Published on December 16th, 2012 | by The Alchemist36
The Real Santa
‘THE REAL SANTA”
Deck the halls with boughs of holly Fa la la la la, etcetera…
I slowly climb out of the chimney.
These people are crazy.
How do you believe in Santa and not make sure your chimney is clean? What the heck? Why Evils?
I mean, you know I can’t use the front door. It would be a lot more comfortable but I have to fulfill legend and all that stupid shit. And I’m only allowed into houses that believe in me so I know they were expecting me.
But clean the damn chimney so the nice pot bellied man bearing gifts can slide in and out without getting his red, Givenchy suit dirty? Nooooo….
At least this child didn’t wish for some outrageous shit.
All he wanted was Dr. Dre’s unreleased Detox album, unwrapped and in mint condition. “Unwrapped”… Awesome kid…I didn’t even have to waste wrapping paper. I simply had to go into the future and get it for him. Nobody suspected when I strolled into the music store in full regalia in June, 2016 to ask for Dre’s new album. It’s New York. People do crazy shit.
Forgive my French, I just had a stopover in Toulouse and trust me, there was a lot of French speaking there. The French kid’s wish was simply that his parents would get back together.
Yes, it’s all very cute. Until you have to convince a woman who caught her husband in the basement with two of her maids doing the Romanian helicopter that he is the right man for her. The task took me two days by your earthly time. Jolly good times…
‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, etcetera…
I climb through another chimney in a completely different time zone on Christmas Eve, wearing a red suit and I touch ground wearing black soot. To think I’m only halfway done. I really am getting too old for this shit. I should get Cee Lo Green to be my representative to the children in Africa.
I glance around for my peace offering and see a note on the dinner table.
“The only cookies we have here are in my browser, Fatso”
Oh yeah? I am not in the mood. I want my cookies. I will hurt someone tonight.
Just for the fun of it, I hack into the computer system and find what you would find in the average man’s browser history.
And within arms reach? Lotion…
Now this is my idea of a Merry Christmas.
When I’m done, I look around for a napkin and find what would be fate’s idea of a sense of humor. A Christmas stocking…
This went better than I planned.
I pull the mountain bike out of my sack…hehehe…that would be the second gift to him from my sack this night. I should charge double. It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t leave a gift each for both husband and wife. It would also be terrible if I did not leave a little note for the wise-cracking unbeliever.
“Your wife asked for something she could ride. I would have given her a dildo, but she already has a huge dick for a husband. Merry Christmas.”
Sliding down the first clean chimney of the night and I’m thinking this may not be so bad after all. Then I check my list and discover that the teenager whose house I’m in wished for a renowned gay character from some movie series to fall in love with her.
White people are crazy…
I grant wishes, I don’t make miracles.
I pull out a life size model of Robert Pattinson that yells “I love you!” when punched in the crotch and stuff it by the fireplace. I hope it burns.
Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la, Edward tha, Vam-pi-re…
As I round up for the night I get to an orphanage and I expect my list to go crazy with all the demands from the kids. I pull out the piece of paper and I find only one wish. And it’s not even from a kid. It’s from the owner of the orphanage and her wish is simple.
“Please help me grant all their wishes”
I’m beyond touched. So I pull out another piece of paper from my bag and place it on her nightstand and walk away like a boss. If only I could stay behind to watch her facial expression when she sees the cheque for 10 million dollars, that would make my Christmas.
Then I think to myself, “Bitch I’m Santa. Why can’t I?” So plant a camera beside her mirror before I leave. That should be one gift that will keep on giving… hehehehe.
Troll the ancient Yuletide carol, fa la la la la, just went too far…
I scoot over to the Burj Al Arab and place a picture I had made last night of a kid and his late mother under the sleeping kid’s pillow. As I return to my sleigh, I overhear my least favorite couple, Chris and Rihanna in bed. Rihanna is reading tweets out to Chris and she suddenly goes “I just wish these people would leave us alone”
No Rihanna. Sorry. Can’t grant that wish. You’ve been naughty.
And you’re not even apologetic about it.
Anyway, I have to hurry. Mrs. Claus just sent me a sexy picture…
…of my dinner.
What did you think? You thought it was something else? Stop it. Nobody wants to see Mrs. Claus in something else.
I park my sleigh on London Bridge and pull the handbrake, I need to pee. After taking a leak in the river, I lean over the rail and wait to grant my final wish for the night. He comes along sulking. Then I strike up a conversation with him.
“What’s wrong kid?” I ask.
“My dad just said Santa isn’t real” he replies without looking up.
“I’m real son. Very real” I answer.
His face lights up brighter than a suicide bombers’ last moment. It’s exhilarating seeing him go from sad to elated like that. I pull out a picture of me and him from my sack and autograph it.
“Have a very Merry Christmas….
…From the real Santa”
T’is the season to be jolly!
To the Next writer, I give a pair of old pyjamas.
Have a very Merry Christmas, Faggots. hehehe