ClickHole

You’re Santa! Can You Master The Sleigh And Deliver Gifts To All The Good Boys And Girls?

This is you. You’re Santa Claus.

You’ve been lying unconscious on the frigid tundra of the North Pole since last Christmas. In order to make sure you didn’t starve during your year-long slumber, arctic pelicans have been coming up to you and laying eggs into your mouth 24/7 since last Christmas.

Every pelican lays about 200 eggs at a time, and they’ve just been squirting them right down Santa’s sleeping throat all year long. This is why Santa is so plus-sized all the time.

Yes. While you were sleeping, you dreamed of when you were young and handsome. This is what you looked like 10,000 years ago. You were the most beautiful man in the world, and everyone wanted to marry you and do gross stuff to you with their underbelt zones. It was a wonderful time to be Santa Claus.

Those days are over for you now. Your youth is gone, and now your only joy comes from giving away gifts to well-behaved children.

You continue lying unconscious on the sub-zero tundra of the North Pole. You burp and sneeze in your sleep. A tour bus full of Japanese tourists drives by and everyone takes a picture of your motionless body.

Suddenly, you feel a wet flipper jostle you awake.

“Santa, it’s me, Lunar Jake, the goddamn walrus who thinks the moon is in charge,” says the walrus named Lunar Jake. “As you know, I’ve completely lost my mind, so I think the moon created the universe and makes all the laws. If the moon told me to eat a poisonous flower, I would for sure do it. I’m under the insane impression that the moon is a huge female king that lives in the sky.”

“Well, Santa, you told me to wake you up when it was Christmas Eve, and that’s today,” says Lunar Jake. “You’ve got to wake up so that you can deliver gifts to all the good boys and girls of the Earth.”

“Also, I just wanted to let you know that my brain is a mushed-up bowl of tapioca, and so I truly believe that the moon is God’s aunt and is therefore more powerful than God. The moon is the most powerful circle in the world.”

For the first time since last Christmas, you get up and start walking across the frozen wasteland of the North Pole.

“Goodbye, Santa!” Lunar Jake calls to you as you leave. “My brain is broken, and so I love to get bossed around by the moon!”

All right, Santa, it’s time for you to get to work. You’ve made your Naughty List and you’ve made your Nice List. The Naughty List is full of kids who did crimes and sins, and therefore will not get gifts. The Nice List is full of kids who have clean souls and would go to Heaven if an elephant sat on them right now.

Here’s the Naughty List. It’s huge. Children have been miserable this year. They have cockroach hearts and perpetrated all manner of misbehaviors all day long. There are nearly 2 billion children on the Naughty List.

Here it is: the Nice List for this year in children. This year was a terrible year for children. These are the only four children in the whole world who went the entire year without misbehaving.

Ah! Here is Old Miserable Ezra, one of the naughtiest children alive. He does not deserve any presents at all.

Terrifying. Here is Endless Wicked Abigail, one of the naughtiest children around. She has more than earned her place on the Naughty List, and she will remain giftless until the day she dies.

Horrible! Here are The Four Idiots, a roving gang of naughty children who have caused nothing but sword mischief since the day they were born. They won’t get any sorts of gifts at all.

That’s enough of the Naughty List for now. If you read it all, you’d be here forever, because most children have disaster souls.

You promptly explode. Parents all over the world are forced to take their children into the bathroom to whisper to them that Santa Claus has exploded for no reason. A lot of them are devastated, but many of them don’t care. Christmas never happens again, and it’s replaced with Arbor Day 2, a holiday where people throw bricks at trees.

The End.

The next thing you’re going to need in order to fly around the world delivering gifts is Santa’s haunted sled. Here is a picture of you flying in the haunted sled in 2006.

All right, Santa. You have your magic gift pouch, and your reindeer are all hooked up to your haunted sled. You’re all set to fly into the sky and give presents to well-behaved children.

Are you sure you want to say goodbye to Mrs. Claus? The two of you got divorced last year because she was trying to project the movie The Usual Suspects (1995) onto your huge belly, but you kept moving around.

