Last time out we found out about the integration of Kenneth the walrus into the Santa factory. With that going just swimmingly, now it’s all about Santa’s new website!

Oh joy! Oh, boundless joy! With much excitement, we introduce the wonders of modern web design in a state-of-the-art environment like the Santa Claus organisation.

Leveraging Santa’s Brand Identity to Synergise a Webshite

So I’ve had the team of dorks out back next to the elves’ cesspit freezing their bollocks off working on my new webshite. The lead dork, who calls himself “The Senior Web Designer”, handed me a strategy plan for how the shite will progress.

As he handed the strategy over, his hands frostbitten and shaky, Santa headbutted him one and hurled the strategy into the cesspit.

With their leader prone on the floor with a nosebleed, the other web design dorks all became a bit hysterical. They began chanting and ranting nothing but marketing buzzwords. One of them, particularly spotty and dork-like, got up and began wailing “BUT YOU AREN’T ON BRAND! IDEATE! IDEATE! IDEATE!”

I gave the signal to Markus, my head elf, who then scurried up to the hysterical dork and punched him in the testicles. Down went the dork.

Kenneth, my dogsbody walrus new hire, then stampeded into the action in his enthusiastic way. Braying wildly, he smashed his way into several of the computer desks and scattered equipment everywhere. Kenneth than seemed to lose interest and trampled his way maniacally off in the direction of factory unit four.

Santa scratched at my big hairy Santa butt and sighed.

“Markus…” I muttered.

“Yes, sir?” Markus said.

“That walrus… give him a pay cut.”

“But you’re not paying him anything, sir, except fresh clams…”

“I KNOW THAT, IDIOT! Cut his clam rations from three thousand clams to one thousand clams! See how he likes that!”

Markus nodded and stood there silently. I was aghast at this! Never have I seen such insubordination!

“MARKUS!” I bellowed.

“Erm… yes, sir?”

“What are you doing!?”

“I’m… not sure, sir.”

“GO AND TELL THAT WALRUS OAF OF HIS PAY CUT!”

Markus looked over at Kenneth as the beast lumbered at speed, and malodorously, in the direction of the factory. I could tell what he was trying to work out. “How? How am I going to a) catch that walrus and b) inform him of this pay cut without being crushed to death?”

“GET A MOVE ON MARKUS! CHRISTMAS DEPENDS ON THIS!”

Santa whipped out his bazooka and fired it indiscriminately into the air multiple times, one shell landing in the cesspit, exploding, and splattering the dorks with effluence.

As Markus scurried off, the busted nose dork approached me.

“What do you want, dork!?”

He lifted a tablet device, expecting me to take it.

I gave him the evils.

The dork looked a bit scared.

I glared the evils back at him some more then wheezed.

“Dork… get back to work on my webshite. Now. You do not want to face the consequences of not getting back to work instantly.”

The dork was shaking, behind him his fellow dorks were cowering behind their desks. Frostbitten and terrified, Santa couldn’t help but note just how soft everyone is these days. A bit of HARD WORK and they can’t hack it.

Sighing, Santa took the tablet and had a look. On it was typed a message:

“Dear Santa Claus,

We have decided the working conditions are not acceptable and we, collectively, hand in our notices with immediate effect.

Yours sincerely,

The web design team

Fed up with this bollocks, Santa whipped out his trudgen (not a euphemism) and was getting ready to pummel the dorks mercilessly.

Santa lumbered forward, his gout playing up some merry hell.

While I was lumbering the most manic, berserk, outraged braying began about 50ft behind me. Santa turned around to see Markus, my head elf, flying 20ft up into the air and Kenneth below him outraged and stomping around.

“Ah!” Santa mused, “News of the clam cut is in. Good. That’ll teach Kenneth a lesson!”

Then Santa did a diabolical, nasty evil laugh.

The sight of Kenneth getting his just deserves filled Santa with Christmas mirth. Slugging from the vodka bottle stashed in my vomit-stained Santa pants, I patted the lead dork on the shoulder in fatherly fashion.

Santa was about to confide in, and encourage, the dork when a wave of nausea swept over me and I puked all over him instead. All over his fancy fashionable jumper, pants, and trainers.

The dork passed out on the spot.

Later, to keep them working to finish the webshite, I agreed to provide them with a little wooden shack. The dorks wanted to be moved away from the elves’ cesspit as they found the stench and general principle of it “disgusting”.

So I moved the shack into the centre of the cesspit.

Santa had Rudolph, Kenneth, and some spare elves build a small wooden bridge out into the centre of the latrine so the dorks could get out there easily.

