True Story©… The Network
I don’t know if y’all know this but for about five years, me and
Santa have had what the homies in Houston might call “plex.”
If you need to be brought up to speed, please pack a lunch and start here and spend a while.
Welcome back.
So yeah… I figured that Rudolph
being down bad was a result of Santa’s abject shittiness and I wound up paying
the price for shenanigously attempting to set things right on my own
terms. It has been four years since I learned a lesson so embarrassing
that I sometimes still cry myself to sleep just thinking about it. Part
of me, though, wonders how I could have built a clandestine career as
Supervillain Internacionale and still let a 1751 year-old fat man get the drop
on me like that.
I had to get to the bottom of this.
[Phlip note: oh, y’all
thought I was just gon’ let him punk me?]
I
spent major time studying and researching how to reach The North Pole
undetected and maybe – POSSIBLY – get a deeper peek into the fat man’s
operations and then perhaps parlay that into a win of my own.
Planning out the way up undetected was a bitch… I had to get there
without a paper trail so as to not arouse the suspicions of any domestic or
international authorities while also taking special care not to create digital
breadcrumbs for anyone to chase me down after the fact.
I
started by taking as much cash out of the bank as I possibly could. I
then got one of my nephews to buy and title a $900 beater I found on
Craigslist. I plugged my GPS-connected smart phone with the same number
you’ve all had since 2001 to the outlet in my garage, killed ALL sound and vibration
notifications and forwarded all calls to a burner flip phone. To prepare
the people who have known how to communicate with me for YEARS, I swallowed my
general introversion and actually communicated via voice calls more than texts
for 90 days before my planned departure.
Oh,
departure! I should talk about that, huh? Well you will have to be
patient and let me tell this damn story.
So
yeah… Departure…
Spending ONLY cash on gasoline all the way from NC to the Lost River State
Forest in Minnesota, then I ditched the car at a random truck stop and hoofed
it across the US/Canada border into Manitoba before I started thumbing my way
to Winnipeg, then north to--...
Hol’up… You know how on TV, they make it seem like Canadians are such
decent people and shit? Well when I say I “thumbed” my way across, and
then up Canada, I mean I started walking and some random family stopped like
“hey buddy, you need a lift?” and then when I explained I was trying to get to
and through the Northwest Territory they STILL gave me the ride for as long as
they could take me.
I start walking again and then a trucker offers the ride! Needless to
say, it was not at all difficult for me to make it FAR into Canuckistan without
being robbed, raped or murdered in the face as if I likely would if I tried to
do the same shit in the city I grew up in. Hell, two of the good
samaritans even offered me weed!
I
will spare you to grueling slog of the Northwest Passage and everything between
Canada and the North Pole. Just know that I am here now to discuss it,
meaning I survived the in and out of it.
Anway… I made it to Santa’s village somehow undetected, I expected some
kind of slaver’s village with overworked elves and reindeer being starved to subservience.
Y’know, free-market capitalism.
Nope™!
What
I found was THOUSANDS of reindeer, maybe tens of thousands. What I
learned is that the elves are properly cared for and the work environment was
so amazing that while they COULD be allowed to leave, they usually stay in the
spot until retire and then move to the retirement village next door.
And
Santa?
Thanks for asking! Not Santa… SantaS! Why were there
thousands of reindeer? Because there were hundreds of Santas! Everything
I thought I knew about “Santa” in general was quite wrong. If one
Santa was dealing to one Rudolph, then that was on that one Santa and one
Rudolph, whom I have now learned there are several of each. What I was
witnessing was that everything we thought we knew about Santa was wrong.
There is a year-round CIA-style Santa Training Program for both incoming and
existing Santa Clauses. Every iteration, every understanding of Santa for
every kid around the world is actually REAL! The training program sets
them up for assholes like me and other potential bad actors who might try and
treat them like the ops on Christmas Morning. Up to and including footage
of my attempted robbery Christmas 2017.
I was embarrassed to see the footage again, I will need to discuss it with my
therapist next week.
In
my embarrassment, I MIGHT have dropped a “mother fucker” and
forgot not to say it out loud.
All
of a sudden, EVERY Santa eye and every rifle in the building is trained on
me. Including the one now poking in my back.
“Ho-ho-ho-hands up” said the fat man and I complied.
Santa (look, it doesn’t even matter
which one right now): “SPEAK!!!”
Me: “Look, I–...”
Santa: “Make this a good one,
we know about you.”
Me: “I apologize. I’mma
keep it all the way funky with you, well, y’all. I was here to stake out
y’all’s shit on a recon/revenge mission…”
Santa: “So we see.”
Me: “But….”
Santa: “... go on…”
Me: “I been in here for three
hours and I see what y’all are about.”
Santa: “And?”
Me: “I was wrong as fuck.”
Santa: “So what now?”
Me: “Well if you’ll let me, I
am gonna take my silly ass back home and–...”
Santa: “... and what”
Me: “... and leave y’all to
this good work you been doing all these years.”
Santa: “And have you seen
ANYTHING in here today?”
Me (doing the Stevie Wonder head
motion): “See? See what?”
Santa: “And the supervillainy?”
Me: “Look, can you AT LEAST
settle for ‘antihero’?”
Santa: “Can you at least
settle for ‘naughty list’?”
Me: “Will my wife and kids
suffer for it?”
Santa: “Only on the merits of
their own behavior.”
Me: “I’ll take it.”
Before
I could finish my last sentence, a Christmas bag was placed over my head.
Before I could “aww shit, here we go again,” I was at home in
my living room on Tuesday morning with the dogs and the fireplace
crackling. More stuff under the tree for the wife and girls than I have
ever seen, even with 5 days yet remaining until the big day.
“Damn,
the fat man/men looked out. This ordeal is over and done with.”
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