Here’s the arctic cottage where Mrs. Claus lives with her new boyfriend, Justin.

You enter the house and see your divorced wife, Mrs. Claus, arm-in-arm with her new boyfriend, Justin.

“Hello, Santa,” says Mrs. Claus. “We’re divorced.”

“Hey there, big man,” says Justin. “So good to see you! I love your divorced wife. We like to kiss each other during snowstorms.”

“Things are going great for me, Santa,” says Mrs. Claus. “Justin and I are so happy together, and we were recently voted ‘Most In Love’ in last month’s issue of Elderly Arctic Couples Magazine.”

“I’m sorry, Santa,” says Mrs. Claus, “but I’m afraid we can never be together again. I’m in love with Justin now, and he never moves when I’m projecting The Usual Suspects (1995) onto his belly. Besides, I was recently voted ‘Most Divorced’ in last month’s issue of Arctic Divorcee Monthly. I can’t just relinquish my title.”

Well, it looks like Mrs. Claus has made up her mind. Since you’re Santa Claus, you’re very mature about this and respect your divorced wife’s choice to be in love with a man named Justin.

“Okay, goodbye, Santa,” says Mrs. Claus. She gives Justin a big kiss on the cheek. “Good luck delivering presents on Christmas.”

“Take it sleazy, big man!” says Justin.

You leave Mrs. Claus behind and return to your sled. It’s time to make Christmas Eve happen to everyone.

“On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen! On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen!” you shout to your reindeer as they carry your haunted sled away into the sky.

You’re on your way! It’s time for Santa to slither up and down chimneys like a snake giving gifts to all the good boys and girls of the world.

You arrive at the house of Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare. The entire Lil’ Sweet O’Clare family is asleep, so it’s time to go inside of their house and leave a gift for Lil’ Sweet Cindy.

You jump down the chimney and enter the home of Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare.

You approach the Christmas tree. It’s time to put presents underneath it using Santa’s world-famous pouch.

Awww. Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare’s letter is truly adorable. For Christmas, she wants a photograph of bread. Unfortunately, you don’t have any photographs of bread in your pouch. You’ll have to go find some bread and take a picture of it.

You reach into your gift pouch and pull out the 2009 Rand McNally Road Atlas, a beautiful gift from Santa Claus. When this road atlas was being developed, the fine cartographers at Rand McNally performed extensive experiments on animals in order to create an atlas with 100 percent geographic accuracy. As a result, it’s one of the best outdated road atlases on the market.

You place it under Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare’s Christmas tree. Hopefully she likes it.

You climb back into your haunted sled and fly away into the night sky to go to the grocery store.

You arrive at the grocery store called SUPERMARKET. It’s a famous chain of grocery stores named after Adam Supermarket, the heroic military chimpanzee who ran through hails of gunfire during World War I to bring fistfuls of loose mints to American soldiers as they fought and died in the trenches.

Adam Supermarket remains the only American chimpanzee to ever be eaten by a sitting U.S. president, and this national chain of grocery stores bears his name to honor his heroic life.

There is a grocery man standing at the door of the grocery store.

“Hello, Santa Claus,” says the grocery man. “Merry Christmas, and welcome to SUPERMARKET.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that, Santa. I know what it feels like to be divorced because I once heard about a dog who ate a divorced poet.”

You reach into your tool belt and pull out the Drill Of Empathy, the special power drill awarded to whichever little boy or girl shows the most empathy about divorce on Christmas. You hand it to the grocery man, and he immediately runs to the nearest church so that he can sit in church and kiss his power drill for hours in order to make Christ envious of the amazing drill.

“Santa, your jolly laughter fills me with Christmas joy,” says the grocery man. “Please enjoy your shopping experience at SUPERMARKET.”

“Ah, I see you’re still laughing. Very good. It’s certainly a happy time of year.”

“I’m so glad you’re happy, Santa.”

“Santa, I must insist that you stop laughing now. Soon, your jolly guffaws will attract the Night Clown, and then we’ll both be in huge trouble.”

