Okay, after the whole Santa bunch of flowers incident last week, this week a film crew from the BBCBBBCBBC has asked to make a documentary about the bearded man himself. As you can well imagine, this all turned out swimmingly and with zero negative incidents.

The Santa Documentary: I’M GONNA BE A BLOODY FILM STAR

Hello, Santa here. BIG NEWS! BIG, BIG NEWS!!! The BBCBBBCBBC contacted Santa, yours truly, and they want to make a documentary film about me, about my life, and about the whole Christmas thing and all that. NATURALLY I AGREED. It’s about bastarding well time I got some bloody recognition for all I do for the world and this…

And this…

Sorry, Santa teared up a bit there. Got a bit weepy eyed. I do have a severe bout of jaundice right now, though, so that may be it. That’s because I drank nothing but maximum strength alcohol-based mouthwash for 7 days straight. I’m as yellow as one of The Simpsons!

Anyway, after I agreed to the documentary the film crew flew out to begin recording life in the Santa factory of joy and merriment. They flew in via helicopter from an unknown European destination (Swedenlandmark or something).

Now, if you’ve followed my columns over the years you may well know there’s something of a tradition for air-based crafts and arriving at the Santa factory. Namely that 90% of them crash land into the region. Santa AIMS to uphold that track record, thus the BBCBBBCBBC crew arrived in a hellish fireball after a well-aimed bazooka round, slammed into factory unit 2, rebounded off factory unit 3, and then landed in the elves’ cesspit out back of factory unit 1. The 20-strong crew was reduced to 12 in an instant.

Crucially, the intended narrator was maimed by an errant Barbie doll from factory unit 1.

Without a narrator, the director (a vile SOB man called Simon Glucoseveins) was at a loss with how to continue the production. In a drunken stupor from all the mouthwash, I demanded that Kenneth the walrus gaffer of this fine establishment take charge of all narration duties. Here he is, from previous entries in bygone years.

Kenneth has an enormously wide range of human vocabulary and can produce alarming noises such as:

• GUZZZAaaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHnh
• GLOOOOOOOORRRRRRRAOORGHh
• UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
• uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuU
• WOAOOAOAOAOAOAOAOAOAOOORghh

Santa believes this to be EXACTLY the type of narration the Santa Documentary needs, which Glucoseveins the director (his legs shattered following the helicopter accident) was happy to agree to. Well… he didn’t agree to it, but I had Kenneth sit on him until he did agree.

Filming Commences: Documentation of the Santa Factory in Action

With many of the surviving film crew severely injured from the helicopter crash, filming began on Wednesday but was a slow and often scream-based anguished yelling type of experience. The cinematographer, a man called Gerald, had lost a leg and was hollering at the top of his lungs and doing absolutely no cinematography in the slightest. Even after Kenneth sat on him for a good half an hour, the man wouldn’t let up.

Finally, Glucoseveins the director snapped and demanded to see a doctor.

Santa personally had Nurse Doreen sent directly down to them. She arrived to Gerald while clutching a syringe filled with Calpol in one hand, while the other hand clutched at a cauldron of Calpol and gruel. A note on Santa’s recent Calpol on toast diet, but Nurse Doreen has taken a real shine to the stuff. This is what she said as she spoon-fed Gerald the cinematographer from the Cauldron while injecting him in the groin with the syringe, “‘old still, love, this stuff’ll ‘ave yer right as bleedin’ rain!”

Later that day, Gerald developed gangrene and also overdosed on Calpol. Nurse Doreen placed him into a medically induced coma.

Meanwhile, we had the director Glucoseveins’ shattered legs placed in splints. He then had his assistant, this 19 year old called Constanze, wheel him about while filming from a wheelchair. Santa soon found this documentary style to be HIGHLY invasive and HIGHLY annoying, especially after I started necking gin from the bottle from about 10am. Getting more and more belligerent, with Glucoseveins following me around everywhere I became moody and sullen. That was interspersed with random bellowing of swear words (bastard etc.).

Meanwhile, the moody apprentice Constanze refuses to even acknowledge me… Santa can’t even. Kids these days! All the good I’ve done for the world and they can’t even show some bloody respect for my genius. The billions one has amassed. My collection of bulldozers and helicopters etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. 

Later that day, while drunk on gin, I slipped and fell into the elves’ cesspit. Glucoseveins the director is a very method type of documentarian and ended up getting into the cesspit with me. We cracked a few beers open and had a good laugh, but after a few hours I clambered out. Glucoseveins couldn’t because of his shattered legs. Last I heard of him he’s still in there, his apprentice Constanze refusing to help. Lol.

MOVING MY STUFF!!!

Very hungover on Friday morning, Santa got VERY pissed off that the BBCBBBCBBC had been moving all of my stuff around. For example, the producer (a woman called Lucy) insisted that factory unit 1 be moved to where factory unit 2 is, therefore meaning they’ve swapped places! I bellowed at her that was a complete waste of time and that factory unit 1, historically, has been the Barbie doll creation zone for the last 60 years and that I, not on my bloody watch, will not have ANY factory units removed! Lucy ignored my demands and the film crew, with HELP FROM KENNETH OF ALL WALRUSES, began trying to do it! Santa was at a loss, the bastards, so to take back control of the situation out came the bazookas and Lucy was sent packing back home on a bus to England.

Oh yes, there’s a new bus service just outside the factory the local council had installed in September. It arrives once per week, at precisely 11am on Friday, and it takes four hours to reach the nearest town. The bus has no central heating. I HOPE LUCY SUFFERED!

Meanwhile, Santa also caught Constanze STEALING one of my gin bottles!!! I tried chasing her to get it back but:

1. She’s 19 and a lot faster than me and that’s totally unfair
2. My gout is playing up like a sack of potatoes on fire
3. Santa has loads more gin bottles anyway in my stash

Constanze got away and I could later her hear listening to Justin Bieber’s latest album on her phone, while singing along and necking gin. Santa CURSED THE DAY these YOUTHS dared to be born.

Santa sat in my office and sulked. I drank Lambrini from the bottle. After several of those, and drunk, Santa staggered out to where Constanze was hangin’ and we started hollering along to the Justin Bieber album. I don’t know the words but I was in the groove and my bellowing vocal range was on fine form.

Suitably impressed with Constanze, I offered her a job at the Santa factory. That of assistant to Nurse Doreen. Constanze accepted and begins immediately on a wage of $13.1k per annum.

Oh yeah, and the director Glucoseveins ceased to existed after developing rabies from an attack by Rudolph. Ships and squiggles.