After the Santa deodorant spraying extravaganza last week, this time around Father Christmas has decided to try and replace his previous wife (who divorced him) with another entity. Let’s see how that goes.

Father Christmas JOINS a Dating App

SANTA NEEDS LOVE. So I joined a dating app. I had a good long look around for the best dating apps and eventually, at the suggestions of Professional Moron (who blackmail me into writing these columns each year) suggested the pirate-based dating app Yarr! to tout their partnership further.

Well I tried to get into that one but ended up getting VERY DRUNK AND FRUSTRATED. Santa is not looking to date pirates! They were MEAN and kept wanting to see my cutlass what is the world coming to?!

So Santa left that app and found one by myself. I joined it. This one is called CanIGetUrNumberSweetheart and it seems appropriate to Santa because, yes, I will be asking many members of the opposite sex for their phone numbers to impress them with my talking abilities. Santa spent 12 straight hours on that app. 12! After 30 minutes I started drinking gin from the bottle because it was so goddamn depressing. Even after Santa put this on my dating profile:

BABES

I AM SANTA CLAUS. I AM RICH, SUCCESSFUL, CHARMING, GROTESQUELY OVERWEIGHT, UNKEMPT, HAVE SEVERE GOUT, AND MY BEARD IS COVERED IN ALL SORTS OF MUCK. I AM YOUR DREAM COME TRUE. JOIN ME IN THE NORTH POLE FOR BELLOWING AND ROMANCE.

OI OI!

Santa Calus

I realised afterward I spelled my surname wrong and couldn’t figure out how to change it back. That’s probably why babes weren’t responding much to my rambling and incoherent messages. Santa sent 113 messages and got ONE response from someone in Bolton of Greater Manchester who thought I was LYING about being Father Christmas because Father Christmas AND I QUOTE:

“isnt real you muppet”

Santa was so enraged I called the user a “bastard son of a bastard git” in the chat bit and then the user reported me for being abusive and I got banned. Santa, drunk and enraged, rang the customer service line for CanIGetUrNumberSweetheart and bellowed abuse down the phoneline. The woman there told me I’d be banned permanently if I “kept this up”. I asked for her number. I got banned permanently.

Santa bellowed some more until my throat was hoarse!

Conversation With Markus About Relationships (That Goes Wrong)

Dames are STUPID anyway Santa doesn’t need those things. Santa fumed alone about it in my office, repaired after recent issues with demolition and the like, and demanded Markus (my head elf) into the office. Markus stood there awkwardly while I stared at him in silence for 10 minutes. Then I made him jump when I blurt-bellowed out this.

“HOW DO YOU DO IT, MARKUS!?”

“Erm… do what, sir?”

“THE WOMAN!”

Markus, I discovered recently, has been married for a long time to Markusina. I’ve never seen this broad ever and only found out about it last month. Santa is getting desperate when I rely on that useless elf git for advice, but after my CanIGetUrNumberSweetheart experiences I was on a low.

“MARKUS!”

“Er… sir?”

“MARRIAGE! MARKUSINA! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?”

“Oh…” He began in that STUPID squeaky voice of his, “Well, we met in 1875 and married accordingly, sir.”

“That is a STUPID story, Markus.”

“Erm… thank you, sir!”

“IT WAS NOT A COMPLIMENT, YOU SQUEAKING ELF BASTARD!”

“I guess not, sir…”

“What about Kenneth the walrus gaffer, is he married?”

“I don’t know, sir, he can’t speak English.”

“True! And Rudolph the reindeer?”

“He’s a heroin addict, sir.”

“But cannot heroin addicts have wives, Markus, you ignorant elf bastard?”

“Erm… perhaps?”

“PERHAPS WHAT?!?”

“Er… yes?”

“YES IS CORRECT, MARKUS!”

This conversation continued on it that vein for a long time until Santa, quite drunk, got sick of it and hurled an empty bottle of gin at Markus’ head. It whacked him one, knocked him out cold, and that meant yet another trip down to see Nurse Doreen. MUGGINS HERE was the one who had to do all the bloody dirty work.

Nurse Doreen’s Marriage Advice and Instant Noodles

Nurse Doreen LAUGHED in Santa’s face about CanIGetUrNumberSweetheart. While Markus was hooked up to a drip of instant noodle juice, she laughed and laughed. Santa told her it wasn’t funny. She said it “was” funny. Santa threatened to give her a pay cut but her steely gaze of mayhem made me back out of that one.

She took that, battle axe that she is, as the perfect time to lecture me about her marriage.

“Santa doesn’t care about your marriage, woman!”

She told me anyway. She ranted for 30 minutes. Santa hit the Drambuie to take the edge of that boredom and, drunk, she eventually convinced me (and Santa can’t believe this) to join this thing called “Tinder” and create a new online dating profile. Nurse Doreen and Kenneth the walrus helped write it for me because I was too drunk. This was the result what do you think? Here’s the first line.

“BROOOOAAGHHGHHHHHHHHHHHhhh!!!”

Kenneth added that bit because it’s the walrus mating wail that his species do whenever they’re out to challenge other male walruses for a mate. Then:

“ME SANTA. ME LIKE: DRINK. CAPITALISM. WEALTH. STATUS. GOUT.”

Santa objected to that line because I DO NOT like gout at all, it’s just an inevitable consequence of suffering for my brilliance. Nevertheless, I was too drunk to correct it so in the profile it stayed. The rest went like this:

“ME GOT NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER…”

Again, that is a lie but it was there on my profile as DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER:

“ME ALSO VOMIT EVERYWHERE OFTEN. LOL”

That was it. That was Santa’s dating profile! Nurse Doreen later told me WOMEN were reporting it to Tinder customer service and I was removed from the platform at 9:31pm on 23rd October 2025.

During the whole escapade, I had zero matches.

Bastard this for a laugh! Santa is getting an AI girlfriend.