“Santa, please, the Night Clown will surely hear you! Every Christmas Eve, the Night Clown wanders the parking lots of all the world’s grocery stores, and if he hears you laughing in the parking lot, he catches you in his terrible claws and sends you on vacation.”

There is a rustling in the bushes, and the terrible face of the Night Clown emerges.

“Is someone laughing in the parking lot?” the Night Clown asks.

“Well, if you’re laughing in the parking lot, I’m going to have to send you on vacation. It’s just like the popular nursery rhyme says:

‘If you laugh in a parking lot on Christmas Eve,
Night Clown’s gonna send you on vacation.
End of poem.’”

“Because I am a clown at night.”

“I’m glad you understand,” says the Night Clown. “But I’m afraid I must now administer your punishment for laughing in a grocery store parking lot on Christmas Eve. I’m going to send you on vacation.”

You try to run, but it’s no use. The Night Clown catches you and sends you on vacation.

You were warned. Everyone knows that if you laugh in a parking lot on Christmas Eve, the Night Clown finds you and sends you on vacation, but you didn’t listen. Now, you’re on vacation and can’t deliver gifts to anybody.

When all the good boys and girls wake up on Christmas Day, they see that they have no presents, and they get so sad that they weep and put their shoes on. Christmas is forever canceled and replaced with a new holiday called Aunt’s Day, where you let your aunt know how much you love her by bringing her a hollowed-out crab claw filled with wine for her to drink on the train.

The End.

“Okay, well, let me try to explain it again. Basically, when it’s night, I’m a clown, and so that’s why I’m called the Night Clown.”

“Jesus Christ. Okay, well, forget it then. The important thing is that you’ve summoned my spooky clown face to you by laughing in a parking lot on Christmas Eve, and now I’m going to send you on vacation. Here I come.”

The Night Clown walks toward you with an evil look in his eyes. He reaches out his terrible gnarled hand.

The Night Clown grabs you by the throat and sends you on vacation.

You were warned. Everyone knows that if you laugh in a parking lot on Christmas Eve, the Night Clown finds you and sends you on vacation, but you didn’t listen. Now, you’re on vacation and can’t deliver gifts to anybody.

When all the good boys and girls wake up on Christmas Day, they see that they have no presents, and they get so sad that they weep and put their shoes on. Christmas is forever canceled and replaced with a new holiday called Aunt’s Day, where you let your aunt know how much you love her by bringing her a hollowed-out crab claw filled with wine for her to drink on the train.

The End.

You reach into your gift pouch and pull out the 2009 Rand McNally Road Atlas, America’s number-one outdated road atlas.

“Wow! Thanks, Santa!” says the grocery man. You’ve really brightened his day.

You’re inside the grocery store called SUPERMARKET. It’s filled with families who love to spend Christmas Eve holding hands in the grocery store. You’ve got to find the bread so that you can take a picture of it for Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare.

Through a series of unforeseeable disasters, you end up buying 1,000 apples. Now you have 1,000 apples. Very cool.

You take out your megaphone and make the following announcement to everyone at the grocery store:

“Hello, everyone. This is Santa Claus from the Bible. I’m divorced, and my wife is very happy with Justin. I’m looking for bread now.”

Everyone in the grocery store applauds politely.

Here’s the bread.

Amazing! You’ve got yourself the photograph of bread that Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare wanted. Now, you can fly back to her house and give it to her.

You slither back down the chimney and find Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare awake and waiting for you by the Christmas tree. She looks at you with her big, angelic eyes and speaks in a voice as sweet as the Lord’s Cake:

“Hello, Santa. My name is Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare, and I’m the most lovely and number-one sweetest girl of cake. I’m the nicest little angel girl in any of the NATO nations. Do you have the picture of bread? Give it to me. I need the photograph of that magnificent loaf.”

You hand Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare her present.

“At last!” she screams as she unwraps it. “A photograph of bread! Thank you, Santa! Thank you!”

There is a blinding flash of light, and you hear Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare scream, “Finally!” When the light fades, Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare has disappeared from the living room. She is now inside the photograph with the bread. This is what she’s always wanted.

