It’s not easy being Father Christmas. Now with a more complete workforce (including a deranged Santa factory janitor), the big man himself has taken some time off.

Instead of putting Markus, his head elf, in charge Santa has done the sensible thing. The uncontrollable walrus Kenneth was given the reigns and the results were most splendid indeed for all concerned.

Productivity and Leadership Notes From a Walrus

Christmas isn’t Christmas unless the manic braying of a walrus can be heard.

That’s why I put Kenneth the walrus, my dogsbody around the factory, in charge and went off on holiday! It was a drinking bender across Antarctica to see the sights, chat with penguins, and flirt with babes (of which there were none… that’s the fault of feminism, that is).

Santa didn’t put Markus, my head elf, in charge because I wanted to be snide and spurn him one. See how he’d react. Frankly, he looked grateful if anything… I’ll dock the SOB his monthly wage for that!

Kenneth’s Work Diary of Clams, Clams, and More Clams

I provided Kenneth with a work computer to document his daily thoughts and progress towards our Christmas 2023 production.

When I got back from my trip, frostbitten and suffering from terrible gout, there were clams all over the place. Tens of thousands of them! The place stank like one giant rotten fresh clam.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!” I bellowed.

Staggering into my quarters, I checked up on what the hell Kenneth had been up to. This is what Santa found.

HRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

HRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

HRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

HRRRUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

So yeah, the diary was full of that gibberish. Santa had the walrus honking run through some fancy AI technology and it was translated into English.

The results brought a tear to mine ear!

The I realised that’s not how the human body works and it just turned out to be a mass of earwax leaking out. I got it off with my Santa hand and wiped it on my Santa pants.

Anyway, brace yourselves readers. For this is the first time in human history walrus honking can be seen for what it well and truly is.

CLAMS!

CLAMS!

CLAMS!

CLAMS!

This establishment needs more fresh clams! With the smelly man in red with the big beard going away he has placed ME in charge. My real name, of course, is something they wouldn’t be able to pronounce. It sounds like a mix between a sneeze, burp, and high-pitched excruciating death cry. But I also quite like Kenneth and that’s what I’m happy to go by the name of.

The smelly man in red with the big beard left wobbling left right and centre.

The short creature that doesn’t look like a seal, Markus as he keeps calling himself, handed me a flip chart of factory information. I looked at the chart. I tried to eat the chart but my big tusks stopped it from going into my mouth. So I read the chart. It said things about barbeque dolls, poostation five, and then I got bored reading it and started braying: “CLAMS! CLAMS! CLAMS! CLAMS!”

I was very very very very very hungry that morning and so ignored my new factory duties and went out for a dip to slake my need for many many many many fresh clams.

When I got back the short creature that doesn’t look like a seal was quite animated and told me that I shouldn’t be “abandoning” my duties. I considered the pros and cons of challenging him to a fight to the death right there and then. Considering I’m, like, ten times the size of the short creature that doesn’t look like a seal it wouldn’t be much sport. I’d flatten him like a poostation five in about four seconds.

Then I remembered the smelly man in red with the big beard had hired me and since I had been hired I had had MANY fresh clams and was often just left to rampage bombastically about the place as is any walrus’ great wish.

Therefore, I, Kenneth, knew what must be done!

So I abandoned my duties again and went for another dip to slake my desire for more fresh clams… then it hit me. I had a Business Mogul moment as I, Kenneth, rampaged with wild abandon across the icy tundra munching on fresh clams. The EPIPHANY of impulsive entrepreneurial genius was thus…

HUMAN BEINGS DO NOT NEED BARBEQUE DOLLS OR A POOSTATION FIVE! IN FACT, KENNETH ARGUES THAT A POOSTATION FIVE IS A VERY STUPID PRESENT FOR ANYONE TO HAVE! WHY DO HUMANS WANT A STATION OF POO? THAT IS VERY RIDICULOUS! WHAT THEY NEED IS FRESH CLAMS! YES! MAY YOU ALL HAVE A VERY MERRY FRESH CLAMSTMAS!

Santa stopped reading at this point… I sniffed at myself. Sniffed at my armpits. Sniffed at my beard. Not a problem! Why does that massive monstrosity keep referring to me as “the smelly man in red with the big beard”?!?

I called Markus, my head elf, into my office.

“Markus?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do I smell?”

There was a long silence and Markus stood looking in any direction but me very awkwardly. He started whistling nonchalantly after a bit, too. Very suspicious behaviour!

“Markus!” I barked.

