It’s clear Christmas 2023 has “gone wrong”. Santa Claus has been a tad erratic this year, achieving nothing in the push for Xmas and his recent obsession with the PooStation 5 confirms he’s probably lost his mind.

This week, he’s accepted he’s messed up. Now he’s looking for scapegoats and a way to wheedle his way out of having to accept any responsibility.

Burying Bad News the Santa Way

It’s not often Santa has a moment of reflection like this. But when I woke up naked, out back of the factory, my right leg severely frostbitten, after an all-nighter drinking gin and then I saw the looks on the elves’ faces while I tried to thaw the leg out over the flames emitting from the Barbie doll making machine in factory unit 1 because during the night I’d set fire to it with a flamethrower while bellowing lyrics to Night Fever by the Bee Gees.

I’ve messed up Christmas 2023.

We don’t have enough toys for the town of Bolton in Greater Manchester, never mind the entire bloody Earth and every household across it!

What I’ve got to show for this year?!? THIS:

• 113 PooStation 5s my elves cobbled together out of excrement.
  • But they’re pretty much unusable as gifts. Even I won’t go anywhere the bloody things, they’re disgusting!
• Some bubble gum I found stuck to the bottom of my Santa chair in my office.
• Tufts of hair in the plughole sink in my Santa bath.
• Gunk from the drains in the bathroom sink.

This was Desperation Mode enabled, a step above Santa’s Panic Station, and required two things:

1. Find an easy target to blame for the screw up.
2. Raid my business nemesis Jeremy Windfellow of Glorious Gift Land and steal all his presents.

I’ve heard from Markus, my head elf, Windfellow has already completed his quota of toys and is in the process of packaging them neatly in wrapping paper ahead of delivery. And here’s me with my PooStation 5s with flies buzzing around them.

A stealth mission was in order!!!

The Mission Plan of Action to Raid Glorious Gift Land and Steal All Their Presents

Santa called an emergency meeting in my office, with Markus (my head elf), Kenneth the walrus, and Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer present and accounted for.

I ran them through my devious plan. This is how they responded:

• Rudolph drooled (he was out of it on heroin again).
• Kenneth brayed maniacally (I think because he’s just hungry for fresh clams FFS).
• Markus stood impassive and unmoving, with an expression of a captain solemnly going down with his ship.

Santa took all three responses as confirmation I’m a genius and the plan is foolproof. As such, I gave the plan of action a codename. It is called THE CHRISTMAS CRACKER OF DESTRUCTION AND HORROR.

All three of them didn’t look impressed by the name. I began bellowing at them in a rage, explaining why it’s a superb name and they should accept it automatically because I’m their boss!

Nurse Doreen then turned up with a cup of hot cocoa.

Santa took the cup of hot cocoa and had a bit of a sip. I told Nurse Doreen about the plan and codename. She winced violently and suggested we call it LOVELY DAFFODILS ON A SUNNY DAY instead. The others nodded violently in agreement…

“LOVELY DAFFODILS ON A SUNNY DAY!? WE’RE ON A MISSION OF BREAKING AND ENTERING, RAIDING A BUSINESS COMPETITOR ILLEGALLY TO PLUNDER HIS GOODS! THERE’LL BE INJURIES, A FEW BRUISED EYES, AND MAYBE EVEN AN EXPLOSION OR TWO! AND YOU WANT TO REFERENCE DAFFODILS!”

My bellowing continued for some time until, exasperated, I gave up and codenamed the stealth mission LOVELY DAFFODILS ON A SUNNY DAY.

Nurse Doreen was very excited about all this and insisted she attend the mission, should any of us require a cup of hot cocoa.

She wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Santa had no other choice…

Within the hour, myself, Markus, Kenneth, Rudolph, and Nurse Doreen were donned in stealth black ninja assassin outfits. We jumped into the Santa helicopter and were set to fly out to Glorious Gift Land to seek MY fortune!

