Mark Hunter (ozma914) wrote,
Mark Hunter
ozma914

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Scary Santa's Coming to Town

Is nothing sacred? Nah.

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
My daughter thinks Santa Claus is a pervert.
She makes a convincing argument, too, which I won’t go into except to say nobody can be that jolly without having a few skeletons in his closet.
At the very least, Santa is a scary guy. Read the following lines in your best creepy voice, and tell me they don’t sound like an ad for a horror movie:
“He sees you when you’re sleeping …he knows when you’re awake … he knows if you’ve been bad or good … so you’d better be good, because SANTA STALKER is coming to town! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!”
Hear the slay bells ringing? I’m just sayin’.
Being scared of Santa, she was naturally unnerved to arrive home one day and find an eight foot tall inflatable Santa waving at everyone from our front lawn. Could we BE any more redneck? Only if we put a couch on the front porch.
She calmed down once she realized the advantage. Any time you’re feeling mad at the world, a little bah humbugish, and you want to both make a point and make yourself feel better, you can just pull the plug. There Santa goes, collapsing in on himself and disappearing like a second tier presidential candidate after the Iowa primary.
It really makes a person feel oddly … jolly.
Then you can freak area kids out by plugging him back in again just as they’re walking by. The scary fat man comes to life, seemingly rising out of the ground, one big plastic hand thrown menacingly forward as if reaching for – you! It’s even more fun than punching that gyrating Santa mannequin at the entrance of Wal-Mart.
Santa’s bound to be strange -- he lives at the North Pole. Have you ever been to the North Pole? Well, okay, neither have I, but imagine visiting International Falls, Minnesota, on a day it hits a record low temperature even for that town, and you begin to get an idea. Of course he’s fat; he needs all the insulation he can get. Heart attack? Hah! Hypothermia will get him long before clogged arteries.
It’s dark there for half the year, for crying out loud. That in and of itself should be enough to drive a man insane, not to mention being surrounded by all those giggling elves. Being stuck inside all the time, nothing but white as far as the eye can see, no change in the diet – what do they eat up there, anyway?
“What’s this? Something different from whale blubber? Where did you get this wonderful steak … say, where’s Dancer?”
Speaking of reindeer, it’s possible Santa’s only able to survive because of – I’m sorry to say – mind altering substances. Look, his reindeer fly. Who’s fooling who?
“Okay, boys, it’s almost time to go: Take a good whiff of this, then swallow the green pill and lick that toad.”
Explains a lot, doesn’t it? Do you want your kids sitting in that guy’s lap?
And what’s with Rudolph, anyway? Is he the deer from Chernobyl? I mean, how do they get that animal’s nose to glow? Radioactive enema? Does the ASPCA know about this?
They probably have to get a new Rudolph every year, which explains where the steaks come from.
We all know the traditional image of Santa getting into a red sleigh to deliver toys every Christmas. I don’t believe that for a second. Five seconds in the air and he’d have frostbite so bad that his parts would start falling off faster than Michael Jackson’s nose. I’ll bet he has a covered unit, probably nuclear powered; it’s the radioactive waste that goes into Rudolph, every year. He’s got that heater blasting the whole way, and he probably makes the elves get out to actually deliver the presents. That explains how old St. Blubber gets down the chimney, now doesn’t it? He sends the little people! And you thought he was such a great guy for hiring minorities.
So those poor tired reindeer, dragging our portly hero along in his tricked out twenty ton covered wagon, land on your house in the dead of night. What happens while they’re up there? Next time you drag your bare hand through your gutter to clean the gunk out, consider what kind of presents a team of three hundred pound reindeer might have left for you, buddy.
To top it all off, nobody ever sees him, despite the glowing red headlight, despite the huge bag of presents, despite the ear splitting sleigh bells. No military radar has ever tracked this guy. You’d think a heat seeking missile could get a lock on all these warm bodies slicing through the frigid December air, but no … he’s got some kind of stealth technology. Maybe he paints the reindeer black. Seriously, have the animals rights people looked into this at all?
So my daughter’s right to be concerned – Santa is, indeed a scary guy. Remember, as Christmas approaches, that you’d better be good, for goodness sake.
Or Santa’s gonna get you.
Tags: weekly column
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