For centuries, Santa kept a journal.
This wasn’t Santa’s Nice and Naughty List.
He left that on his desk so elves who handled logistics could plan routes and shipping manifests.
No, this was Santa’s deeper thoughts, about life, everything else.
Things he’d done that never made the Rankin Bass holiday specials.
Famous people he’d met, and the ones he’d fucked.
Or done drugs with.
Santa wrote the book in code, one he’d never shared with anyone else.
Not even Mrs. Claus.
But every now and then, he’d forget, and the nosy elves would gossip along the production lines for weeks.