A Report on the LOVELY DAFFODILS ON A SUNNY DAY Stealth Mission

Santa reporting in 24 hours after the stealth mission. When all is said and done, one must reflect on certain moments in life and recognise them as either:

• A poor decision.
• A slight mishap.
• An error in judgement.
• Sheer desperation, resulting in a worse outcome.

Santa doesn’t like to think any of my business endeavours are a “mistake”, more a superb entrepreneurial decision born out of a keen sense of urgency to make myself wealthy and, therefore, confirm my superiority over all around me.

The stealth mission LOVELY DAFFODILS ON A SUNNY DAY was summarised by Nurse Doreen as a “disaster of epic proportions”.

Nonsense! I characterise the event more along the lines of initiative.

Initiative that was led astray by the odds; adversity stacked against Santa. This was an underdog tale from which I very nearly emerged victorious, but a catalogue of bad luck blocked me from suceeding in saving Christmas.

I am not the villain here. It is Glorious Gift Land and its BASTARD OF AN OWNER (Jeremy Windfellow) whom has ruined your Christmas.

In summary, as there’s no real need to dig too deep into what happened, this is what happened:

• Santa crash landed the helicopter directly into the Glorious Gift Land factory, alerting Jeremy Windfellow to our presence and ruining the element of stealth and surprise.
• Glorious Gift Land employees sounded the burglar alarm, triggering wailing sirens and flashing red lights.
• While I clambered out of the helicopter wreckage, my black ninja assassin costume split at the butt because of Santa’s lard arse backside.
• While I was trying to cover up my modesty, Jeremy Windfellow erupted out of Glorious Gift Land to demand what was going on.
• Kenneth the walrus tried to chloroform him (at least, that’s what I think his plan was from a human perspective) but lacked the hands to be able to make that possible—plus, he didn’t have any chloroform.
• Nurse Doreen tried to calm down Jeremy Windfellow by offering him a cup of hot cocoa.
• Santa (me) ordered Rudolph to clamber through the gaping hole in Glorious Gift Land caused by our helicopter smash.
• Rudolph responded by shooting up and zoning out.
• Santa began climbing through the gaping hole in Glorious Gift Land, but my lard arse got stuck because the gap wasn’t big enough.

Santa then began to shout, “You boys and girls won’t get any toys until you get me out!” Could have sworn I’d said that somewhere else some time…

It took 17 hours to remove Santa.

Jeremy Windfellow was kind enough to provide free Vaseline, a winch system, and many of his employees to extricate my butt.

He did, however, demand I pay for repairs to his factory and told me my state of mind was “disturbing”. And that I should see a psychiatrist.

I told him to stuff his disturbances up his arse!

Then I flipped him off with both middle fingers and started the long trudge back home to the Santa factory. After 100 metres I realised that wouldn’t be possible due to the subzero conditions, so I returned to Jeremy Windfellow, promised to pay for repairs, and requested a lift back home.

He provided us with a helicopter lift home. Such a nice man! HE’LL BURN FOR THIS! God as my witness, I’ll take that SOB down if it’s the last thing I do!

Burying the Bad News With a Scapegoat

Realising I still needed to brace the world for some disappointments, upon returning to the factory I issued this press release:

Dear Earth’s inhabitants,

I regretfully must report that this year there are shortages to our Christmas production run. This is regretful and my own personal regret regrets this regretful development.

The reason for this is because of feminism and THE WOKE MOB.

It has nothing at all to do with my drunkenness or incompetence, neither of which have been in evidence over the last several months of production.

Yours,

Santa Claus

The ruse worked and a big sect of the world’s press jumped on that as further proof lefties are destroying society.

Santa had a good chortle about that and continued drinking heavily from various gin bottles, as that eased the rising panic about what the hell I was supposed to do come Christmas Day 2023.

In one final, desperate bid… I turned to AI chat bots to seek an answer.