President Santa (Or is this too on the Red Nose?)

Santa flipped the bird at

all the little children standing

in the line to see him. The mall,

crowded with the dead eyed

shoppers baffled that

a mall is still a thing, paused.

The children screamed in confusion,

parents looked up from their phones.

“Shame! Shame on you,” shouted

a Mother. “What the hell man?,”

shouted a Dad. The line didn’t

stop. The Christmas music played on.

“Screw you, you greedy, needy, little

bastards. I’m frigging Santa Claus and I

can do what I want because I’m protecting

the Elves from disorder and chaos,” shouted

Santa. “Your children are all retarded, but

you know, I love the retards.”

“Isn’t Santa just the best. He really tells

it like it is,” said the Elves. “Where would

we be without Santa Claus right now? Knee deep

in Eskimos coming to take your jobs for sure!

Santa is the only one that can keep us safe!”

The parents shrugged and went back

to watching videos of pandas masturbating

or checking if that new toy is in stock and if

it’ll be delivered before Christmas and where

to buy erotic chocolates, not as a present, but

just for a snack.

“That’s right, only Santa Claus can keep you

ignorant assholes safe from the horrors of those

dirty Eskimos with all their seal killing and caribou

slaughtering,” shouted Santa as he casually groped

the rear end of a passing Elf.

“You love it sweetmeat,” snarled Santa.

“Okay, what little boy is next. No girls. Because girls only

ask for girly stuff and I don’t make girly stuff.

I make trucks and trains and buildings and

military grade plutonium for boys.

Not Girly stuff like, lingerie or tampons

or dolls or whatever girls use,” said Santa Claus.

A few parents, flabbergasted, grabbed their

children by the arms and dragged them

out of the long line. A few parents laughed

and told their kids that Santa was right.

A few parents weren’t there so the kids

had no direction at all.

“Oh, man, is it eleven o’clock already,” asked Santa.

“It’s time for my nap. See you dicks later.”

Santa stood from his cardboard throne,

pulled his sagging pants up, scratched at

his testicles and turned toward the door

marked Santa’s Workshop.

The Elves, in their prideful shame followed him.

“Toss sweetmeat a few bucks to keep her quiet,” said

Santa to his loyal first Elf.

Santa farted loudly and went to his suite for his

morning nap.

“Dad,” asked a small boy, “is Santa Claus coming

back?”

“God I hope not,” said his father.

“Good,” said the boy.