The night was so cold that even the moon was frozen.
The sleigh rode into a blackened abyss of sky, powered by the dreams of children both good and evil. Oh yeah, and a flask of that atomic eggnog that I snagged from the Christmas party inside of the family meatlocker. Never mind that I just might have had way too much of the firey elixir flowing freely through my veins right now. It was cool though. I washed it all down with a healthy grabbing of fruitcake to help with soaking up the suds. Yummy fruitcake. Handpicked from the most rotten berries of the greenhouse that was Westward adjacent to casa de Claus. Rotten. Just the way I like it.
A gust of wind blasted me in the face and I was temporarily thrown off balance. Had to keep it together. So many toys and assorted rubbish to be delivered tonight. But rest all ye merry nuts by the fire for neither wind nor being slightly shit-faced can hold me back from performing my task.
The events of the evening leading up to this moment behind me now, all I wanted to do at this point was hand out some goodies and garbage and head back to the party before it starts to break up. I am a party animal. The quintessential party beast in fact. Hopefully Mrs. Claus wouldn't frighten off most of the guests with her lewdness and extroverted behavior. Earlier this year she had started to experience the change of life. It had been hell for all of those around her. Not for me though. Hell might be a woman going through menopause, but Hell is my hometown.
Mrs. Claus used to be such a timid specimen of womanhood. A kindly old doll of a lady whose biggest quirk was that perfume she would always wear that smelled like old lady pee. Ew dew toilet. You could smell her coming a mile away sometimes. Now she had taken up to dancing on tables and fornicating with all the hired help. She had been seen riding elves and according to some of the neighborhood riff raff, who claimed they had heard this from Rudolph himself one night at the local pub, she had even got it on with Rudolph in the stable. She was a Butterworth by blood, and those women are into some freaky shit if rumor serves correct.
Once Mrs. Claus began her descent into her menopausal state of depravity, things had become awkward around the North Pole. Particularly in the toy factory where all the elves worked furiously to satisfy the demand of prepubescent dictatorship. It seems that Mrs. Claus would have one too many of her elfin trysts and before long they were all fighting over her. They went on strike, but through sexual favors handed out on iou's, she had single handedly managed to disperse the maelstrom and save Christmas for everyone. Her goodie basket got her into this mess, and I'll be damned if it didn't get her out of it too.
Things seemed to be looking for the better in the Claus household. Mrs. C. still wrapped her legs around anything that had a pulse. If Rudolph was to be believed she was the quite the bestiality enthusiast, though it was interesting to note that she does apparently draw the line at necrophilia. Even a Butterworth has standards it would appear. But the atmosphere was festive and Christmas would be most happening this year. Cut to the Christmas party-
Santa Claus gets piss drunk and passes out right before he is supposed to hop on the sleigh and begin his global excursion to little girls and boys everywhere. He was always a lightweight and could never quite handle his liquor. That is where I came in. I have rode bitch before and I knew his route and the routine and so of course guess who gets asked to do sleigh duty? Yup. Me.
I had given some thought to maybe turning things up a notch or two. How do you think people would like it if I reversed the natural order of things? Give all the best toys to all the most horrid little monster children. Then, give all the good girls and boys lumps of coal in their stockings and boxes wrapped and filled with garbage. That is what one might come to expect when you have Satan Claus mainlining the deliveries for the holiday. No worries though. He might be a drunk who can't domesticate his concubine, but he is still my brother and this is his gig and I won't mess it up for him.
Lets see now..... first on the list we have little Timmy. Ahhh, he set the teachers hair on fire. Good good. Nice boy. Oh wait a minute.... no, no... bad bad.... uhhh.... yeah.... bad Timmy. We don't set people on fire. Unless you're me. Then it's what is expected of you because after all, I am the god of Hell fire and ruler of Hades.
There is little Timmys house right there.
"On Masher! On Basher! On Stupid and Blitzkrieg! Take me in for a landing. I see they have a GREAT BIG CHIMNEY and this fruitcake is working its way South. A Merry Christmas to all indeed."
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