Santa is Finished: Let’s give the Big Man the Boot


For a dude that’s been around for a few hundred years, he hasn’t done much.

He’s no Saint

We only know Santa’s history as it pertains to Jolly OLD St. Nick. What happened in his younger years? I’ve done some research on Wiki-leaks and found out that that suit is covering up years of ink and mischief. First of all, Mrs. Claus is just a side piece. Before Santa traded his Harley Davidson chopper for that big red sleigh, he was fond of wearing a “If you can read this, the bitch fell off” t-shirt. One day, one did fall off. Well, not exactly la-1635792-me-1217-banks-motorcycle-santa-02-cmh-j-20131216fall as much as was pushed by the current Mrs. Claus after she got fed up having to share the big man.

They owned a bar together that made “Roadhouse” look like Chuck E. Cheese. The “elves” are really just migrant workers they used in the kitchen. Santa bounced and Mrs. Claus tended bar. Not exactly a winter wonderland. The only snow was in the bathroom. Eventually, they got tired of the fighting and the raids so they sold it to some hillbillies and became the exuberant recluses that we know today.

Still a Sleigh?

Kringle, I know you’ve seen the Tesla. That sleigh should be painted kindling by now. Have you ever taken a horse drawn carriage ride and thought, “this is just stupid”? The tech in the Duck Hunt game you brought me in 1994 is more advanced than that hunk of crap. Put those elves to work, or better yet, get Trump to give you Boeing’s number. They’ll hook it up.

Just Give Me the Loot

The only time children wait in line these days is to see Frozen on Ice and to sit on your soggy lap. You smelled like cheese when I was doing it. I swear I got the wrong thing once because I told you what I wanted while trying to hold my breath. All those kids flippin’ boogers on you must put you in the bed with every cold known to man for the whole month of January. Take a break. I’ll email you my list and I can get my loot and you can get that cheese funk out of my face.

Get Offa Your Ass 364 

You deliver presents to earth’s children in one night which is great but where are you the rest of the year, Maui? I think you need to get a permanent gig with Amazon so I don’t have to wait two days for that Charmin Extra Soft to be delivered. At least help us out and hit the post office for an internship of something. I mailed a check once that they just kept for a week and then gave it back to me. Address and postage were fine; they just didn’t feel like delivering it.

Time to Scram St. Nick


I think you’ve worn out your welcome. I might could dig you in the days when blowing on anything technological would fix it but I think we’ve passed you by. Now, I can search a street in Budapest, find it, and take a virtual look around it on my phone. Going to be a lot harder to sell the fat man to our kids as technology grows. But then again, one year I was positive I saw your sleigh in the moonlight, so maybe not.

Okay, I’m being a little ridiculous. You can stay, but it’s time you evolved just a tad. Nuns modernize faster than you. Dump those deer, brush your teeth, eat some quinoa to help counter that high blood, sue anybody that has “Christmas in July” parties, get out of the mall and for goodness sake give those elves some benefits.


1 thought on “Santa is Finished: Let’s give the Big Man the Boot”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.