank five large cans of energy drinks and had 35 mince pies, which caused my gut to start rumbling some merry hell.

With every single organ in my body wailing away to the sound of inflammation, Santa barged out of the factory gates and marched in jolly, belligerent fashion directly at Kenneth in the distance.

Interview With a Walrus

Kenneth was done up looking smart. He’d obviously bathed and was wearing fluffy red earmuffs and a lovely, fetching red and white scarf.

I didn’t like the look of him.

Santa had a funny turn right there called INSTINCT and I knew in my gut this walrus guy was a SOB no good leftist. But I needed to play a game here. A clever one. A manipulative one where I’d outsmart this bastard and get him working for me in a way I knew was clever but he didn’t know that because he isn’t as smart as Santa. That kinda thing.

Santa stretched out his big grubby Santa hand for a handshake. Kenneth snorted loudly and sniffed at my hand, reeling away in SEEMING DISGUST and issuing a bizarre cry.

“URRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

I eyeballed the walrus.

The walrus eyeballed me right back.

“Oh, okay, it’s like that is it…” I wheezed.

I yanked out my spreadsheet of notes I’d scrawled drunkenly last night based on my walrus research and modern interview tips. In short:

• A male walrus can weigh over a tonne
• The things protruding from a walrus’ mug are “tusks”
• Walruses are greatly upset by disturbance and noise
• Walruses are related to giraffes

I stared at that last point and scratched my Santa butt. Now sober, I couldn’t see any possible relation to a walrus and a giraffe.

I mentally pictured the giraffe in my mind as elegant, bloody tall, and bloody yellow. 🦒

This walrus was no elegant, not tall, and not yellow. It was more of a squat, flabby thing with a huge beer belly and a propensity for bellowing. Stupid animals, I thought.

While I was mulling all this over the walrus sat staring at me. I decided to insult him before running through the interview questions. Test him out.

“Okay, walrus face… [Santa paused here for dramatic effect] I’ve got some first-stage interview questions here for you.”

“HRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

It shifted and wobbled around on the spot appreciatively. Good little underling subordinate freeloading inferior pay employee, I thought to myself.

“Right! I’ve got an anti-woke set of questions here you need to answer just so I know I’m not hiring a leftist snowflake.”

So I took him through my Anti-Woke Test questions:

• “Have you now, or do you ever intend to be, a leftist?”
• “Do you agree in unbinding loyalty business owners like Santa Claus are the saviours of society and deserve to be paid 354% more than dumb employees?”
• “Do you have a problem with Santa wielding a bazooka when I am in a drunken rage?”
• “Climate change is a hoax.”
  • This one is more of a statement, not a question.
• “When was the last time you cried and why?”

To that last question I couldn’t get anything intelligible out of the walrus. In fact, all it kept doing was braying and bellowing between bouts of snorting. Definite snowflake behaviour. But also incredibly irritating!

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” I bellowed at it.

“BRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

I stood back aghast. NEVER have I, Santa Claus as a rich and superior business owner and, therefore, saviour of the world, been spoken to like that. I eyeballed Kenneth as haughtily as possible.

“You’ve got the job…”

Just like that. When a vast marine mammal with killer tusks stands up to Santa, Santa knows when he sees a good hire. I got Markus, my head elf, who’d trotted out by that point, to hand over the employment contract. Job title: Official Factory Walrus. Duties: all sorts of weird shit he’ll come to regret later.

The Walrus didn’t know how to sign it, so simply reared up in its attack stance and launched a tonne of its bodily weight down onto Markus and the paperwork.

Markus was flattened. I considered that a successfully signed contract.

I got one arm around the enormous bastard (Kenneth, not the elf git) and led him off in the direction of the factory. As he wobbled along with me, I knew this would be the start of a beautiful friendship.

So long as Rudolph didn’t go offering him any class A narcotics…