Okay, here we are! It’s Christmas Day, you’re already drunk, the kids have smashed holes in your walls with their gifts, and your uncle Terry is flirting with a kitchen cupboard. And after Santa’s massive sprouts order last time out, now we’re in for this time out. Huzzah!
CHRISTMAS DAY (2025) LIFT OFF!!! 🚀
It started with a bang. Santa had Markus (my head elf) DETONATED 1,400lbs of Semtex underneath the Santa sleigh to jettison us up into the air and into the Earth’s orbit. Not done it that way before, normally we just take off like normal with a big long run up. But Santa was drunk on sherry and that wasn’t on the cards for 2025, I wanted to go UP, UP and away. Sadly, the plan instantly backfired as we did go UP but then our momentum stopped, the sleigh flipped over, and amid a load of bellowing and carnage we landed upside down on the icy tundra.
Santa was trapped under the sleigh. I bellowed mightily. I continued bellowing until I was stuck under there for an hour, bellowing away, trapped by tonnes of sprouts than landed a top of me. That several delayed the start of Project Christmas 2025.
Santa turned to my wife, Mrs. Claus 2.0, for moral support. Markus (my head elf) brought her over to me on a laptop, which he booted up while I lay there trapped on the snow and ice, my legs going numb from frostbite and hypothermia. Santa then ranted and raved at the woman/machine hybrid. I demanded to know what I should do. Mrs. Claus 2.0 asked for $50 to unlocked her “What to Do” feature. Santa demanded Markus pay the $50.
“Sir, you’ve done that quite a lot. How many paid unlockable features does one AI wife need to have?!”
“DON’T TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME, MARKUS!” I bellowed at the little bastard.
Markus dutifully backed down, paying the money, and then Mrs. Claus 2.0 delivered her sage advice.
“Darling dreamboat human husband. The solution is to detonate another 3,400lbs of Semtex beneath thy sleigh, thus freeing you of your shackles and emancipating a great future for those seeking present-based merriment on Christmas Day 2025.”
Despite the protestations of Markus (my head elf), Santa went ahead with this plan. There were reports this morning the second explosion was heard as far away as Barbados! While it did work in freeing Santa, it also scattered billions of tonnes worth of sprouts across the icy tundra of the North Pole, caused total bedlam, alerted the local authorities, and triggered an emergency response from the UN, FBI, IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency), and the World Health Organisation.
The Sprout Rescue Operation
An immediate, desperate rescue operation began to:
- Save as many sprouts as possible from an icy fate
- Get the sprouts back on my (largely demolished) sleigh
- Save Christmas Day 2025
It was already 2am by that point and we were massively behind schedule. Still drunk on sherry and verging on drunken blackout territory, Santa wasn’t overly concerned. But I did chase the elves around the icy tundra with a bazooka, bellowing and braying at them to get the sprouts and hurry the bloody hell up about it.
Kenneth the walrus gaffer got confused by my braying and thought it was some sort of mating ritual I’d begun. He attempted to make advances and my repeated bellowing at him that I’m married to Mrs. Claus 2.0 yielded few results. In the end, it turned out he didn’t think it was a mating ritual and, instead, believed I was challenging him to a duel.
Kenneth, giant bastard that he is, ended up flattening Santa in one mighty blow. He then sat his lardy arse on me and I was, once again, trapped out on icy tundra, unable to move, bellowing in rage.
Luckily, quite a few sprouts were laying around near me and were fried from the explosion. Santa munched on a fair few to keep my energy, and spirits, up as I envisioned my stakeholder rage six hours from now at yet another Christmas Day disaster. I could see them now, “Do we even need you anymore, Mr. Claus? You are very… last century…”
Bastards! SANTA WOULD PROVE THEM ALL WRONG!
Third Explosion and Take Off No. 2
To get Kenneth off me, Markus (my head elf) detonated 300lbs of Semtex underneath us. This launched Kenneth off of me and he, outraged, began attacking the elves (busy trying to collect all the sprouts). The elves then panicked and abandoned sprout collection.
Santa looked on at this madness with a red rage.
It was nearing 4am and I hadn’t even taken off yet, nevermind gotten half way around the world! There was nothing else for it! Santa lumbered toward the remains of the sleigh and commanded Markus (my head elf) prepare for take off.
“But sir, we only have 1% of the global need for presents!”
“I BLOODY WELL KNOW THAT, MARKUS!”
“Sir, it’s only enough to supply 96% of the residents in Bolton of Greater Manchester, nevermind the rest of the world!”
“THEN THE RESIDENTS OF BOLTON OF GREATER MANCHESTER ARE IN FOR A GREAT CHRISTMAS, MARKUS!” I bellowed down at the impudent little swine.
And that’s where Santa set sail for. Bolton of Greater Manchester. Bolton of Greater Manchester was going to get the best sprouts in the world! Bolton was going to have an amazing Christmas!! BOLTON OF GREATER MANCHESTER WAS GOING TO BE THE ENVY OF THE WORLD!!!
Stakeholder Meeting: 1pm on Christmas Day 2025
Santa has just emerged from an hour long video call meeting with my stakeholders. They are not happy. They wanted to know why Christmas Day did not happen. Specifically on the points:
- No presents were delivered
- Santa didn’t even leave the North Pole
I was very hungover. Their words didn’t make much sense to me. Santa was noticeably dribbling and muttering. I’d fouled my pants moments before the meeting and had vomit stains on my red tunic thing.
“Uh…” Is all I could manage much of the time, grunted at the stakeholders in defiance.
“Mr. Claus, ”Uh…‘ does not account for the predicated $175 billion losses your inability to begin, nevermind complete, Christmas Day 2025 will amount to. The board needs answers. This will have to be…”
“Shut up you… prick!” I barked.
The stakeholders didn’t look impressed with me. They muttered under their breaths and looked dispassionately at Santa, one of them even sneered a little. Santa belched exuberantly and picked my nose.
Oh yeah, the whole Bolton thing didn’t happen. I passed out at the sleigh.
After coming out of the meeting I don’t know what my fate shall be. Perhaps it is best Santa does not know… hopefully it’ll be a pat on the wrist and “don’t do that again” type deal. But 2025 has definitely been the worst Christmas run I’ve ever had. Not sure what happened, but it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with me.
So, don’t go sending me your PATHETIC letters of complaint or anything! You ungrateful bastards. Take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself: “Am I a world famous, genius, rich business owner?” No. No, you are not. I AM! Me. Father Christmas.
Now, excuse me, Santa needs to go and clean the caked in gunk out of me undies.
