Merry Christmas suckers!! I'm going to Mexico.

Well it's almost Christmas and I'm about to high-tail it to Mexico. What does this mean for you? It means that while you're all sitting around your plastic tree on Christmas morning, basking in the blinking illumination of your cheap dollar store chirstmas lights, sullenly wondering why your presents didn't come this year, IIIIIIIIII will be lying on the beach drinking hot milk with kaluha, munching on Dave's magic cookies, chuckling to myself while my new mama cita, a Colombian girl named Carolina, lathers me with sunscreen.

"What naughty deed did we do to deserve NOTHING, Santa?"

I'm glad you asked! And I'm glad to tell you that the worst naughtiness a person can commit is doing nothing. You all sat in front of your computers and laughed while I wallowed in my misery. For years you reaped the benefits of my jolliness and yet shunned me in my time of need. Well now I know where your allegiances lie. You will never hear of me again. I have shaved off my beard, coloured my hair, I apply several bottles of self-tanner each morning, and I have worked off the potbelly through a strict work-out regiment and low-carb diet. I no longer have any affiliation with the Santa Claus corporation. It is now held in trust by that heartless devil woman Helen Claus who I'm sure will run it into the ground before easter rolls around.

So this is the end. To all of you who watched every LONELY SANTA episode and sent it to your friends, you will each receive a postcard from Mexico.

santa...OUT...forrealzzzz.

(DISCLAIMER: postcard may take 6 to 8 years to arrive.)

"JOB" Interview

Hey folks,

As you may have seen on webisode 2 of my hot new reality series which you must go watch 10 TIMES, I rocked my job interview the other day. I don't know where that expression came from, "the other day". There are lots of days. Infinity days. It doesn't make much sense to just refer to "the other day". But I've lost all track of days since I got here. So let's get back on topic. What was I talking about? Oh right, that hot interview lady at the mall. I think her name was Doreen. Couldn't you just smell the sexual tension? How could you? Movies in this part of the world don't capture smell so well. But I'm sure even non-magic folks like you could feel the heat between us. I'm a little nervous actually about what this could mean for our working relationship. I mean, I'm absolutely fine with mingling sexually with my co-workers. Mrs. Claus and I made it work for several centuries. We always liked to sneak off into the mail room and get all sexed up on those ridiculous letters children would send us. But in the mall Santa world, there's a myth to uphold. The children must never know that Mrs. Claus and I have separated. Their image of me must never be tainted. But that Dorris could ruin everything. Have you seen the way she looks at me? The way she cocks her eyebrow suggestively? The way she rubs her hands all over her face to keep from fainting? It' s too obvious. Even a child would be able to smell what was happening. I'll have to tell her on Monday when I start at the mall that if we're going to do this, it must be kept secret. And if she wants to get down in Santa's castle, it's gotta be quick and dirty... just how I like it.

santa...OUT

Santa's first "Webisode" (I don't know what it means but it sounds fun!)

I would like to take back all those terrible horrible nasty things I tweeted about those cute little kids with the camera. I thought they were just trying to exploit me because I'm a big name. But the first webisode of LONELY SANTA: the santa diaries, is a truly honest and compassionate portrayal of yours truly. I shared in Santa's loneliness and betrayal by that hateful bitch, and most of all I was quite moved by Dave and Santa's touching relationship.

Then Dave made a special batch of cookies and we ate them all and we watched it again and suddenly it was hysterically funny too! Such a tremendous emotional roller coaster I've been on tonight. I'm zonked. I strongly suggest you ask Dave for his cookie recipe and then watch the video because they must be magical or something. (Magic runs in our family, as you know.)

It smells like Dave is now making a magical batch of butter chicken. I'm going to investigate.

YOU GO WATCH LONELY SANTA 10 TIMES!!

s.clawzzzz--OUT

SANTA-CON

Yesterday I was feeling blue... as per usual these days. And my cousin, Dave... what a great guy he is... he told me that there was going to be a very special Christmas parade out in New Westminster. A Santa Claus parade. And I thought, wow, a parade in my honor. Not even JeZus has a parade, that greasy yippee. (I looked up yippee on urban dictionary and it's a person who abandons their hippy roots for a yuppee lifestyle.)

So I drove my Jeep Compass out to the parade and there were many boys and girls and mummys and daddys all bundled up in coats and scarves sipping hot chocolate from thermoses. And of course I wore my traditional red jacket and hat, which the children were particularly delighted to see. But then... just as the parade was about to start... a hoard of a thousand Santas all came pouring out of the Skytrain station and clogged the streets!