With a small firepit in the shack and a door fitted on, the dorks can no longer complain about frostbite. I don’t want to get too leftist on them, though, so every 35 minutes Santa has Rudolph fire a bazooka shot to go off near to the shack, usually in the cesspit, thus showering the shack in a continuous fountain.

Despite these sterling efforts, I’ve noted the dorks have left negative reviews on Glassdoor about working for Santa.

I know it’s they’re reviews! They keep using marketing buzzwords. I’ll get them to finish the webshite… then mark my words, they’ll pay for their words! 

Examining Markus’ Employment Record

Santa has been extremely concerned with Markus, my head elf, recently and his track record of my perceived (of him) issues with:

• Insubordination
• Laziness
• Incompetence
• Embezzlement

Santa doesn’t have any evidence for any of the above, it’s just I’m in a mean-spirited mood and want to offload that on someone. With my wife HAVING LEFT ME, I have to take this out on my employees.

You could argue that isn’t “professional” but then if it WEREN’T FOR FEMINISM then Santa wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with!

So! Markus no longer seems to view his position as the astonishing privilege it well and truly is! How he is extraordinarily lucky to be working for me, Santa Claus, earning a wage so low he is living in total squalor.

This is a big step above my other elves. MARKUS SHOULD BE GRATEFUL.

Sifting through his work history with Santa, I was surprised to discover he’s been employed here for 150 years (Santa can’t remember any of that). This was the note Santa made when I hired him in October 1873:

Markus the Elf

This bastard may go far. Keep an eye on him. Maybe make him head elf around 1967 and see how it goes from there. jLKFJ mmmmmrrrtz oll [Santa thinks I was probably drunk at this point because the next 3,000 words are total incomprehensible gibberish].

That night at 11:32pm I called Markus into my office quarters.

He winced noticeably as he scurried in. Definite act of insubordination there! Santa was stark bollock naked on his office chair and wolfing down frozen waffles with those single cheese slices you can get pre-made that go well with burgers but give you gut rot after a bit.

Before I could start lecturing Markus on his behaviour issues, Santa became overly interested in the cheese slices.

Drunk, Santa began throwing the cheese slices at Markus and berating him for making me waste the delicious, high processed cheesy badness.

“Sir…”

“YOU WILL KNOW YOUR PLACE, MARKUS!” Santa bellowed.

The freeloading bastard just stood there as a few of the cheese slices hit him, others just splatted onto the floor. Then he spoke in that stupid high-pitched voice of his!

“Sir, I need to remind you it’s now October and so far we haven’t even started on this year’s Christmas run. We have zero per cent of toys made. Worse still, only twenty five elves are left alive and we must hire more to meet this year’s quota.”

Santa sat there moodily flicking more cheese slices at Markus. The elf git became more urgent in his tone.

“The matter of your business competitor, Jeremy Windfellow of Glorious Gift Land, can’t be ignored! I’ve heard his progress is exceptional…  already forty percent of this year’s global toy market is complete. That’s a massive market share he’ll steal from Santa Claus Enterprises Limited!”

The cheese slices kept flying at Markus.

Santa then belched exuberantly and took a long slug from a gin bottle. Easing back in my easy chair I eyeballed the little bastard sternly.

“You gaslighting little bastard!” Sneered me.

I knew his game! Coming in with all that bollocks to deflect from my knowledge of what’s really going on. Drunk, angry, and supremely knowledgeable Santa reared to his wobbly massive beer gut feet.

“IF YOU LOVE JEREMY WINDFELLOW SO MUCH, MAYBE YOU SHOULD MARRY HIM!” I bellowed like a wounded animal.

Santa then keeled over onto the floor and passed out.

The next morning I awoke covered in my own Santa slobber. Markus, my head elf, was standing dutifully beside me peering down at me while prodding me with a stick.

“Uh?” I muttered.

“Sir, we need to hire some elves and get Christmas on the road.”

Santa barfed all over the floor. I couldn’t remember anything until I re-read my diary notes above and even that doesn’t make any sense!

Too confused to understand what was going on I glared at Markus… then nodded the nod that’s doomed 10,000 elves to an early demise.

The nod of “go on a hiring spree”.

“Sir, do you promise to respect your duty of care as an employer this time?”

“Markus… you have my word, you stupid elf git!”

Markus nodded and scuttled out of the room. Santa’s fingers were crossed throughout all that. Any Christmas run at least 500 elves must be obliterated, it’s the way of things.

That little bastard, as obedient as he is, will never learn.

Santa then sat back up and began picking up the discarded cheese slices off the floor. And he munched down on the lot of the delicious bastards.