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.