After the disaster of Santa hiring robot H.0 H.0 H.0 workers, Father Christmas has endured his worst Christmas Day in living memory (i.e. since last year).

Still, at least SOMETHING arrived last night. You’re no doubt enjoying a present or two on your day off. In some ways, that’s thanks to Santa!

Er, yeah… the rest of this post is pretty rambling and traumatic so brace yourself for this one. Better luck next year, everyone.

Santa Does Not Have Lift-Off

No toys. Nada. Not a single one! Even the PooStation 5s Santa mass produced are useless. The excrement has gone totally off and the computer game things don’t even play the video games! What is this sorcery!?

There was only one thing left for it! After one too many glasses of brandy I hatched my final, devious evil plan that made me laugh like a madman!

Santa’s plan was to shadow my business rival Jeremy Windfellow of Glorious Gift Land. As he went about delivering worldwide, I’d swoop in, beat the guy up, steal the presents, and then deliver the presents as God intended.

Foolproof!

Santa got Markus, my head elf, into the office to offload this plan onto him. He looked uncertain about it. I belaboured him for being such a wimp and bulldozed my way out of the office to get my plan of action into action!

Rolling the Sleigh Out

Drunk Santa went out back of the factory as the elves rolled out the sleigh. It’s a knackered out looking thing that’s gone pretty rusty and, really, it shouldn’t be going into orbit or anything like that.

But I didn’t have the budget to repair it (because that budget is for my annual $30 million bonus), because I didn’t have the budget because my budget doesn’t budget for budgets. It’s a sign of the times. Not my fault.

Anyway, as the sleigh rolled out I decided to clamber onto the thing. This is a list of everything that then went wrong:

• Santa got my foot stuck in the sleigh and it hurt a bit so I started bellowing about that for someone to get it out.
• Markus (my head elf) tried to get the foot out, but then his foot got stuck with my foot.
• Rudolph attempted to get the feet unstuck by jamming his hoof into the mix, but then his hoof got stuck with our feet.
• Kenneth became outraged at the sleigh and decided to perform a mating challenge on the contraption, demolishing it flat within 55 seconds.
• This freed out feet (and one hoof), but we then no longer had a sleigh (due to Kenneth demolishing it).

This was a problem. As the old Santa saying goes—no sleigh, no Christmas Day.

But at 11:33pm we all clambered on and set off! Our destination?! Tailgating Glorious Gift Land! It was time to swipe some pressies.

Not So Glorious Gift Land

The problem right away was Windfellow spotted us tailgating him and pulled over in Bolton of Greater Manchester to ask me what I thought I was doing. I flipped him the middle finger and told him to mind his own goddamn business.

Windfellow continued on his way, but we lurked behind about 20 feet off flying in an inconspicuous manner.

Then Kenneth started up a massive, braying din and the illusion of surprise was ruined. Windfellow pulled over again, but scarpered pretty quick as Kenneth reared up at him in a mighty mating challenge.

The Glorious Gift Land sleigh then came in to its first delivery for the night, at a knackered out property in Bolton. After landing on the roof, Windfellow’s lackey leapt out with a giant sack of presents. Santa swept in like a mad bastard, blasting my bazooka (not a euphemism) with wild abandon and cackling crazily. Rudolph and Nurse Doreen leapt from the sleigh as we crash landed into the roof and made a dash for the Windfellow employee.

They seized hold of the bag, but the employee refused to let go.

A tug of war began, while Windfellow shouted in surprise and demanded my employees stop “assaulting” his employees. I shouted over to Windfellow that accusing us of “assault” was slander and he’d be hearing from my lawyer. He responded by saying I’d been firing bazooka shells at him and INITIATED the assault, which caused me to turn red with rage!

“LIES!” I bellowed over at him.

Santa charged into the fray while bellowing, grabbed the sack of toys, yanked them onto the sleigh, and then me, Kenneth, Doreen, and Markus scarpered. Santa peered into the sack to make out the immaculately wrapped presents within.

Rearing up standing in my sleigh, Santa seized hold of one of the presents and headbutted it, crushing the goods within. Letting forth with a mighty bellow, Santa then put a genius and near miraculous plan into action.

Gifting the Masses Through Headbutts and Detonations 💥

Santa isn’t a religious man. I’m more into nihilism these days, to be honest, but hide such machinations behind a carefully crafted sense of malice.

But one story Santa does know is the story of the loaves and the fishes. That feeding the multitude tale, where loads of people got to enjoy fish and bread thanks to an entrepreneurial spirit.

And that’s what I did.

Using my headbutting skills, Santa began headbutting all the toys in the presents in the sack. SMACK! One after another, Santa headbutted them one. Markus, believing I was having some sort of seizure, emergency landed the sleigh in Queen’s Park just outside of Bolton city centre. There I informed the diminutive little git I hadn’t lost control of my senses. In fact, I had a quite brilliant plan!

While Windfellow was off delivering the rest of his presents, Santa would deliver ickle wickle bits and pieces from the Glorious Gift Land sack. They just needed to be small enough bits in order to provide for equal distribution between the eight billion folks of Earth. Jesus style.