“Probably not, no, sir…”

That was not a satisfactory answer. Truth be told, though, I hadn’t had a bath in 48 months and it was probably about time to get some Old Spice between my armpits. Impress the dames and all that!

I stripped stark bollock naked and paraded into my bathroom, demanding Markus read the remainder of Kenneth’s diary while one bathed.

Kenneth the Walrus’ Fresh Clam-Based Christmas Vision

The smelly man in red with the big beard will be very proud of me when he returns! I just know it! He’ll be so proud I expect him to instantly retire and promote me to the head of the business and I’ll then rename it Walrus & Clams Enterprises Ltd. and we’ll deliver fresh clams to the humans of the world so they’ll never run out of clams!

I went out for a dip the next morning and caught up with some of my walrus friends and family, who I’ll give human names for simplicity purposes: Henry, Jeff, Frank, Janet, Patricia, Maude, and my mother—Plank. That is short for plankton (which I also enjoy eating in more extreme survival situations).

Well, I guess I shouldn’t have done that because Plank (“mother”) is a domineering old walrus and she stormed into the factory and started ordering everyone around. She had the short creatures that don’t look like seals cleaning the place up. Doilies were placed everywhere. Then she insisted her favourite band, The Clams, were played over the stereo system in the factory. I don’t like the band but hearing hits like Let it Clam, Here Clams the Sun, Clam Together, Hey Clam, and I Want to Hold Your Clam reminded me of mine youth.

After that Plank (“mother”) violently instigated my business initiative.

Working in shifts, and 500 walrus strong by that point, we dragged clams into the factory by the NET FULL. Using big old nets we stole from fishing trawlers in the area. We attacked several of the boats, sinking them, and nabbed off with the nets while the humans shouted and cursed at us.

Plank (“mother”) was extremely violent in ensuring we worked 24/7 shifts to get clams into Christmas packaging and into The Christmas 2023 Zone where all the finished toys go.

That short creature that doesn’t look like a seal, Markus, was trying to make us stop but Plank (“mother”) clobbered him one and he was out cold and sent off to the infirmary where the human who has injections lives. The smelly man in red with the big beard calls her “Nurse Boring” but she doesn’t seem very boring she has many interesting injections that make the smelly man in red with the big beard do funny things.

Anyway, we took a break at midday to gorge on fresh clams, then resumed working in shifts. After 48 hours of this routine we have packed 500,000 presents of fresh clams all good and ready to be sent out to the people of Earth come Christmas day! Plank (“mother”) hailed all of this as a “mussel”, which in walrus culture is like what humans call a “miracle” but ours actually makes sense and miracles are just stupid nonsense believed by smelly humans.

Santa looked at Markus, my head elf, in disbelief and confusion as I bathed in the deep bubble bath and scrubbed at my Santa armpits with a block of soap.

“Where are all these other walruses now?!”

“Sir, they continued working until some polar bears turned up to investigate why there were so many fresh clams in the area.

“Then what happened?”

“Well, sir, the walruses all fled while braying maniacally and disappeared into multiple nearby ice floes. The polar bears then got bored and left.”

“Where the hell was Rudolph during all of this?!” I barked.

“He’s in Nurse Doreen’s quarters on a drip after tripping too hard on LSD.”

“For the love of God! Where is Kenneth!?” I scrubbed harder in frustration.

Markus returned to reading the diary entry, although I could hear the manic braying of Kenneth off somewhere in the factory. So I knew that bastard wasn’t skiving.

My clan returned to the seas to escape those bloody silly billy nasty fuddy-duddy doodoohead moron polar bears we all hate.

I stuck around to munch on fresh clams and accidentally chowed down on 1,000 of the 500,000 presents during my feeding frenzy but I’m sure the smelly man in red with the big beard won’t mind because we’ve performed miracles here for Christmas and the humans will be very happy and will probably have another World War to celebrate seeing as that sort of carnage is the thing they all like.

Over and out I, Kenneth, have accomplished my mission and will await the return of smelly man in red with the big beard while I consume with much relish the delish, so very very very very tasty, fresh clams.

Santa remembered my specific instructions. BARBIE DOLLS. MAKE MANY, MANY BARBIE DOLLS! And that bastard walrus had gone and done FRESH CLAMS.

Oh well.

It gets Christmas 2023 off to a flier, at least, and there’s a cost of living crisis anyway. The kids will probably be delighted to get some heavily turned clams in a box on Xmas day. Ho ho ho… and I scrubbed harder at my skin in the hope it’d alleviate my booze-based neuropathy.