There was every kind of Santa you could imagine! Football Santa, Bondage Santa, Irish Santa, Chicken Santa, Boombox Santa... even POPE Santa! They just kept pouring into the streets and proceeded to march at the head of the parade and right into a bar appropriately named 57 Below. And so I marched along with them, not daring to disclose the fact tha the real Santa was in their midsts. I felt like a king marching in secret amongst his subjects while they drank whiskey from little flasks and shouted Christmas obscenities from megaphones and praised my, dare I say, holy name.

It really was a heartwarming sight. And I even got a few good games of darts in at the bar before we all got kicked out and returned to Vancouver in search of a nudie bar. But Santa must be going now. He has to ride the bus out to New West to pick up his Jeep, which he had to park overnight since Santa got a bit tipsy at the bar.

santa... still kind of drunk... OUT.

COOKIES!!

If you can't find this blasphemous "Lonely" Santa trailer on my blog page (it should be right at the top), my cousin Dave says to be sure you modify your privacy settings to allow cookies.

mmmmmmmm.....coooooooookies.

The solution to so many of life's little problems.

santa...OUT

Do NOT watch "LONELY SANTA" Movie Trailer... It's Lies!! all LIES!!

I just want to make it very clear that I do not endorse the upcoming documentary about my life, made by that curly haired boy with the dirty hat and the little lizard girl with the bulging eyes. Those two leeches followed me around for a week and told me that they were scanning me for cancerous diseases. They took full advantage of me, knowing full well I am unfamiliar with your silly non-magical technologies. How was I to know that was a camera they were toting around??

First of all, the trailer, which was posted to the YooToob this morning. Where do I even begin??? The title. LONELY Santa??? Who says I'm lonely?? I've got like a hundred and fifty friends on Facebook. And like 500 followers on the Tweeter. Does that sound like a lonely guy?? I don't think so. And that car-toon at the start is totally unrepresentative of my life. I don't wear this red get-up when I'm delivering presents. Do you think I'd be able to sneak around, all lit up like a traffic light? Hells naw. This red suit is for ceremonial functions only. Photo ops and whatnot. I'm like a Mountie. When I'm delivering gifts, I wear black lycra and kevlar with night-vision goggles. I also carry a semi-automatic dart gun and a taser so as to disable any angry dogs who may get in my way. I'm not about propagating stereotypes and I'm putting an end to that one right now.

What next?? Oh yes... the weeping. Of course that has been taken completely out of context and used to make me look like a sad and lonely fool. When really, I was crying tears of elation because Dave and I happened to be watching the 1994 re-make of Miracle on 34th Street (which is far superior to the original, in my personal opinion), and Santa was just cleared of all those nasty insanity charges.

I would like to point out to those little urchins who made this film without my knowledge that I do not remember signing any kind of release form and I will be involving my elfish lawyers just as soon as the divorce proceedings with Mrs. Claus have all been sorted out. I'm sueing your asses for SLANDER.

So I implore all of you... BOYCOTT LONELY SANTA!!! It's all POPPYCOCK and FLIM FLAM!! Those children usurped my Christmas spirit and good will and used me to make an exploitative piece of Christmas garbage that will damange my squeaky clean reputation and taint Christmas forever for all the girls and boys who believe in me. SO DON'T WATCH IT!!!

santa...PISSED.

monday... so very lonely

Of all the days in the week... I can't be bothered to count how many there are... but surely Monday is the loneliest of all. Back at the North Pole, Mondays were our day off. We would work hard all week preparing toys for all the good girls and boys, and then on Mondays we would rest. It was good for morale that while the rest of the world was just starting work, we were taking it easy. All the elves and reindeer would go galavanting about the frigid landscape and play all sorts of fun games and get in countless adventures.

Why, one Monday, me and Helen (that's Mrs. Claus' real name), took Blitzen to the great castle of the Ice King for a day trip. The castle of the Ice King is a wonderful, magical place very similar to your Las Vegas, full of hot cider and pumpkin pies and scantily clad elvish waitresses serving white Russians and hearty men smoking fine cigars and gambling. OH the gambling!! Helen and I spent the whole day betting on the Yeti-fights. This is a game that elves have a particular affinity for, in which great beasts of the north - very similar to your Sasquatches, only much larger and white as snow - are pitted against one another in epic battles to the death. The winning Yeti devours the loser and lives to fight another day. Helen was never much of a fan of the sport... something about animal rights, which I never understood because the Yeti's annihilate and devour each other in nature, it's just the order of things - but anyway she always tolerated it so long as we were winning - hypocritical bitch. Well Helen and I had marvelous luck that day, winning all of our bets and making a great deal of money off of poor Jack Frost, who has a terrible gambling addiction and couldn't pick a winning Yeti if it bit his face off.

