Santa's a Stalker and Probably Has Diabetes

Santa's a Stalker and Probably Has Diabetes

I was laying in bed last night, thinking about yesterday's post - feeling weepy and nostalgic. And then, as they often do, my thoughts turned on me. They went to that dark, cynical place I'm all too familiar with, and I started thinking about all the shit we've told our kids about Santa and how it's a miracle they believe a word that comes out of our mouths about him (or anything for that matter) and it's no wonder they are terrified as hell when they see him.

 

Just think for a second about the things we tell our kids about Ol' Saint Nick.

 

What we say: He lives in a magical toy workshop in the North Pole.

Hmmmm: He is a socially awkward recluse. He has so few friends that he has chosen to live in the most uninhabitable place on earth with nothing better to do than make toys to give away the one night of the entire year that he ever leaves. So far, a failed attempt at making enough friends to get him out of the desolate wasteland he calls home.

 

What we say: He gets into our house at night through the chimney. What if we don't have a chimney? Keyhole. What's a keyhole? We don't have one of those, either. Window. He just figures it out, okay.

Hmmmm: This man is a master at breaking and entering. He leaves us stuff, but I don't trust anyone that can wiggle their nose and end up in our living room. Better sleep with one eye open.

 

What we say: Everyone has to leave him cookies and milk on Christmas Eve so he'll have enough energy to get through the night.

Hmmmm: He eats nothing but cookies all night? You never let me have more than two cookies because too much sugar is bad for you and childhood obesity is an epidemic in this country. Didn't you say he's already fat? What was that disease you warned me about? Diabetes?

 

What we say: He has eight (nine if you count Rudolph) reindeer pull him on a sleigh through the sky to deliver presents on Christmas Eve.

Hmmmm: He is no friend to animals. You won't even let me strap my doll to our dog's back. We just talked about his unhealthy diet and how overweight he is. He has these poor creatures pull his fat ass plus like A BILLION presents ALL OVER THE WORLD in one single night? Where the hell is PETA at a time like this?

 

What we say: He has elves build the toys all year long so he can deliver them.

Hmmmm: He runs a sweatshop. Where do these "elves" come from? He is, after all, sneaking into the houses of billions of children once a year. Again...it's probably best to sleep with one eye open.

 

What we say: He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake.

Hmmmm: He's a stalker. Are you sure he drives a sleigh and not an unmarked white van equipped with a satellite and surveillance camera?


What we say: He keeps a list of all the girls and boys in the whole world. He knows who is "naughty" and "nice".

Hmmmm: Isn't that the same thing as a pedophile? You said I should never talk to a stranger even if they know my name. I wonder if the neighborhood watch people know about this.

 

So, we tell our children all of these things. And then we take them to shopping malls and Christmas parties and sit them in his lap. And we expect nothing less than smiles and happiness.

 

Photo courtesy of my sister and her adorable children.

 

 

 

Bitch, please.

 

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