Christmas is next weekend, Modern Philosophers, which means the Elves at Santa’s Workshop are working double shifts, Santa Claus’ cardiologist is closely monitoring his heart, and the bars at the North Pole never close.
“Most wonderful time of the year? My jolly red butt it is!” Santa declared when he rang me up on Skype.
I never expect to hear from the big guy this close to Christmas, so I knew something had to be wrong. I just prayed it wasn’t something serious like the Reindeer getting Lyme Disease again.
“I don’t know if we’re going to make it, Austin,” Santa confessed as he chugged a mug of eggnog. “Every year it gets harder as the population grows and children become greedier. My stress levels are right up through the chimney, the Elves are starting fight clubs to work out their anxiety, and I spend too much time begging the sponsors for more money because the budget is out of control.”
As Santa refilled his mug, I said a silent prayer that the eggnog was spiked because my not so jolly old friend needed something to improve his mood.
I desperately needed to know more about Elf Fight Club, but I didn’t want to interrupt Santa Claus when he was so stressed.
“I’ve also got President Elect Trump making noise about how my Workshop and Elves are taking away American jobs, and that he plans to name my old nemesis Burgermeister Meisterburger as the Ambassador to the North Pole,” Santa said as he sighed heavily and took off his famous red hat to wipe the stress sweat from his brow.
“Not my President!” he growled angrily, which led me to believe that the eggnog had a secret ingredient. “All Burgermeister is going to do is spy on me, try to shut me down, and put the ass back in ambassador!”
I did my best to return the jingle to old Kris Kringle’s mood, but nothing that I said or did could boost his spirits.
“I don’t want to move the operation to America,” Not So Jolly Old St. Nick admitted. “I love it up here. There are no annoying neighbors, no taxes, and no one to tell me what to do. The army of foreign Elves would never survive in Trump’s America, and Mrs. Claus has made it clear that she is not leaving her kingdom to be under the thumb of a man who has made the Naughty List for the past three decades.”
I launched into a rant about how Christmas is about giving, that Santa Claus and the North Pole have been around far longer than Trump and his Cabinet of Alt-Right Horrors, and how life would not be the same if Santa were no longer a part of the holiday.
“That’s why I’ve come up with a solution that might make everyone happy,” Santa revealed after another long sigh. “I’m considering transitioning entirely to gifts cards. The Elves can order them online from American companies, and have them shipped to kiddos via the United States Postal Services. I’d just have to decide which businesses to use, monitor the Naughty and Nice Lists, and charm the sponsors for the money to pay for it all.”
While it all made perfect sense, would exponentially decrease Santa’s workload, and allow President Elect Trump to say he saved American jobs without Santa’s having to move his Workshop, it just didn’t sound like a fun way to save Christmas.
“I know gift cards are lame and don’t show much effort on the gift giver’s part, but I’m old and tired, my heart is on the fritz, my Elves are beating each other silly, and my wife’s insinuating a move to America would lead to divorce. It’s gift cards or nothing at this point,” Santa said sadly and then poured himself more eggnog.
I’ve never wanted to give Santa Claus a hug more than I did at that moment, Modern Philosophers, but you just can’t do that with Skype.
Instead, I went to the Dunkin Donuts website and purchased a gift card that I hope will lift his spirits…
Follow me on Pinterest, or Santa will only bring you a gift card to the Liver & Onions Shack this year!