True Story©... Holiday Conundrum Pt II - The Conclusion
[Phlip note: if you weren't here last week, please start there before continuing]
Welcome back...
Me: "'Fuck you mean *I* gotta fix the future of Christmas!?"
Santa: "You're the one who told me to go and get these Big Dick--..."
Me: "... no--..."
Santa: "Dig Bick Throbbers. You talked me into going to get these things. Now they're clearly sending my elves into cardiac trauma and it is up to you to fix it."
Me: "Have you considered taking away their narcotics, and maybe -- I'ono -- SOLVE the problem?"
Santa: "It's too late for that now!"
Me: "Dude, you said you could get through Christmas '25 and the real issue is down the road. That means you have--..."
Santa: "... WE!!!"
Me: "YOU have time. I work an office job and do landscaping. You're Santa fuckin Claus, the one with the magic and shit. Remember that wild ass-bag of coal you gave me that time?"
Santa: "Heh, whatever came of that?"
Me: "It ruined my life for a year--... wait, YOU WERE THE ONE PULLING ALL THE STRINGS!!!"
Santa: "Oh yeah, that was fun. So what do we do here, Moe."
Me: "Can I please just be Phillip?"
Santa: "Sure, soon as--..."
Me: "Aight, homie... See you in 372 day--..."
Santa: "As soon as Moe clocks out."
Me: "... fuck..."
Santa: "So how do we fix this?"
Man comes to me for assistance with a problem, I offer a solution that could work and he turns it down so I offer one that might be a bit more risky, but is it really my fault if that risk validates itself? Furthermore, is it MY place to clean this shit up WHEN that risk validates itself?
Well... knowing what we know about Santa and his gangstrionics, even if this is not logically my cross to bear, I had best position myself to fuckin solve it if I want to sleep safely.
Me: "You say you've been having issues with your elves procreating because of the drugs..."
Santa: "Right"
Me: "... and you can't get them off the drugs..."
Santa: "It's more complicated than--..."
Me: "Knock it off... Are ALL of your midg-- err... elves unable to perform, or just certain ones?"
Santa: "Not all of them have been partaking, so I'd infer that at least SOME are of some use to keep their population up."
Me: "Hybridizing is your solution."
Santa: "Excuse me?"
Me: "Are your elves like an alien race, or where did you find them? Never mind, don't answer that. Take the still-viable ones and introduce them to other dwarves; introduce em to oompah loompas, see if they'll hit it off with hobbits enough to bump cuties and build a new line of demi-elves."
Santa: "Bump cuties... I see what you did there."
Me: "I have never seen -- or was sworn to secrecy about -- your elves, so no one would know the difference. I have purposely avoided the logistics of how you got them and will continue to avoid them about how you will introduce them to create the next generation. I will just bid you good luck."
He stood there and looked at me like I had just suggested the WILDEST solution ever imaginable, as if a 46 year-old man standing in his living room talking to Santa Claus dressed in street close wasn't wild enough.
Santa: "I'll see what I can do."
And with that, *POOF* and I was standing in my living room all alone with my dogs...
As you may notice, today is Thursday and therefore Christmas. As I described last week, we're not exchanging physical gifts this year, so there was no rush on anyone's part to get out of bed on Christmas morning.
Santa, the busy busy fat man, came to see me yesterday while my wife was away from the house with her sister and I was working...
It goes without saying, I fear the absolute shit out of this man after what I saw up there the time I tried to infiltrate. What I will never understand is how this man has at his fingertips all the magic and wonderment of the world's imagination to never HAVE this problem, but not only does he have it but he comes to me to fix it. Should I be flattered or worried?
I am MORBIDLY curious about where he found oompah loompas and hobbits and even moreso about what words in what order he used to get little people to respond to his DM on Instagram -- as well as what his Instagram handle is -- but I am more afraid of Santa Claus and just how gully he can get, so I'll quietly live my life and mind my business.
Oh, and my account? He slid me 200 bucks in resort credits, which is a small fortune for someone who doesn't drink anymore.
As you may notice, today is Thursday and therefore Christmas. As I described last week, we're not exchanging physical gifts this year, so there was no rush on anyone's part to get out of bed on Christmas morning.
Santa, the busy busy fat man, came to see me yesterday while my wife was away from the house with her sister and I was working...
Me: "Can't you PLEASE just use the front door!?"
Santa: "Not with you recording everything in super scintillating 4k, no I can't."
Me: "Point taken. Well why are you here, shouldn't you be preparing for tonight?"
Santa: "I've been doing that for 1700 years, tonight is muscle memory. I wanted to update you on the status of your suggestion."
Me: "How!? Wait... how long is an elf gestational period?"
Santa: "When I left you last week, I collected several hobbits, a few oompah loompas, and three normal human dwarves -- the only ones who responded to my Instagram DM -- and arranged for them to meet up in a centralized location on Saturday."
Me: "You arranged a midg--… little person orgy? This is like my Google search history come to life!"
Santa: "What!?"
Me: "Huh? Nothin!"
Santa: "Taking advantage of that naughty list exemption, I see."
Me: "You told me I was permanently on it, as long as my wife and kids are left to their own merits and not mine I'm taking it--... Tell me about the elves fuckin'!"
Santa: "Well the initial meet up was successful and they really seemed to be hitting it off."
Me: "So we got baby elves coming or not?"
Santa: "Too soon to tell, but the fact that they were able to come together organically and make an attempt suggests that it is wholly possible."
Me: "Kinda like how Homo Sapiens, Denisovans and Neanderthals were so down bad that they had to give it a go and clap cheeks to save whatever version of humanity they could?"
Santa: "I seriously hate how well-read you are sometimes. To take up your crass simile, yes. We will know in a while if this tryst bears any fruit and if that can save my elf population. In the meantime, I think I have successfully gotten all the dope out of the North Pole."
Me: "You really should have done that when Rudolph got out of rehab. So to our current issue though, it remains to be seen..."
Santa: "Correct."
Me: "Well I'mma call this 'no news is good news' like I do with my doctors and lab results. If I don't hear from you, I'll just infer that shit is all good."
Santa: "Thank you, Phillip for potentially saving Christmas on into the future. Log into your resort account for your trip, I left you a little something. Merry Christmas."
It goes without saying, I fear the absolute shit out of this man after what I saw up there the time I tried to infiltrate. What I will never understand is how this man has at his fingertips all the magic and wonderment of the world's imagination to never HAVE this problem, but not only does he have it but he comes to me to fix it. Should I be flattered or worried?
I am MORBIDLY curious about where he found oompah loompas and hobbits and even moreso about what words in what order he used to get little people to respond to his DM on Instagram -- as well as what his Instagram handle is -- but I am more afraid of Santa Claus and just how gully he can get, so I'll quietly live my life and mind my business.
Oh, and my account? He slid me 200 bucks in resort credits, which is a small fortune for someone who doesn't drink anymore.
Comments