Very good.

Yes! It’s time for Santa to start delivering presents. The first thing you’re going to need is Santa’s special gift pouch. The gift pouch is a magical bag that is filled with an endless supply of road atlases from 2009. Unless a child specifically asks for something else, you just give them one of those road atlases.

Your gift pouch also has one plate inside of it for emergencies.

Here are the reindeer that fly your haunted sled. They used to have a lot of different names, but now you just call all of them Blitzen because that’s much easier to remember.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’s bright, terrible nose attracted huge swarms of moths as you flew through the air. It made it very difficult to see where you were going, because every Christmas, Rudolph would flash his idiot nose and your sled would immediately be engulfed in a cloud of moths.

One year, Rudolph’s bright nose attracted so many moths that you couldn’t see anything at all, and you crashed your flying sled into St. Microsoft’s Orphanage for Extremely Flammable Children. There were no survivors.

Needless to say, the Supreme Court ordered you to eat Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer live on the Charlie Rose show. He is no longer a part of your reindeer team.

All right, Santa. It‘s your job to make sure all these well-behaved children get their presents this Christmas. It looks like the first child on your Nice List is Lil’ Sweet Cindy O’Clare.

It looks like the next child on the Nice List is Ormul Lozenge.

“On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen! On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen!” you yell to your reindeer as they carry you away into the night. You fly through the sky on your way to Gweem The Baby’s house.

You arrive at the home of Gweem The Baby. It looks like it’s one of those houses that has a bunch of giant turrets and no chimney, so you’re going to have to find another way in.

You hire a construction crew to demolish Gweem The Baby’s house. It crumbles into a pile of rubble.

The construction crew rebuilds Gweem The Baby’s house with you inside. Nice! You’ve found a way to sneak into Gweem The Baby’s house.

You knock on the door of Gweem The Baby’s house. A man answers the door.

“Hello,” he says. “My name is The Butler. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Sorry, Santa,” says The Butler. “I’m afraid Gweem The Baby gave me strict instructions not to let anyone inside his house.”

“Do what you must, sir, but I cannot let you in.”

Knocking on the door didn’t work. Looks like you’ll have to try another method of sneaking into Gweem The Baby’s house.

“I’m sorry, Santa, but I’m opposed to using any atlases from Rand McNally because of the unethical experiments they perform on animals in order to develop their highly accurate maps,” says The Butler.

With a malicious look in your eyes, you add The Butler’s name to the Naughty List and present him with a lump of coal.

“Very good, sir,” says The Butler as he takes the coal from you. “Please wait here one moment.” He disappears into the house.

The Butler takes the coal you gave him and places it into the furnace of a steam-powered locomotive that’s just sitting inside the house. The locomotive rockets across the floor, out the door, and runs you over, killing you instantly.

Because you have been killed, you are now dead. Christmas is canceled forever and replaced with a holiday called The Feast Of The Divine Comparison, in which families gather together to create Venn diagrams depicting the differences between football and rugby.

The End.

“Nice try, sir,” says The Butler, “but there is no Gweem The Adult. There is only Gweem The Baby.”

You decide to give up on Christmas entirely and return to the North Pole to set up a Gmail account. Your email address is DivorcedMan2@Gmail.com. The only email you ever get is a message from DivorcedMan1@Gmail.com that says “Greetings from the original divorced man!”

Christmas is canceled in your absence and replaced by a holiday called Father’s Day Deluxe, which is like normal Father’s Day except that anyone who isn’t a father has to go to jail. It’s a beautiful holiday that everyone loves, and people write poems about it forever.

The End.

You cleverly construct a wooden horse and hide inside of it. You roll the horse right up in front of Gweem The Baby’s house. Now, all you have to do is wait.

Pretty soon, you’ll be brought inside, and your amazing plan will be a success.

Yep. Any minute now.

People keep walking right past your horse, but nobody brings it inside the house. At one point, someone comes out of Gweem The Baby’s house, looks at the huge horse you left on their doorstep, shrugs, and says, “Looks like someone lost their big wooden horse.” Then they go back inside.

