Santa Wears a Blood Red HatA Story by Chillbear Latrigue An intriguing political satire with a yule flavor... The leathery little elf was not having a good day. In addition to finding out that the Chinese had sent him 50,000 gallons of lead based paint, the pneumatic tube system was on the fritz again. Since his promotion, he was working longer hours with greater responsibility without much of an increase in pay. The North Pole sucked. He would participate in the organization of the labor if it wasn’t for the reindeer. They were like the KGB on speed. It wouldn’t fly to have a head elf, siding with labor.
These were his thoughts as he walked down the long hallway to the giant doors that lead to the ante-room outside of Santa’s office. Santa’s secretary looked at him over the top of her black horn rims: “Do you have an appointment, Rimplestintz?”
“No, Marsha, and don’t break my balls. The stupid tube thing is stuck again. Is he in a good mood?” Rimplestintz asked hopefully.
“He hasn’t been in a good mood since ’80, when Reagan boycotted the delivery of presents to the USSR because of the invasion of Afghanastan.”
Rimplestintz sighed, “All right. I’ll see you at home. I’ll pick up Chinese.”
The elf pushed open the heavy oaken door.
“What is it, Rumplestunt?”
“My Lord Santa Clause, if it would please you, I have some unfortunate news for you.”
“No, it would not please me. What the f**k do I pay you elves for? Sit on your asses all day? Nothing gets fixed around here. Our toy quotas are behind. So, what is it?”
“Um, My Lord Santa Clause, the phlegmatic tube system is stuck again. Also the Chinese delivered lead based paint.”
“Jesus Christ! You talked me into buying that piece of garbage. Has that piece of s**t even worked for a day?”
“With all due respect, Your Excellency, you use it as a garbage disposal. I keep finding Egg McMuffin wrappers and Schlitz cans stuck in the tubing. I may be able to plunge it, but as to the paint…”
“Use the God damned paint for the third world countries. Africa, South America…oh Eastern Europe has fairly low standards. B***h to the Chinese though. I want a discount on the next shipment. They’ll cave. They don’t need the God damned publicity.”
“Yes, Creator of All Toys.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a p***y, Rimleflatz! Creator this! Lord that! Quit kissing my God damned a*s and start earning!”
At that point, the door swung open. Jesus walks in. He looks really awesome like in every Renaissance painting, but he has and angry scowl on his face, “What did I tell you about taking my name in vain, Clause?”
Santa Clause had never been too happy about Jesus’ role in management. He had always felt that nepotism had played some role in his position, “Oh, hey there, Jesus. My bad. No need to get your Dad involved right?”
“I run things now. I’m in charge. Okay, forget about the name calling. You have totally screwed up my birthday year in and year out. You’re constantly running out of inventory. Those Secret Police reindeer that you hired keep getting wasted on mistletoe. You’ve got your elves organizing with AFL-CIO. Did you even know about that?” Glancing up and down Santa Clause’s pathetic figure, “Look at you, Clause. Fat, slovenly…when was the last time you shaved? There are mall Santas that smell better than you.”
Santa Clause was seriously embarrassed by the dress down. He did know about the unionization, but was powerless to stop it. The corruption, overspending and inefficiency of the Clause administration had run the operation into the ground…but he still had his trump card.
Santa walked over to a credenza and picked up a crystal decanter of bourbon. He then selected two crystal glasses and dropped a few cubes of ice in each. “Do you know what a symbiotic relationship is, Jesus?” Santa said thoughtfully as he handed Jesus the whiskey. This was his strong suit. The verbal showdown.
“Clause, I’m the Son of God. Don’t talk to me like an idiot. Get to your point.”
“You like the big party. Pomp and circumstance. You wanted your day to be bigger than Thanksgiving? Do you remember?” When Jesus didn’t respond, Santa went on: “You came to me to be your party planner. Everyone else just wanted to focus on a big meal. Remember that one angel wanted to do sushi and origami. Minimalist bull s**t.”
“Yeah, never hire a Japanese architect angel to plan a party. Look, I do forgive a lot of people these days and we have had some good times. I will give you one more chance, but be warned. If you don’t clean up your act, a dark agent will visit you with his minions and all of my powers will not be able to save you once these forces are unleashed.”
With that Jesus exited the corporate offices of the North Pole operation.
“Rimplestantz, what the f**k are you still doing here? Wait. On second thought, make me a God damn martini!” He despised the elf, but he knew how to make an excellent martini.
Jesus is omniscient. Because of this, he had dispatched his “dark agent” before the meeting with Santa Clause. He knew that Clause would never be able to shape up. He just couldn’t fire him for sentimental reasons.
Smoke filled the office. The light flickered. Vixen and Donner, who were standing guard, began to buck nervously. Santa Clause knew that he had messed up big time, but he had not been ready for such a rapid response. Truth be known, he wasn’t going to come back tonight. He was going to get on the sled loaded with presents and head to Cuba where he could trade them for sanctuary, but it was too late now.
