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Shady Santa
 | | The new image of Santa. Not so jolly anymore. | “Oh my fucking god! Santa just torched daddy!” As quoted from little Suzy of LA California, age 5, after witnessing her father being turned crispy by a fat man in a red jump suit. Yes, this year, this great holiday is not like any others. This holiday will be remembered. Not because of the caring and giving, or the great charity gathered for the poor hopeless hobos plaguing our streets, nor will it be remembered for all the misfited suicides that always accompany (and spawn) the joys of Christmas. No, this holiday will be remembered for Santa…Santa the Ripper.
Many of us remember him as Jolly ol’ Saint Nick, the happy fat man with a beard and bright clothes, a gentle soul that only wished to help the world, to spread joy, to steal troublesome little kids to force them into slave-labor to make the good little boys and girls toys. But the years have caught up to Father Christmas. After thousands of generations of love and care, his sad frail little mind has finally snapped. I don’t quite know why, or when this happened; it could be the time in high-school when we all got together and rolled the fat man down that Snow-Board Hill. Or perhaps that time we forged his signature onto a Playboy magazine subscription. I don’t know, I’m not a dentist, but I do know one thing; it wasn’t cigarettes.
But now, our lovable little twisted Merry Man turned Homicidal Pyromaniac, and this Christmas as we all warm around the fireplace, our neighbors are being roasted in theirs. Yes, Santa is here for revenge, and no angel, man, or elf can stop his anger. Sliding with the greatest of care into people’s houses and carefully leaving bloody reindeer heads in children’s beds. Its time to understand the true meaning of Christmas; be good and get candy, or be bad and be slowly burnt alive by streams of flaming gasoline being perpetually thrown into your face.
Santa’s sleigh was last seen flying over South-side, Chicago, this sight was described as a walking barrel of pudding toting one helluva flame-thrower. Canadian style. Rumors circle of terrorist threats, although Jesus Christ was not available for comment, we did get a short phone conversation for the price of our humane soulsand our last stash of Cheese Chestnuts (made in china). Sadly we learned nothing of importance, other then that Santa, or perhaps Satan? Has been taking hostages, mainly little children ages 5-7. It is the belief of Jeff, the wisest man of them all and chief adviser to the American president, that Santa is then selling them to Michael Jackson in return for every first born son of the American people. If only someone could guess Santa Clauses name! Then we could put an end to this horrible little twisted game.
Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas, minus all the steady screams of flaming victims and dying children falling prey to the devious mind of the self-proclaimed Father Christmas. But perhaps good will come out of all this, people everywhere of all race and religion are joining together, and working in union to stop Mr. Clause. Could this be a dawn of a new age? An age of peace and prosperity? God I hope not.
And now, a short Christmas poem. Tonight twas a night to remember,
For all through the land this merry December,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Flamingo
For everything and everyone were in fear, even Bingo,
Of the true man of joy,
Who came down with a merry voice,
And with a Canadian flame-thrower in his hand,
Spread living hell throughout all the land,
And children burned,
And children learned,
No matter what you do;
Don’t fuck with Santa.
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