Trojan horses are maybe not a good idea. It’s weird that you’d assume that someone’s first reaction upon seeing a gigantic wooden horse would be to say, “Oh, I want that. That’s mine,” and then drag it into their home. It’s actually very strange for someone to see a huge horse and say, “I’m supposed to have that.” Anyway, you just keep hiding in the horse.

You hide inside the Trojan horse for several weeks. Nobody tries to bring you inside because they’re normal people who don’t immediately want to own big, strange horses just because they see one nearby. You quietly starve to death inside the horse. Your bones are put on display at the National Museum of Horse-Related Deaths.

Now that Santa Claus is dead, Christmas is canceled forever and replaced with a holiday called All-American Leg Appreciation Day, in which every American citizen sends the president a photograph of their legs.

The End.

You’ve made it into Gweem The Baby’s house. He’s got one of those houses that is a palace that only has a baby and a butler living in it.

Ah! Here is the Christmas tree of Gweem The Baby. It’s in a weird candle room. It looks like the kind of room where the Devil would teach a sultan how to turn his head into a flailing upside-down horse’s leg in exchange for his soul. It’s very beautiful.

“Not so fast, Santa!” booms a deep voice behind you.

You spin around quickly and find yourself face-to-face with Gweem The Baby.

“Santa, it is I, Gweem The Baby,” says Gweem The Baby. “Many have tried to become Gweem The Baby, but they have all died. Only I have become Gweem The Baby, the baby who has the crown.”

You turn around incredibly slowly. It takes you over six hours to turn all the way around. When you’re finally standing in the other direction, you find yourself face-to-face with Gweem The Baby.

“Santa, it is I. Me. Gweem The Baby,” says Gweem The Baby. “I am the magnificent baby from the newspaper. The one who has the crown.”

“No. Only I am Gweem The Baby.”

“Yes. I know. I know about every divorce that ever happens, for I am Gweem The Baby.”

“Santa, listen,” says Gweem The Baby, “I know that you have come to bring me the gift of presents, for I am Gweem The Baby and I have been very well-behaved this year. I was wholesome as all get-out.”

You try to hand Gweem The Baby the 2009 Rand McNally Road Atlas, but Gweem The Baby refuses.

”No, Santa,” says Gweem The Baby. “I do not want an atlas for Christmas.”

“Santa, this year I wrote an amazing poem about a cow who is a pervert. But alas, I am Gweem The Baby, and so I live alone. I have not had any friends to listen to my poem. The gift I want is for someone to listen to my incredible poem about a special fucked-up cow. Will you listen to my poem?”

“No! I don’t want an atlas! This is all wrong!” cries Gweem The Baby as you sprint out of his house and jump into your haunted sled. “I hate you, Santa! Gweem The Baby hates you forever! I’m going to marry your divorced wife!”

He seems pretty mad, but you can’t please everybody. Better just move on to the next kid on your list. Your reindeer take flight and pull you into the moonlit Christmas Eve sky.

“The Cow Who Milked Himself”
A Poem By Gweem The Baby

I saw a cow waddling upright on two legs,
And he came up to me, and he squatted over a bucket,
And he looked me in the eyes and said,
“Here comes a white-hot jet of my cold, refreshing milk,”
And the cow took off his suspenders,
And he grabbed his own udders,
Which are usually found on lady cows, but he had ’em,
And he tugged on his udders and milked himself,
And he shot jets of cool, refreshing milk
Into the bucket, and the bucket was full of milk,
And there were bugs and fish swimming in the milk,
And the bugs and the fish were friends in the milk, and the bugs drowned,
And the cow kept tugging his udders
And squirting a flood’s worth of his own milk into the bucket,
And he was screaming while he milked himself,
And he screamed things like, “I’m king of my own milk!”
And when the bucket was full,
He kept milking himself, and he milked himself too much,
And he became all dry, shriveled like a raisin,
And soon the only thing that was coming out of his udders
Was sand, but he still kept milking himself
And squirting sand out of his udders into the bucket,
And everyone was begging him to stop because he looked sick,
But he just said,
“Be quiet, you sons of bitches, and let me squirt lightning-hot jets
Of my own yogurt into this bucket,”
And then he kept milking himself,
And he kept calling the milk his “yogurt,”
Even though milk and yogurt are two different things,
And he said things like, “I’m in love with my own yogurt,”
And “A pelican just drowned in this bucket of my own yogurt,”
And he just kept milking himself and milking himself,
And then he died because he had milked himself so much
That he was just a skeleton with cow skin stretched across it,
And the city built a parking lot on top of his carcass,
And it was just a beautiful time to be alive.