Not knowing what to expect, he downed the last of his bourbon and stood up behind his desk waiting for whatever entered.
“You’re looking a little chubby these days, Clause. I can recommend a diet.” Jesus’ henchman was none other than Arkansas Governor and Presidential Candidate Mike Huckabee.
“Oh for the love of God! Come on. You can’t take me on.”
“Have you seen the Iowa polls, Clause? My power is growing. Besides, I didn’t come alone. Chuck.” In walks Chuch Norris dressed in his uniform from the Delta Force movies.
“Don’t make me laugh. What is he? Like seventy? Although, you do look great, Norris. Is that from that Total Gym?”
“Yes.”
Huckabee was not Jesus. He didn’t have the sentimentality for Clause that Jesus did. Clause was one of the more outspoken public figures against the Republican nomination. His message resonates with me, but I don’t think he could knock off any of the Democrats. “Enough small talk, Clause. Here is a box. Pack up your personal effects.”
“You think that the governor of Arkansas and Lone Wolf McQuaid can depose the Supreme Emperor of Toy? Bring it! Donner, Vixen, show these clowns out.”
Vixen, who had been pissed since his name had become synonymous with “s**t” galloped toward Chuck Norris and gored him with horns. The action pinned Norris to the oaken door, but it also took Vixen out of play since his bloody horns were embedded into the wood. That left, Huckabee to deal with Donner.
Donner was not as quick as Vixen and Huckabee had been working out a lot since the weight loss. Huckabee was able to time the motion and grabbed Donner’s horns. With a twisting maneuver he snapped Donners neck. Reindeer simply don’t have the flexibility to withstand this type of attack. Well, unless they had worked a lot on their stretching, which Donner hadn’t. Huckabee knew this. He had done his homework.
He then walked over to Norris and Vixen and removed a revolver from underneath his coat. Chuck, being an advocate of gun rights and a card carrying member of the NRA approved of going out this way, “You know what you have to do, Huck. Finish us.” With that Huckabee euthanized Chuck Norris and Vixen. Although, many of the things that you may read about Chuck Norris are not true, Huckabee felt that it was fitting that it took five shots to finish that tough old b*****d. “Glorious,” he said.
When he turned around to address Santa, he was holding an old German Luger. “Nice job, Huckabee, but Santa has his own teeth and you used all six shots to kill Norris. You’re out of rounds.”
Santa was so caught up in the flurry of the battle that he did not notice that Former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani had entered the office using ninja skills. As Santa was bragging to Huckabee about his plan for escape. Giuliani slipped a wire around Santa’s neck and garroted him. When Santa went limp, Giuliani pitched forward under the burden of the weight. Giuliani let him drop and plucked the red cap from the top of his head. He donned the cap and sat behind the desk. He took a sip from the freshly prepared martini. He threw it at the Rimplestintz and shouted: “Not enough gin! You know I’ve never garroted anyone with a beard that thick before, I should have…”
At that moment, God came down through the skylight. “What the hell is all of this? Chuck Norris is dead? You know we need him for the battle against Satan!”
“Sir, isn’t he going to Heaven anyway?”
God knew it was a good point, but he wasn’t going to let everyone off the hook this easily, “We need a new Santa. I do not want to live in a world without Santa Clause.” He looked around the room at his prospective choices. An elf, Giuliani and Huckabee. “Gentleman, I need suggestions.”
“Hillary Clinton.” Giuliani offered.
“Oh, you would love that, Rudy. We are not having a “female” Santa. Folks might notice.”
“How about John McCain?” Huckabee suggested.
“You know, fatten him up and put a beard on him and he would look just like this guy here.” Said God pointing to the carcass of Santa Clause, “and he is so benign I doubt that he would be offended. Good idea, Huckabee.”
“Thanks. Then will you support me for President, God?”
“Look, I’m not going to lie. Your message of God resonates with me, but I don’t think you can beat the Hilmeister.”
“So, who are you going to support? McCain’s out now. Romney?” Huckabee asked dejectedly.
“A Mormon? I don’t even know what those people believe.”
“Who then?” Giuliani asked smugly. He knew the answer.
“Yes, Rudy. You may be a womanizing, icon-murderer, but I like your fiscal policy and I think mainstream America identifies with you. Just do one thing for me?”
“What’s that, God?”
“If you are running against John Edwards, I want you to run over and muss up his hair. I’ll make sure it’s worth three points in the polls.”
“You got it, God. Venison anyone?” Everyone laughs including the soul of Chuck Norris
© 2008 Chillbear LatrigueAuthor's Note
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Added on February 7, 2008Last Updated on February 8, 2008 Author
Chillbear LatrigueFort Lauderdale, FLAboutVanilla childhood accompanied by a benign education. Got into Finance to get rich. When I didn't get rich, I got bored and became a cop. When that didn't cure my boredom I started looking for escapes... more..Writing
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