With the holidays right around the corner, it’s time for all of us to reflect on all the most important things in life. The things that, were it not for them, we would not be the fine, upstanding citizens we are today. God, family, love, and helping others less fortunate than us, those in need, have nothing to do with it. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a liar or works for a greeting card company, which is a little like lying in itself. Obviously, presents are the most important aspect of any holiday, and one can measure their future success in life by the amount of shiny boxes under the Christmas tree (or the Chanukah tree, for those of us who are Jewish or Canadian).
Don’t count on your parents. Mom and dad can't help you, because by now, you’ve already used up all your Christmas credits. By now, they’re saving for their retirement. And don't even think about getting gifts from your friends, because they're all buying themselves presents in a desperate bid to escape hoboism. Only a single solution remains: the man in red. I speak not of Papa Smurf or Mao Ze Dung, But of Santavier Q. Clauzentide - AKA Santa Claus.
Woe to those who have turned their backs on Saint Nick, after all those years he creepily knew whether you were sleeping or awake; all those years he broke into your house, ate your cookies, and left you gifts that only a true stalker could have known you wanted. For shame! Santa is indeed very real, and I assure you, he's very jolly.
|Ho, ho... uh oh! You don't believe in me!?|
Santa is your only hope and I’ll bet you didn’t write him a letter this year, did you? Now the Merry One has no idea what to get you and you’ll probably wind up with a stupid tie that says “Better luck next year, you ho ho horrible excuse for humanity!” Also socks filled with beetles.
Ahh, beetles. So tiny, yet so venomous.
This is exactly what happened with the mall Santas. The real Santa is a busy man, with the millions of children he spies on all day while Mrs. Claus is sleeping or perhaps dead. After the first clone was made, Santa was told to go home and have a merry 264th day before Christmas; the other clones could be produced from the one they just made in factories called Santateriums. However, each clone made from the original clone was less and less stable, until the last batch of about 28,000 Santas were more reptilian than human, spewing more than just Christmas cheer when they opened their nefarious “mouths.”
All that these horrible Santa clones are good for is scaring America’s children in malls across the country. Come on, you’ve seen it. Whenever a child sits on the odious knee of a Santa clone, they know it and they scream.
Yet, these awful clones are the key to your present dilemma!
Violence is your only option. First, find a mall Santa. Any will do, but try to find one who looks particularly busy because he’ll be the most distracted. Now simply run up and steal his hat and beard. Because mall Santas are inferior genetic copies, their beards and hats aren’t a secure part of their bodies like the real Santa, making it easy for you take them. Now you’ve got to hit that Santa clone hard and fast, or he’ll use his special Santa telepathy to call other Santas and sometimes mall security.
Next comes the easy part. Wear the Santa parts you just pilfered. If stores at the mall think you’re Santa Claus, you can pretty much take anything you want. Who’s going to stop Saint Nick from making his annual Christmas rounds? Just remember to say things like “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” and seem obsessed with children. It might be a good idea to take a few with you while their parents aren’t looking to give yourself more credibility.
As you sit back in the squad car after your shopping spree, thinking “sirens are so romantic,” with your arms in a straight jacket like that ever enduring symbol of Christmas, Hannibal Lector, I want you to reflect on the true meaning of Christmas: It is better to receive than to give. God bless us, everyone!