After Santa’s recent empathy exorcism, he’s finally getting round to kickstarting Christmas production cycles. Judging from his report on all of this below, it’s not gone rather well.

Reports of many explosions, bellowing, and profanity have filtered through to us. Let’s hope Santa gets his act together—we really want that remote controlled Monster Truck snuggling under our Christmas tree this year.

💥Explosion Number 1💥

So many explosions… as the old saying goes, “When there’s been one too many explosions, you’re all exploded out.” And Santa got there last week because there were many explosions.

But it all had to start somewhere.

It began when Santa decided to lubricate all the factory machines with petrol to make them work faster. Because I’ve been drunkenly stockpiling TNT to fend off the communists (they’ll invade any day now, I’m telling you!), once the factory machines started catching fire my elves got nervous. Markus, my head elf, warned me that leaving piles of TNT so close to the fires was “not good”. I told the little git to mind his own business.

Besides, the warm, cosy glow from the burning contraptions was putting me into high Christmas spirits! What a time to be alive!

Perhaps Santa should have seen it coming, but at 10:12am the Barbie doll making machine had triggered the big TNT pile next to it and KABLAMMO. The explosion blew the nearest wall out and into the factory unit flooded the snowstorm from outside and that warm, cosy glow went far, far away. Replaced by bloody hypothermia, dagnabbit, so I hit the brandy harder than ever before and within an hour was on a very merry high. So much so Santa didn’t realise my right leg had frozen solid, leading me to stump around in awkward fashion.

Rudolph rocked up out of his mind on drugs again and thought this was hysterical. From his reindeer-based braying I could fathom he was mocking me. MOCKING SANTA! I bellowed at him that no one mocks Santa and we flew into a full-on fists vs antlers brawl.

💥Explosion Number 2💥

At some point during my bareknuckle brawl with Rudolph, one of his antlers ruptured a fuel tank and (because Santa and Rudolph were smoking cigars while battling), that led to explosion number two.

Markus, my head elf, was chasing after us trying to get us to stop. The second explosion ripped his elf hat off and sent it several hundred yards into the icy wilderness of the North Pole. As he scuttled off to retrieve the hat, Rudolph and Santa had a breather.

We lit up some more cigars and grunted at each other, as manly men do (even if he’s a reindeer, an alpha male one at that), and we reminisced about The Good Old Days.

Then factory unit 5 blew up.

💥Explosion Number 3💥

This was explosion number 3. So, that’s 1, 2, and then 3. Therefore, thus, and hence, when there’s this many explosions on-site, Santa’s health & safety policy demands a highfalutin investigation into the explosions, which are supposed to be a kept to a minimum of one a day.

Santa still doesn’t know what happened to cause explosion number 3, but Markus (my head elf) has appointed Inspector Kenneth the Walrus on the case. Kenneth is a mindless. optimistic (i.e. irritating), and idiotic walrus, so I’m not expecting great things from his report. We’ll see what he has to bray later.

In the meantime, the third explosion was pretty catastrophic. Factory unit 5 is totally gone! It was the factory where fireworks are kept, so I guess that didn’t help, plus I stockpile a mass of ethanol vapour stashed there for my extra secret Santa moonshine. Explosive stuff that it is, I tell you!

Anyway, that’s for the walrus to sort out. He’ll get to the bottom of things!

💥Explosions Number 4 to 40💥

Santa doesn’t admit error often, but watching 40 explosions in quick succession makes me think I may have made a slight miscalculation at some point. Not that I was gonna admit it! Santa just usually blames it on a random elf. In this case I decided to blame it on Horacio. He’s been working at the factory since 1897 and has overcome nuclear fallout, plague outbreaks, malnutrition… the works! So, he’s used to punishment and, so, I gave him a pay cut for HIS error.

BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR 40 EXPLOSIONS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!

I announced this loudly over the factory’s tannoy system to deflect blame away from me. I was very drunk when I did that, by the way, and this is what I bellowed out word for word:

“HORACIO IS A BASTARD AND IS DID THESE EXPLODE! EXPLODE HORACIO! PAY CUT FOR YOU, MY BOY! I DON’T CARE IF YOU’VE MR. BEAN HERE FOR OVER A CENTURY IF YOU’VE BLOW HUP… A FACTORY UNIT… THEN IT’S GAME OVER, BRO! YOU’RE GOING DOWN, MY FRIEND!”

Like a dutiful little obedient underling bastard, Horacio apologised for HIS error and accepted the pay cut. He’s already earning $-1 per month for me (yes, he pays me $12 a year for the privilege of working for Santa Claus) and I’ve just made that $-2 per month. This is how business works, people, that’s an extra $12 a year I’m pocketing now. Few people have access to this level of genius, that’s why only THE BEST rise to the top in business.

Anyway, those explosions were going off randomly in the area. Some were in the factory, others were outside, one was possibly a bout of excessive flatulence from myself (but I’m not letting Kenneth or the others find out about that one), and there’s a general burning inferno around the region of the Father Christmas factory here in the North Pole.

You know what? Despite severed limbs, dead elf bodies, and debris being everywhere, it does add a quaint Christmas charm to the place. I should do this more often! Although I’ll have to adjust the health & safety policy to upwards of two dozen explosions. That’ll keep Kenneth away from reporting duties.

Because the result of all this was having to deal with him and his BUREAUCRAZY! 

📝 Inspector Kenneth the Walrus’ Highfalutin Explosion Report 📝

Inspector Kenneth the walrus handed me his report at 7am on Saturday. Santa was draped over a stack of pop tarts in the canteen closet when he did this, hungover to all bastard and totally naked.

The report is:

• Covered in walrus slobber
• Full of holes because of Kenneth’s massive tusks
• Incomprehensible (as Kenneth can’t speak English, nor write in it)

I later angrily confronted Markus, my head elf, about this matter and why he’d been so idiotic to assign Kenneth the walrus this task.

“Sir, we need to keep him busy. If he gets bored he starts mating rituals with inanimate objects or goes on berserk rampages. Sometimes both. He’s caused $145,123 damage to company property over the last two months alone.”

“WHAT!?” I bellowed, “Why wasn’t I made aware of this!?”

“You were made aware of it, sir, you’ve just been very drunk.”

“Very well!” I snarled, as Markus was right. Santa has been very drunk. But it’s Christmas, you’re SUPPOSED to be wasted all the time. Anyway, hold onto your butts everyone, we’ll get those Barbie dolls to you even if it takes 1,000 explosions!