Last time out a documentary film crew followed Santa, most of whom did not survive the experience. In a drunken haze, Father Christmas seems to be over the ordeal and eager to push on with a tinned tuna concept. Business. Genius.

Robbed!!! And the Tinned Tuna Plan

Santa hired a 19 year old called Constanza last week. She promptly ROBBED me by taking off with three bottles of gin. My head elf, Markus, did a 24 hour investigation and determined that she HADN’T robbed them at all and, in fact, Santa had just drunk the bottles and imagined the theft in a fevered hallucination.

Still, I’m not having any of this crap! She was sacked and I had a helicopter come in and ship her back home.

With that bollocks out of the way, Santa put in a plan of action to ensure I was never robber again (and to make Christmas 2025 all the better for everyone): tinned tuna.

This came about because, during my gin fuelled drunken episode, Santa was drunkenly touring around his (my) factory. Normally I hang out in factory unit 1 and play with the Barbie dolls there, pretending to have fun tea parties and the like. But this time was different. The youthful hedonism of that Constanza woman made me channel my inner teenager and go maverick. I went off into factory unit four and had a nosy around. Before long I’d discovered a long-forgotten passageway wending its way into the basement, inside which was a large underground warehouse packed to the bastarding rafters with TINNED TUNA. At least a million tins of the stuff. I checked the sell by date and they expired in November 1975, but Santa ain’t letting all this lot going to waste! No sir! Some good produce here not going to waste, no way!

I had Markus count up the full total and it’s 10 MILLION tins of tuna!

Wow!

Markus (my head elf, remember) checked the Christmas 1975 itinerary and I’d had all the tuna flown in especially for that year, put it into the basement, and promptly forgot all about it. Bugger. Still, I forked out a lot for it all so despite the sell by date having ended in 1980 I fail to see any reason why you shouldn’t all be getting lots of tuna in a can for Christmas 2025.

Taste Testing the Tinned Tuna

To celebrate, Santa got a box of the tins and distributed them out amongst my elf workers. There was an ulterior motive here, it wasn’t JUST a gesture of goodwill! No sir! Santa wanted to see if they’d eat the stuff and survive. One elf, Jeff, I gave him three tins. The stupid little bastard did a little jig of joy and was thanking me for my generosity.

“SHUT THE HELL UP AND EAT THE TUNA!” I bellowed at Jeff.

After half an hour he’d prised one of the tins open with his bare hands, knuckles red raw with effort (we don’t keep tin openers at the Santa factory, it’s a health & safety policy). Jeff the elf slurped up the “tuna juice” then munched on the tuna. He didn’t die on the spot, so I considered it all a rousing success.

Sure, the elves all pretty much pulverised their hands hacking into the tins. Strange sight. To watch 100 elves punching tinned tuna tins over and over, raging in fury at the difficulty, smacking the tins over each other’s heads, then slurping at tuna juice and munching on the tuna meat through slits in the tinned tops, slicing up their faces in the process… well, it really put Santa into the Christmas spirit!

To celebrate, Santa had a pint of gin in a half pint glass.

100 Ill Elves

The next day, Markus (my head elf) reported to me in the morning. Santa was very hungover (one too many pints of gin in half pint glasses), draped stark bollock naked over a pile of Daily Mail papers, and grumbling. Markus informed me all the elves who’d consumed the tinned tuna from 1975 had come down ill.

Santa, in my infinite wisdom, refused to accept any sort of correlation between the elves eating the tuna and getting ill.

“IT MUST BE ANOTHER RABIES OUTBREAK!” I bellowed at Markus.

“Sir, Nurse Doreen has confirmed it is because of the t…”

“NURSE DOREEN IS A CHEF!!!” I bellowed at Markus.

The ill elves were too ill to work. Luckily, Santa invested $100 million in AI automation prior to the Christmas 2025 run, thusly meaning sick employees could never hold up productivity EVER AGAIN. However, the elves need to turn the AI stuff on and off… because the elves now all have rabies, they’re unfit to turn the machines on and off. Santa commanded Kenneth the walrus gaffer to take over duties for them. Kenneth the walrus gaffer is too big and cumbersome a bastard to manage any of that. I then commanded Markus, my head elf, to turn the AI on and off again. However, he lacks the sufficient manager training to be able to do this!

My bellowing of frustration could be hard outside the factory walls.

To relieve the stress, Santa began helping myself to the tinned tuna in the vast stash under factory unit four. To open the tins, Santa placed them on the floor and sat on them with my enormous arse. That was enough to split the bastards open, after which I lay on the floor and slurped up all the tuna juice and meat goodness. Perhaps not Santa’s most glamorous moment, but 30 tins of tuna in and I was feeling much less stressful! Oh yes, I was also drinking Drambuie straight from the bottle.

Santa is Ill With Rabies

All that tuna gave Santa rabies. I’ve never had that before, but all the signs were there:

• Feeling sick
• Being sick
• Stuff coming out of my backside
• Stomach cramps
• Fatigue
• High temperature

The only common rabies thing lacking was good old frothing at the mouth… to make up for this, Santa had a nice big old bubble bath and got all the bubbly froth on my big Santa beard and that completed the rabies package. Plus, this was my first bath of 2025! Santa felt all the better for it, too, were it not for all the rabies stuff. My continuous barfing soon rendered the bathing exercise pointless. Sitting in my own filth, I had Markus (my head elf) come in and spoon-feed me tuna meat from tins of tuna.

Santa, business genius that I am, noted Markus was USING A TIN OPENER TO SUCCESSFULLY OPEN THE TINS OF TUNA!!!

Santa gave Markus the evils.

I stared that elf bastard down!!!

Then Santa began bellowing at Markus about the NO TIN OPENERS health & safety policy as operated by Santa Claus’ business empire. But the tuna was tasty and the Drambuie free flowing. Belching exuberantly, Santa lay back in the filth of the bath and let the rabies consume my being. It was a most relaxing evening!

Nurse Doreen later told me it’s food poisoning. To punish her, I gave Markus a $1 pay cut.