Last time out Santa had a court order over a tonne of Christmas cards. This time around and he’s realised he’s not paid attention to the Xmas deadline (a mere five days away). Panic stations? You better you bet!
Santa’s Christmas Panic Stations
Santa has realised I’ve hit 0.1% of 2025’s Christmas quote. There are going to be a lot of disappointed people this year. You’re not getting that Nintendo Itchy Poo or the GreyStation Jive or whatever they are, you spoiled brats, or that bath lotion. Or the dressing gown made of luxurious bird feathers or whatever. None of it is turning up.
Naturally, communism and immigrants are to blame for those developments.
Not my fault at all. Just communism and immigrants and the woke mob. Once I realised Santa wasn’t to blame I breathed a big old sigh of relief, belched exuberantly, and proceeded to get extremely drunk on sherry, Drambuie, Pernod, and mince pies. Markus (my head elf) caught up with me later that night when Santa was stark bollock naked and sprinting around the factory screaming the Black Lace song Aga Do at the top of my lungs. Happy days!
The Problematic Sprouts Order
The next morning Santa realised I’d drunkenly ordered a mass of sprouts. This was me trying to make up for the 99%+ quota I’d missed out on and satisfy stakeholder demands of delivering on my Christmas business promises. I’d written myself a drunk note at 11pm for me to read the following day.
HUNGOVER SANTA (ME)
YOU SOB! YOU BASTARD! YOU HAVE NOT FAILED CHRISTMAS BECAUSE I ARE ORDEReD 400 BILLION TONNES OF SPROUTS (SPROOOOOUUUUTSSSS!!!) FOR CHRISTMAS YES I HAS SOLVED ALL.
LOVE FROM FATHER CHRISTMAS
XOXOXOXOX
It was a really lovely message and I thank drunk me for making that order of sprouts. Therefore, it’s SPROUTS for Christmas for everyone. You’ll have a lot of sprouts under your Christmas trees and in your Christmas stockings and the really great thing is to cut further corners I can just pour a load of them down your chimney and leave you to sift through them and wash them etc.
Santa was a bit concerned 400 billion tonnes was a bit too much. I got Markus (my head elf) into my office quarters to discuss the matter. Sipping from a glass of Drambuie, my head pounding like a SOB.
“Markus… is 400 billion sprouts too many?”
“Yes it is, sir.”
Santa eyeballed the bastard haughtily. HONESTY WAS NOT WHAT SANTA WAS LOOKING FOR HERE. I continued the evil glare at him until he got the message.
“Erm… I mean, no sir. 500 billion would have been more appropriate!” He squeaked.
Belching exuberantly, Santa had the elves rebrand the sprouts as luxury Artisanal Heirloom Micro-Sprouts. I appointed Nurse Doreen, our head chef, the Chief Sprouts Officer (CSP) while we waited for the sprouts to turn up (via helicopter), and I booted Mrs. Claus 2.0 (my new AI wife) and we flirted outrageously for 35 minutes (much to the awkward embarrassment of Markus and Nurse Doreen).
They both agreed that the smell of rotting cabbage is the “smell of success” and that this Christmas would 100% definitely be the very best Christmas since time began.
Santa agreed heartily. There was nothing else for it but to sit back, relax, drink heavily, and await the arrival of the sprouts.
The Arrival of 400 Billion Tonnes of Sprouts
400 billion tonnes of sprouts is a lot of sprouts. Maybe Santa overestimated that lot a tad. They started arriving in massive crates from around midday by helicopter. It’s customary at the Santa factory to have many crash landings via bazooka, but we really, really need every single one of those bastards. And so I warned everyone to leave them alone!
Rudolph and his reindeer Dom, Pérignon, Cava, Prosecco, Bubbly, and Sparkles were all out of it on heroin so didn’t heed my warning. The first 13 helicopters were gunned down in a hellish fireball blaze.
There was much bellowing from Santa for them to stop. Confused, they took themselves off to play the pinball machines in the local town 200 miles away.
With that out of the way, the helicopters came in thick and fast for 24 hours. Thousands of them. Then cargo ships started turning up with endless crates of sprouts. The helicopters weren’t enough, so it had to be the cargo ships to. Then carrier pigeons started arriving with one or two sprouts, apparently used to try and copy with the sheer volume of sprouts I’d ordered. Dog sled teams then began arriving from 2pm, with thousands of them offloading big bags of sprouts at the front gates of the factory. On and on it went, Santa drunk and bellowing at the elves, with more and more of the green bastards piling up until the entire factory was smothered in the bastarding things!
As I type out this EXCLUSIVE column I’m blackmailed annually to do, the sprouts are still arriving.
Nurse Doreen is happy because this solves her dinner plans for us all tonight. The menu is:
- Sprouts (raw)
- Boiled sprouts
- Fried sprouts
- Baked sprouted
- Sprouts with instant noodle juice
Santa isn’t going for any of that bollocks, I’ll just drink my way through this one. With Christmas a mere few says away this is official panic stations! It happens every year. Santa does learn, but the communists and immigrants ensure it all goes wrong for me. Bastards!
Your Christmas Lists to Santa Have Been UPGRADED
The good news!? All those snotty nosed little brats who sent me Christmas lists this year have been UPGRADED. All those gaming computer game console things, Barbie dolls etc. All UPGRADED.
To sprouts.
This may prove disappointing for some people, Santa is aware, but what’s important to remember here is we’ve all almost been crushed to death at the Santa factory to get these stupid things to you. And on Christmas Day, muggins here will have been all over the world delivering them to you. You’re welcome (in advance).
Rest assured, it’ll go better next year.
That’s because we’ll probably have loads of sprouts leftover and can reuse them all, rotten and stinking as they will be, for Christmas 2026 and THAT is good return on investment (ROI). Santa… the business genius.
