Alright, everybody, sit on down. There’s enough hay for everyone, so no need to throw elbows. Butts on the ground, folks. Firstly, I want to thank head librarian Ida Gunt for allowing us to use their outdoor nativity scene for this emergency town council session. I was not made aware until lunch-time that the town chambers are being fumigated for Goliath beetles today, and I wish I’d been told earlier, as I did leave my jacket and dog in there. Try to ignore the sheep, and I don’t want anyone sneaking one of Jesus’ gifts into their briefcase. We had to special-order that myrrh.
I’ve – pardon the pun – shepherded you here because we’ve got a huge problem. And it’s not the elementary school students discovering they can get high by snorting the artificial snow we sprayed on their ski hill. I wouldn’t even call that a problem. Those kids have been churning out some pretty amazing screenplays. No, it’s our town Santa Claus, and more to the point, the sex offender that was hired to play him. Oh yeah. Someone’s losing their parking spot for this one.
I take a four-day vacation in Montgomery, the cultural center of Alabama, and the whole operation goes to hell! Of course, this wouldn’t have been an issue if our previous Santa of fifty years, Burl Tugg, hadn’t popped like a Christmas cracker at our November Pancake Eat-and-Eat. I guess wearing the dual mantles of Opa-Locka’s oldest and fattest man finally caught up to him. He was 92! Some chalk his longevity up to drinking a glass of red wine every night before bed. Others whisper that it was all those human growth hormones he bought on the Internet and injected into himself. Either way, he is missed.
Why’d he have to croak on our watch? And why, in our classified ad for the new town Santa, was it stipulated that applicants must have a scraggly beard and “a love of children that society could never understand”? That’s just asking for trouble. And Ray, I’m told that the “rigorous” screening process involved you taking the applicant in question to your basement microbrewery, getting choomed on beer of suspect origin and quality, and asking him to list Santa’s reindeer, with two out of eight constituting a pass. That’s not how a town is run.
Merle, please get out of Jesus’ manger. It can’t support someone of your weight. And if you break it, you’re going to be the one going down to Rattan Bob’s and buying the wicker needed to fix it, I promise you that.
We really have to start cleaning up our act. I told you all not to use the sex offender registry as scrap paper, and I did it more than once! Thank God “Santa” didn’t do anything to any of the kids. After he showed the first, and last, young tyke that sat on his lap the dolphin tattoo on his left pec, the parents chased him off. And now that word has spread, the townspeople have promised to “whip Santa’s fat ass” if he shows up to marshal our annual parade in his honor. This is the dictionary definition of a dill pickle.
The Santa Claus Parade has always been the event that unites this town. The many, many disappointments of the year are erased in a hail of cheap candy strewn aimlessly from the backs of pickup trucks . It’s a sad time for a place that was once nicknamed “America’s Christmas Spirit Capital” because over 90% of our constituents believe Santa Claus is real. Of course, that was before we were re-dubbed “America’s Meth Capital” for reasons I don’t have to address right now. Bottom line: we’ve got to save the parade! Ideas?
Merle, please don’t punt The Son of God like a football. After years of nativity scene vandalism, The Deliverer is being held together by enough crazy glue to get even a veteran sniffer like yourself super screwed up. To be honest, your legendarily-high tolerance for that stuff is the only thing I admire about you.
You’re right, Dory. Santa would likely escape unscathed if his float drove 130 miles an hour. But I don’t feel like that’s going to be the best crowd experience. Plus, at that speed, and with the abundance of potholes on Main Street, Santa’s sleigh is likely to blow a tire and plow through a pack of seniors. And I really wish I could say that hasn’t happened before.
Jennifer, I’d love to rubber-stamp the purchase of some kind of “Popemobile” for Santa, but we just don’t have the money in the budget. And call me cynical, but I feel like you’re just trying to drum up business for your boyfriend’s Popemobile dealership out near Highway 1200.
I don’t think a public apology speech from Santa is going to work, Bill. Our citizens don’t exactly have a long attention span. As I learned during my Veteran’s Day address last month, if you don’t mention something about WWE or X-Box by the end of sentence two, they start throwing batteries.
Well, this is going nowhere fast. You know, I feel for the young kids who aren’t going to get a parade, and weren’t around for the classic ones of the past. Like in 2008, when the Google Maps van was driving through town and we just kinda trapped it in.
Merle, I plead with you: take The Root of David out of that Baby Bjorn. You are not the guy with the beard from The Hangover. We need real solutions, not a trendy cultural reference! It also conjures up the troubling prospect of you raising a child.
Hold the phone. I think I just cracked this walnut. Just because the old Santa’s credibility has taken a nosedive doesn’t mean we can’t create a new Santa Claus who embodies all of the same ideas. We can even make him cool for a new generation. We’ll take my seven-year-old, stick him in the red and white, and add on some of those pink shutter sunglasses and a fedora. I’m thinking “Santa Jr.” – who’s with me? And to really sell this cat, we’ll surround him with Santa’s high-profile celebrity friends. Frank, your ex-wife runs the costume shop, no? Tell her we’re going to need all the firepower we can muster. The Easter Bunny! The New Year’s baby! The Phoenix Suns Gorilla!
And hell, if he doesn’t catch on, people will be begging for the old Santa back. He’ll be the New Coke of Christmas!
I think this one’s all sewn up. God bless us, every -
What’s that, Merle? You’ve got something hidden behind your back for me? I can only assume this will be another indignity for me to suffer. Well, let’s have a peek.
It’s… it’s a present.
Merry Christmas, Merle.
I see Yao Ming got married, anybody know how tall she is?
Even though he not on my team, I hope things go well for the
big fellow.
Aw, this was a really quality post. In theory I’d like to write like this too – taking time and real effort to make a good article… but what can I say… I procrastinate alot and never seem to get something done.