So to celebrate our victories, we decided to stay the night in one of the Ice King's luxury suites. We ordered room service and then spent the night making love like we were on our honeymoon. We even did some roleplaying in which I pretended to be a plumber and Mrs. Claus was my unsuspecting patron. I then proceeded to clean her pipes thoroughly - and by "clean her pipes" I mean I gave it to her gangsta style while she massaged my sphincter with her pinky. Oh, say what you will about Helen but she was a freeee-eeeeak.

It only makes the pain worse recalling these fond memories. And now that I have no job, Mondays have all but lost their meaning. Everyday is a day off and while everyone else is going to work to fulfill their social duties, I just lay around and eat cookies and watch paternity tests on Maury while I massage my own sphincter with my pinky and nibble on my own nipples (which Helen never used to do but it does feel sublime). And sometimes, if I close my eyes real tight and use all my powers of imagination, I can sometimes hear her whispering in my ear, "That's right, Santa. You like it when I tickle your ass, don't you?" And then I open my eyes expecting to see her there... but it's only Dave trying make me feel better. And I do appreciate his efforts but sometimes it's more than I can bare. So my Mondays are now usually spent sobbing in a mess of chocolate and cookie crumbs, my pinky gently caressing the soft skin around my anus.

until next monday,
Santa

mall santas are presumptuous imposters

Gig is a word normally reserved for the entertainment industry to describe a job or a performance. I never considered myself much of an entertainer. I like to think of myself as more of a religious icon than a pop icon. And so, when I say I've got a gig, it sounds a bit sour rolling off my tongue. Like I've fallen from my lofty throne as the king of Christmas and have resorted to playing half-sold shows to seniors and alcoholics at a casino in Langley. But alas, Santa has had to swallow his pride and find a "gig". Dave (that's my holly-jolly cousin), thinks I should be getting more involved in society. He says I should be interacting with people and developing my social skills. I don't know what he's talking about. I'm incredibly social. I mean, just the other day I had an in-depth conversation with the voice at the McDonald's drive-thru about President Obama-rama's economic stimulous package. If you ask me, the drive-thru voice was the anti-social one. All he wanted to talk about was soda and ketchup.

But although Dave is young, he's a wise soul and I do try to follow his advice. After all, this is his world and I'm not familiar with your strange customs. So to fit in, I've scoured the Craigslist ads and found a job to which I am perfectly suited. I have an interview next week for a mall Santa position. Dave's been taking me through the rigamarole of trying to get me prepared. I thought it would be incredibly easy, as I am in fact the one and only REAL Santa Claus. But it's actually been quite challenging. I never realized how bizarre and twisted your Santa myth had become. Did you know that at shopping malls, around Christmas time, old men are hired on to pretend to be ME??? Yes, yes, isn't it absurd?? But listen, there's more! Not only do they dress up as me, they in fact sit in a plastic castle, surrounded by ridiculously tall elves, and the children in the mall actually line up and one by one approach this imposter Santa to tell him what they want for Christmas. Oh but it's not even that simple, the child does not simply stand at a safe distance away from the faker, but these petulant little capitalist-mongers are actually encouraged to sit upon the phony Santa's lap and ask for esoteric devices like Nintendo Wees and hot tubs. And perhaps most infuriating of all, is this phony Santa actually looks these children in the eyes and says, "YES, child. You will receive this plastic item if you are a good boy or girl. HO HO HO." (This explains why I received so many disillusioned e-mails from sad children the day after Christmas when they never got their Sega Genesis or their Virtual Reality helmet which I "promised" I would get them.)

But really!! Come on!!! Can you believe the nerve of these old bastards??? Making promises on my behalf?? Promises I could never hope to keep. I mean, Santa and his elves are woodworkers. If you were to ask for a Jenga set, I could certainly replicate it without all that fancy packaging. But the game would work just fine!! But what the balls is an I-Pod?? Is it some sort of one-man space ship?? I may be magic but I'm not NASA. Ask NASA for your spaceship, child. Not me. And especially not those crooked mall fakers. That's why I hope to get this job. So the REAL santa can finally set the record straight. I can finally tell those children, NO, Arnold, you may not have a pet giraffe for Christmas because you microwaved your pet gerbil and told your mommy that it died from natural causes.

Watch out shoppers, because Santa knows all and sees all.

santa...OUT.

Computer make santa want stab eyeballs (and jesus has tiny penis)

I'm not an angry man, by nature. I've got a more reserved temperment than most. 400 years living at the north pole with several thousand bumbling half-wit elves and a wife with a fuse about as short as jesus' tiny penis has resulted in a rope of patience about as long as my own much greater penis. But I must say, on account of your human technology, I have just today found the end of that rope.

