Category: My stories

Santa doesn’t live at the North Pole.
Oh, he claims that his primary residence is at the North Pole.
And his business is registered there.
You know, for tax purposes.
Just like the first President Bush claimed to live in Texas, even though he spent most of his time in Maine.
No, Santa doesn’t make any money.
At least, that’s what his accountant says.
And when the elves tried to unionize and demand better health benefits, he automated the workshop and threw them all out on the street.
Well, ice. There are no streets at the North Pole.
Just ice.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wasn’t the only reindeer with an unusual nose.
Glen the Green-Nosed Reindeer had a nose that glowed blue.
And Bert the Brown-Nosed Reindeer was always sticking his nose up the other reindeer’s asses, asking if he could do favors for them.
Shub-Yggrath wasn’t a reindeer. He was one of The Old Ones, having fallen from space into the Arctic ice.
He didn’t have a nose. He was a mass of tentacles, fangs, and eyes.
He howled and breathed fire.
Rudolph and the other reindeer flew away from the burning carnage that used to be Santa’s Workshop.

The Smiths next door had a carbon monoxide leak.
Instead of waking up to Christmas and presents, they all died in their sleep.
The Fire Department took the kids’ presents down to the poor kids in the hospital.
But they didn’t know that little Bobby Smith liked to switch the cards and name tags around.
Instead of dolls and sweaters and a new computer, the kids got the lingerie, strap-on-dildos, and other nasty shit that Mr. and Mrs. Smith got for each other.
The nurses and orderlies quickly resolved that problem.
And had a special Christmas party of their own.

To prove how easy it is to get an assault rifle, reporters have been going to gun shops and purchasing AR-15s and ammunition.
The problem is, what do the reporters do with these rifles after they buy them?
Some turn them back in to the gun store for a refund. For others to buy.
Some turn them in to the police, who auction them off.
Some leave the gun in their closet. No child safety lock or gun safe.
So, their kids might come across the gun and… shoot themselves? Shoot others?
More proof how dangerous guns are, of course!

Santa’s been around for centuries, but his annual flight around the world is so exhausting, the reindeer only last for one trip.
Most of them die soon after they land back at the North Pole Workshop. Those that survive aren’t in any shape to fly again.
So, Santa and the elves celebrate their success with a venison feast.
The next day, they look through the breeding program to determine the best candidates for sleigh duty, and they train them.
Eight reindeer make the cut, and after a few dry runs, Santa’s ready.
He cracks his whip, and they are off!

Why does Santa fly around the world in a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer?
Well, try to imagine Santa using commercial flights.
It would be really expensive to fly around the world that way.
Also, he’s horribly fat, so he’d have to buy two tickets instead of one.
And he’d have to pry off his boots at every airport, and take off his giant metal belt buckle.
God forbid someone would try to strip-search the old bastard.
Or run that sack full of toys through the x-ray machine.
If he checked it, the TSA would steal every single goddamned toy.

One day, the words THE MESSIAH IS COMING appeared in the sky above Mercer, Pennsylvania.
At first, people thought it was some kind of prank, but when the letters didn’t dissipate like skywriting usually does, everyone freaked out.
A lot.
Helicopters and planes went up to investigate. And they didn’t come back down.
Churches filled up.
News crews arrived.
All kinds of mass hysteria.
A curfew was declared.
The next morning, the words weren’t there.
Someone sent a drone up, but it didn’t see anything. Not even the missing planes or helicopters.
Mercer got back to normal, whatever that means.

One year, Santa didn’t give a fuck.
He gave everyone coal.
Some say the coal industry did it as some kind of weird sponsorship deal.
Like the year when Santa gave out Silly Putty to everyone.
Or the year before that, which was sponsored by Reynolds Wrap.
Silly Putty is fun, but why the fuck do kids need Reynolds Wrap?
“They were the highest bidder,” said Santa.
What a whore.
Next year, who knows? Raw chicken?
You think the coal is fun?
Fine. You can keep it. Play your brains out.
Just try not to get coal dust everyone, kid.