The End.

“Excellent. I will now recite my poem.”

Gweem The Baby clears his throat and begins reciting his poem.

“Santa, thank you so much for listening to my beautiful poem,” says Gweem The Baby. “This is the best Christmas ever!”

You leave Gweem The Baby’s house and climb into your haunted sled. “On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen! On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen!” you shout as your reindeer drag your sled into the moonlit Christmas Eve sky.

You arrive at the Lozenge family’s windmill. It’s a duplex windmill, with one family living on the left half of the windmill and another family living on the right half of the windmill. The Lozenge family currently shares the windmill with a goose. They get along very well.

It’s time to get in there and bring a gift to the well-behaved Ormul.

You find yourself in an empty white space. There doesn’t seem to be a Christmas tree around here. Or any furniture, for that matter. It’s just a strange white expanse.

Uh...

Hm...

Uh...

Cool. Well, maybe it’s time to leave.

“Hello, my new best friend. You are doing a trespass to Ormul’s duplex. Have you come to do a kidnap on Ormul?”

Ah! Here is Ormul!

“A kidnap is when a new man is your father,” explains Ormul. “Are you here to do a kidnap on Ormul now?”

“A present for Ormul? Ormul has never gotten a present, except for the one special day when the Luxury Possum threw an apple at Ormul’s head last year when Ormul went into the forest at night to sing a lullaby about shoes to all the animals. A new present for Ormul from his best friend would make Ormul so happy.”

“Yes, my wonderful friend, Ormul has been so good. This year, Ormul chased all of the owls out of Grandfather’s mausoleum with broom, and also when Uncle Marmo’s mind exploded, Ormul put Uncle Marmo out on the front porch for the Luxury Possum to eat.”

“Ormul has done many more good deeds, friend! Ormul kept River Man locked in his jungle cave where he could not do harm to Ormul’s hot dogs. Ormul mediated the divorce between Outdoors Goose and Indoors Goose. Ormul taught Twilight Ape how to smell his own fingers. Ormul frowned at a man who was thinking about driving too fast. Ormul learned three new calculator tricks and did them for girls in the television. Ormul wrote the word ‘Misbehavior’ on a piece of paper and then crossed it out. And so you see, wonderful friend, Ormul has done so many good deeds all year long. Ormul deserves to have a present.”

“What Ormul wants more than anything is Ormul’s very own plate. When Ormul has his very own plate, he can show it to strong boys at school who are always making hurtful words to Ormul. Ormul can say, ‘Here is a plate just for Ormul, and now Ormul will eat his lunch of feathers and oats off of his very own plate!’ And then the strong boys will stop making Ormul have a hurt in his heart, because they will see that Ormul is cool boy with his very own plate, and then Ormul will be friends with strong boys, and life will be sweet as feathers and oats forever.”

“Santa Claus! Oh, yes, friend! Ormul thinks he has heard of you. Santa Claus is the special friend who makes a new family in the desert and does the murder of Sharon Tate.”

You reach into your gift pouch and pull out your emergency plate. You give it to Ormul as a Christmas gift.

“Oh, Santa friend! Thank you! It is Ormul’s own very cool plate! Ormul is so happy! Ormul will keep plate safe and clean forever! Ormul will use broom to protect plate from River Man and from the Luxury Possum all winter long!”

Ormul hugs his new plate and smiles.

“On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen! On Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen and Blitzen!” you scream as your reindeer pull your sled into the sky.

It looks like the next child on the Nice List is LINDA.

