Once again I did not get what I wanted for Christmas and it makes me cranky. Every year since I was a kid I have waited up late to try and catch Santa breaking and entering and once again he somehow gets by my defenses. Don’t get me wrong, I love almost everything he and the reindeer leave (except for those raisins on the roof), but it bugs me that no matter what macho thing I do he still gives me the slip (a frilly one from Victoria Secret).
I’m not sure what Santa has to fear from me other than I resemble Rudolph’s pal, the Bumble – except I’m a bit harrier and still have a few of my own teeth left. Oh he is probably just bitter because I refuse to let one of his creepy mini-minions, the elf on the shelf, stare at me all night while I sleep. Geez have a heart Santa, I already fend off spiders, mice, and bed bugs, around this dump – so is it any surprise I want to extend a middle digit to one of your little midget’s too?
Is it too much to ask that the graying fat man in the red and white jammies, other than me, use the back door without ringing the bell, just like the rest of my hillbilly clan-family. This year, simply so there won't be any mistakes, I even stuffed foam up my chimney to keep the chill out; and let me tell you that’s a lot more challenging than those thin thermometers. Yes I was really prepared this holiday with candy cane cameras, bright landing lights, and even a few cookie-claymore trip lines to give St. Nick a sign it’s the right time to finally face ME - the grim wreather.
At this point I am starting to doubt if there is, or ever was a REAL Santa at all. I have actually been to the North Pole but I never saw a red-striped, bearded benefactor there or at any of the other three spikes which hold up my tent. Maybe all this seasonal stewing n’ stalking I am doing of St. Nick is a waste of time? Clearly I need to give up on hunting down Santa and his elusive elves and just concentrate on something far easier to swallow like the ‘Fountain of VERMOUTH’!