The Eighth Page

WikiLeaks: The Santa Chronicles

Under the new Republican Congress, Santa and other holiday characters are under a thorough investigation to ensure the financial stability and mental well being of said characters. In addition to being audited and examined by a team of psychologists, doctors and abusive investigators left over from the Red Scare, each holiday character was asked to write about their attitudes toward their respective positions. Because Julian Assange likes to tick off America to cover up his own insecurities, Santa’s report was leaked to the press, including this report written by Santa himself concerning his thoughts on being jolly old Saint Nick. To whom it may concern (since I’m Santa that should basically be everyone), I am going to be quite blunt: I hate being Santa Clause. You have absolutely no idea how difficult my job can be. You know those elves you see in those commercials? They don’t use language. Can you imagine what it’s like to supervise four thousand mythical creatures who you can’t talk with? No. You can’t. And their voices are unbearable: imagine nails running on a baby pig blasting through the sound system at a Metallica concert. Yeah, four thousand of those. No form of self-medication can reverse that trauma. Trust me. I’ve tried. Literally, I attempted to genetically alter my elves so that they are born with wider vocal chords. Despite one elf that sounds like that guy on the All-State commercials, I was unsuccessful. Did you know I have never received a present? Every year I give out billions of presents, but no one ever thinks to give back to the most generous person in the world. Bono gets presents, George Clooney gets presents: why not that fat guy wearing red? Huh? Reciprocal altruism does not exist in the North Pole, I can assure you of that. Being Santa for a few centuries or so has allowed me to become an expert in several fields. My skills would be much more useful in other areas than present delivery. For example, my ability to fit in tight spaces has been mastered by my trillions of infiltrated chimneys. I could save kids from wells and sewage systems or something. I could perhaps deliver pizza quickly with my sleigh. (Which would also render high gas prices meaningless.) Please! I can’t be Santa anymore. I’ll do anything. ANYTHING! Ho Ho Ho, Santa Clause -Sloan Kettering