Here is the house of LINDA. You have heard many strange rumors about LINDA. Perhaps it would be a good idea to check the letter she sent you to get a good idea of what you’re getting into.

All right. This letter is very informative.

Oh, man! Why did you say you were delicious? As soon as you said that, LINDA ate you straight in the face. All of your skin and meat was swallowed by LINDA, the well-behaved adorable girl person. You were, in fact, delicious.

Getting eaten ended up killing you, and so you were unable to deliver presents to all the good boys and girls. You did a bad job of being Santa.

The End.

You return to Ormul’s house. He is sitting on the floor smiling and hugging the plate you gave him.

“Hello, Best Santa Friend! You have come back to Ormul! Ormul is so happy to see you because you give Ormul the gift of plate! Ormul loves his plate so much!”

“Here are Ormul’s coins for you,” says Ormul, placing some money into your hands. “Friend should have all of Ormul’s coins because he is so kind to Ormul.”

“And here is statue of you that Ormul made out of the wood of Ormul’s favorite log,” says Ormul. “See how he is holding a present? It is much the same as how you give present to Ormul. Ormul built this statue of you because you are so, so kind to Ormul.”

“Oh...but...Ormul loves his plate...you give to Ormul the plate as a gift....”

“If friend takes Ormul’s plate, Ormul’s smile will go to sleep forever and it will be the Time Of Frowns for Ormul.”

“Well, if friend needs plate, then Ormul will give plate to friend because when friend is happy, Ormul feels a song in his neck.”

Ormul gives his plate a kiss and hands it to you.

“No, friend! Why? Ormul’s plate!” Ormul cries as you steal his plate and climb back into your haunted sled.

“Now Ormul has no plate once again,” cries Ormul. “Now Ormul will not be cool in the locker room and so he will be lonely all year!”

Oh, man. You really let Ormul have it. Poor kid. You probably could have been nicer about that.

You slither down the chimney and find yourself in a Christmas room. There is a sweet, adorable girl sitting under the tree.

“Hello, Jacket Monster. I am the child called LINDA,” she says. “Are you delicious?”

“Oh, all right. If you were delicious, I would have eaten you, for I am LINDA, devourer of all delicious things.”

“It’s pronounced ‘LINDA.’”

“Santa, for Christmas this year, I would like a plate.”

You only had one plate, so you’ll have to take back the one you gave to Ormul.

You fly back to LINDA’s house and give her the plate you took from Ormul.

“Oh, thank you, Santa! I love this plate! This is the best Christmas ever!”

Nice! You’ve delivered a present to LINDA. Time to move on to the next kid.

You slither up the chimney and fly away from the house of LINDA. Blitzen, Blitzen, Blitzen, Blitzen, Blitzen, Blitzen, Blitzen, and Blitzen pull your sled into the sky.

It looks like the final child on the Nice List is Gweem The Baby.

Wow, Santa! You did it! You delivered presents to all the good boys and girls in the world.

All over the world, the spirit of Christmas is spraying all over the place and getting all over everything. Families are smiling at each other and smelling each other’s legs. Their legs smell like good tidings.

There is love in the sky as families gather around the Christmas tree to announce that they are switching religions.

And Christmas carolers are wandering into the woods to scream Christmas carols into a megaphone—joyous songs like “Hark The Angels Lords A Trumpet March Of Thee And Gorgeous” and “Our Lord Was Crucified While Wearing A Tie.”

Yes, the world is full of joy this Christmas, and it’s partially thanks to you, Santa Claus. You go to sleep in the middle of the street and dream about your divorced wife having sex with her new boyfriend, Justin.

You will sleep here for the rest of the year. And then you will wake up and do it all again. And so it shall be eternally, because you are Santa, and you are doomed to this prison of yuletide joy forever.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.

The End.

Yes, it’s better not to visit your divorced wife before you fly around the world delivering presents. You have your magic gift pouch, and your reindeer are all hooked up to your haunted sled. You’re all set to fly into the sky and give presents to well-behaved children.

“Yes, we know,” says Justin.


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