Every year, Mommy tells me to be good so Santa will come and leave me presents.
“And so I can make that son of a bitch take a paternity test,” she mutters.
Yep. Santa left a little something one year.
In Mommy:
Me.
The process servers say the North Pole is out of their jurisdiction.
So, Mommy left out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Santa wears mittens, so you can’t get fingerprints, but you can get trace DNA from the glass.
“It’s a match,” says the analyst.
This year, forget the bike.
I’m getting Child Support.