That meant a few detonations were in order. 💥

While we were in Queen’s Park, Santa chucked the sack into a ditch and had Markus rig up a large mound of TNT explosives. It’s said the explosion was heard all the way over in Preston, such was the power!

It also did the trick, because millions of little bits and pieces of presents (mainly chunks of plastic, mud, grass, and intricate electrical wiring) rained down on us.

Once Nurse Doreen had gathered all of these into the big sack, we were ready for Christmas 2023! IT WAS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!

Global Feedback on Christmas 2023

The feedback on Christmas Day ain’t been so good. Seriously, I don’t get what’s wrong with these miserable bastards! We delivered billions of little pieces of smouldering rubble to the households of Earth in a panicked, maximum stress frenzy. Cripes, it was hard work! In one house Santa put a 1cm by 0.5mm piece of plastic that was still burning with TNT residue under a family in Skegness’ Christmas tree.

Whoosh! The tree went up on fire and Santa had to leg it out of there pretty quickly, I can tell you that! Just one of very many scrapes to deliver to these lazy people these magnificent gifts!

And for what?!

For headlines like this on the 25th December 2023:

• “Santa mocks the world with pieces of plastic”
• “Shocking Santa Sensation! FATHER CHRISTMAS DELIVERS SMOULDERING DEBRIS TO KIDS!”
• “Stock market plummets as Father Christmas truly screws up Christmas Day with mysterious plastic rubble covered in mud present dissemination strategy”
• “GLORIOUS GIFT LAND SAVES CHRISTMAS!”

Once back at the factory today, a drunken Santa had a scan through the piece in: Stock market plummets as Father Christmas truly screws up Christmas Day with mysterious plastic rubble covered in mud present dissemination strategy.

It reads:

“Residents of Earth awoke on Christmas Day to find all manner of disintegrating trash piled under their Christmas trees. The individual responsible, Father Christmas, was caught on CCTV detonating a colossal explosion in Queen’s Park of Bolton, Greater Manchester, and then proceeding to deliver the debris to citizens of Earth.

People were outraged this morning to find their Christmas wishlist was not met, with no PlayStation 5s or Barbie dolls delivered by Father Christmas. Instead, there were foul-smelling pieces of plastic, mud, shredded grass, general rubble, and the remains of earthworms.

Meanwhile, competitor Christmas delivery business Glorious Gift Land provided the Earth with fantastic, well-presented, and magnificent gifts. It led to many world leaders to indicate its CEO, Jeremy Windfellow, as the saviour of Christmas.

Father Christmas was contacted by a senior journalist for details on these developments, but she was told in no uncertain terms to, ‘Take a fucking hike, you pricks!’ Father Christmas then asked her out on a date. She declined.”

Santa has no memory of any of speaking to the dame, such is the power of gin.

Santa’s Conclusions on a Christmas Disaster

I had a good long, hard, violent think about all of this today. It’s helped clear my mind and focus on the reasons for such tumult.

Over the last year I’ve had:

• My wife (Mrs. Santa Claus) leave me due to my demented behaviour.
• Jeremy Windfellow say I should visit a psychiatrist.
• Markus, my head elf, suggest I should tone it down a little.
• Resist various mating challenges from Kenneth the walrus.
• Engage in full-blown warfare with a bunch of big hairy builders.
• Fuck up, in incomprehensible fashion, the entirety of Christmas.

It’s clear to me the problems here are feminism and THE WOKE MOB. They’re the reason we can’t have any fun anymore. And why there’s no freedom of speech! I’ve been cancelled. That’s what’s happened here! Mrs. Santa Claus… CANCELLED CHRISTMAS!

I’ll get revenge for all of this…

Mark my words.

I’m not going nowhere! Santa will be back in 2024! With a new wife! A total babe, too, like former tennis superstar Martina Hingis. I’ll marry her. She can do the dishes in the workplace canteen!

And now, as I slug from a bottle of whiskey to contemplate the failures of leftists, I crane my neck to the left and sigh a little. Santa is almost moved to tears. I write a brief poem on the vomit-stained notebook on my desk:

When I marry Sigourney Weaver,

I’ll also get myself a fever,

Like in that film Saturday Night Fever.

Riddled with gout, scurvy, and a bit of a drunken hangover, Santa then stuck on The Bee Gees and started to strut my funky stuff.

Santa must say, that woman lead singer with her high-pitched vocals is most attractive. Perhaps I should marry her as my wife!

Santa then sneezed.

Jamming the tannoy system button I bellowed into the intercom system about my latest sneeze. It’s 6pm. Markus, my head elf, is comatose due to fatigue. Nurse Doreen is drunk on Dandelion and Burdock.

Rudolph and Kenneth are dancing along to The Bee Gees.

Santa struts his funky stuff, until I get another bloody hernia and have to sit the bloody hell down again bloody hell.

I’ll be back. 2024… with Barry Gibb by my side, Jeremy Windfellow won’t stand a chance!!