My cousin Dave introduced me to this wonderful ethnic erotic website with all sorts of beautiful ladies of all different shapes and sizes and colours. (One quick sidenote, I commend you Canadians on your wide-ranging multi-cultural preferences.) Upon determining my flavour for the day (a striking Latino beauty named Esperanza and a powerful African gentleman known as Mandingo), I proceeded to purchase my entertainment using Mrs. Claus' credit card. However, once the candles were lit and I had settled into the bathtub with my laptop, I was horrified to discover that the video I had downloaded was a quicktime movie and compatible only with Apple computers. I, being a loyal customer to Windows (as Dave has taught me), was thus unable to enjoy the story of Esperanza and Mandingo and learn the results of their torrid love affair in the back seat of Mandingo's Cadillac Escalade. I had to settle for the 10-second sample clips instead. Shortly thereafter I fell asleep in the bathtub most unsatisfied.

I think the lesson behind this story is quite clear... when purchasing erotic entertainment, never use your own credit card because you never know when you're going to get left to soak in a tub of your own loneliness and despair.

S.C.out

JeZus your mother is a crackwhore

For two thousand years, that JeZus has been harrassing a long line of Santas. He even went so far as to tell the townsfolk of Lewiston, Pennsylvania that my great-great-great-great grandfather was a werewolf wizard vampire hybrid and he got burned at the stake whilst being blasted with silver bullets and riddled with wooden stakes slung from long-bows. it wasn't until christmas that the folks realized that they had been deceived and nobody received a single lump of coal that winter. many died from the freezing temperatures. the town turned pagan after being so badly betrayed by that son of a whore jesus.

my point is that jeZus is a rampant a-hole with a black heart full of bitterness and spite. oooooh... so you got crucified by the Romans. The Romans crucified EVERYBODY. It doesn't make you special. Just because you're the son of God, you think you can strut around like some omnipotent Paris Hilton-esque socialite with a bad case of teen angst. Well let me tell YOU something, jeZus!! It's been 2000 years!! get over it. you may have all the money and all the power and all the hot virgins in the world... but you will never know what love means. EVER. Because nobody loves you. They're all just too terrified to tell you otherwise. and you KNOW it!!

santaOUT

(oooh that felt good.)

TWEET TWEET

Hello friends.
I've been busy tweeting on my tweeter. It feels great to be able to type as much as I want again. 140 characters is not very much at all. It doesn't seem fair that they count the spaces. I mean it's just blank space! But I do enjoy the challenge. It's like poetry. It really is. I swear, Twitter will make poets of us all, just you wait and see. If you want to follow my tweets, just add Nicholas Claus (LonelySanta).
See how much I'm evolving, Helen? I'm a modern man after all. You thought I was just a boring old layabout who only liked smoking cigarettes indoors, watching reruns of the Joy of Painting, and eating cookies with milk (I do still enjoy these things). But see me now? I'm tweeting. Tweet tweet! Now I can read all the nasty things that Jesus tweets about me. What a total a-hole.
And you know what else, Helen? The Tooth Fairy took me shopping today and we bought this wonderful beef-like substance called "ground-round". Doesn't it just sound wonderful? Rolls right off the tongue. Ground-round. It tastes and feels just like ground beef... except it isn't. It's a marvelous concoction of vegetables, tofu, and various spices. You can use it in chilli or pasta sauce or anything you so choose... it really is quite delicious. And it gives me the most tremendous gas (or windy-pops, as Dave likes to call them)... very satisfying.
Anyway, if you let me come back home I'll make you a savoury Shepherd's Pie (Dave's specialty). Maybe I'll use beef... maybe I'll use ground round. Who knows? Let's see if YOU can tell the difference.

Santa Claus has come to town

This is the official blog of Nicholas Claus. aka. Santa. aka. Kris Kringle. aka. Old St. Nick.

Santa's new to all these social networking shinanigans. Your world is both terrifying and exciting to me. I am learning all sorts of marvellous new things about the land outside of the arctic circle. For example, did you know that magical elves are not hidden in the drive-thru boxes and scurrying about underground preparing your delicious all-beef-quarter-pounder sandwiches at the McDonald's restaurants? There are also no elves realigning the bowling pins and sending your balls cascading gingerly back onto the rack at the local bowling alley.

We use elves for all manner of quotidian tasks up at the north pole. But you humans have managed to find clever solutions to many of life's more mundane challenges without the use of magic. I both pity and respect you for this. It is a pleasure to be living amongst you at last. If you see me in the Sears department store or whizzing around in my shiny new Jeep Compass, (which I'm very pleased with, by the way) don't forget to point and laugh (these being the standard salutory gestures in this city, as I have gathered thus far.)

And if you happen to see Jesus strutting around with his slutty Christian groupies, tell him Santa says, "Go to HELL you dirty hippy d-bag!"

santa...out