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