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