I woke up this morning in the middle of a dream where I was locked in intense hand-to-hand combat with Santa Claus. Not one of “santa’s helpers” but the actual guy; red suit, white beard, jolly demeanor – the whole nine yards. The rest of the dream is somewhat vague, but I remember being trapped underground with a bunch of other people and Santa was somehow the cause of it. The actual fight I remember clearly, even to the point where I clobbered him with a 10’ long piece of Styrofoam packing material. It broke in two over top of his head and he fell on his butt, looking dazed. I think I may have given him a concussion.
Anyway, now I’m nervous. I know that Santa sees me when I’m sleeping, but I don’t know whether he sees what I see when I’m sleeping. Does he know that we threw down and that I kicked his jolly ol’ tukkus? If so, is that enough to ensure my placement on the naughty list? Crap, I hope not. Something tells me harboring repressed feelings of violence towards a beloved holiday figure would probably get a guy on the naughty list permanently.
I really wish I could remember why we had been fighting to begin with. I seem to recall that he was repressing some group and holding them prisoner (maybe elves?) and that I had taken on the Harrison Ford/Bruce Willis hero role (“Yippe-ki-yay, Kris Kringle!”) as the liberator and was fighting to free them.
Of course, even if I had been successful the elves would probably have started squ
abbling amongst themselves over what key the jingle bells on their hats should be in. Without their benevolent dictator in place to impose order, the elves would revert to their natural state – civil war. This would lead to thousands of them fleeing the north pole as refugees, creating a elf-manitarian crisis of epic proportions. Wages in popular elf-centric industries such as shoemaking, cookie baking, Lord of the Rings extras, Victoria’s Secret holiday models, and hosting semi-improvisational theater at small liberal arts colleges would immediately see wages plummet as the influx of new cheap labor caused waves of layoffs among older, native elves.
At that point, I’d realize that the only way to restore society would be to replace Santa. But by then he’d probably be on trial at the Hague for crimes against elf-kind. Stupid UN. So I’d have to move north and replace him myself. And that’s how I’m going to become Santa. Now I just have to put on 100 pounds and develop the ability to grow facial hair…
Anyway, now I’m nervous. I know that Santa sees me when I’m sleeping, but I don’t know whether he sees what I see when I’m sleeping. Does he know that we threw down and that I kicked his jolly ol’ tukkus? If so, is that enough to ensure my placement on the naughty list? Crap, I hope not. Something tells me harboring repressed feelings of violence towards a beloved holiday figure would probably get a guy on the naughty list permanently.
I really wish I could remember why we had been fighting to begin with. I seem to recall that he was repressing some group and holding them prisoner (maybe elves?) and that I had taken on the Harrison Ford/Bruce Willis hero role (“Yippe-ki-yay, Kris Kringle!”) as the liberator and was fighting to free them.
Of course, even if I had been successful the elves would probably have started squ
abbling amongst themselves over what key the jingle bells on their hats should be in. Without their benevolent dictator in place to impose order, the elves would revert to their natural state – civil war. This would lead to thousands of them fleeing the north pole as refugees, creating a elf-manitarian crisis of epic proportions. Wages in popular elf-centric industries such as shoemaking, cookie baking, Lord of the Rings extras, Victoria’s Secret holiday models, and hosting semi-improvisational theater at small liberal arts colleges would immediately see wages plummet as the influx of new cheap labor caused waves of layoffs among older, native elves.At that point, I’d realize that the only way to restore society would be to replace Santa. But by then he’d probably be on trial at the Hague for crimes against elf-kind. Stupid UN. So I’d have to move north and replace him myself. And that’s how I’m going to become Santa. Now I just have to put on 100 pounds and develop the ability to grow facial hair…
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