Jolly Jocose Fellow or Mafia Hitman
I question the motives of Santa Claus.
Is he the pristine jocose fellow we all adore with cookie crumbs
crumbling on his red velvet getup, chimney soot on his white elf
stitched gloves, and lactate caked like cheese in his beard or is he
something a little more sinister. Every year he carries around
“children’s playthings” or “toys” to all the “good” boys and girls,
but come on are any of them really deserving of anything. “Good” is
such a tepid transient word.
I mean he runs around in his fancy suped up turbo sled led by an
alcoholic reindeer with a glowing red nose. And it’s obvious the rest
of the reindeer gang, you know Dancer and Prancer and Donner and
Blitzen, are all coke feigns. How else do you think they go around
the whole damn world in one night?
You wanna know the truth? I think Santa started out as a cat
burglar. You know since he slips into the house in the dead of night
while everyone is sleeping with dreams of Mighty Morphin Power
Rangers and Pokemon creatures grind dancing in their heads that found
a better profit model. He could easily steal that 40 inch flat
screen, dvd player and that leather couch - just bag it and leave,
but instead he leaves little trinkets behind. Actually, come to think
of it I wonder what happened to that VCR I had. I swear I left it in
my closet and where is my other white sock?
The trinkets, the wrapped presents, are calling cards- warnings
actually. It’s just a little warning to let everyone know that the
Fat Man can get in anytime, anywhere. The truth is Santa is really a
hitman on the run as the suicide count runs way above normal during
It makes perfect sense doesn’t it? Take a picture of Marlon Brando
and imagine him with a white beard and red suit and tell me he
doesn’t look like all the pictures of Santas you’ve seen. Do you get
it now? You see all the “Don’s” are “Santas,” the whole Santa Claus
operation is a cover, all the little elves are just short Sicilians,
and the whole darn toy industry is teamster run. The Mafia will never
die! Like, duh.
Oh, you know that song about Grandma? Well, it’s real. You see
Grandma was a loud Sicilian woman that COULDN’T KEEP HER MOUTH SHUT
about the operation and said that she was going to go the FEDs ’cause
her idiot brother was taken out. Now her brother was a sniveling,
powder puffer who couldn’t keep the two carnal fucking rules, “You
never rat on your friends and you always keep your mouth shut.”
Grandpa was sick and tired of his wife bitching and moaning around
the holidays so he called in a favor. Don Santacristos got the call
and Grandpa sent Grandma on a little errand down the street where he
said some nice fur coats were. “Right over there!” he said to her and
she just took her walker and waddled her fat ass down the snow
covered road for some mint minks and foxy scarves. But you see, Don
Santa was waiting behind the dumpster and when she approached, he put
the leather to the fur backs and BAM! ran her fat, waddling, secrets
spilling ass over.
Nine sets of hoof marks tattooed her hairy Sicilian ass so bad that
they couldn’t even have an open casket during the wake. She shoulda
kept quiet, but the whole family knew it was just business, nothing
Santa’s gotta pay the family you know and this is how he pad’s the
mattresses. He is the ultimate hitman. No one expects it. I mean the
toy running ring is the perfect cover. He can ho ho ho into someone’s
house and slip them a pill or stangle them and make it look like the
perfect suicide- very professional. Who would expect a jolly fat man
to do it. Huh?
Oh, shit man, I hear jingle bells. I’ve gotta go, but I had to tell
you the truth. Oh, no. I hear the sinister Ho ho ho-ing. I think it’s
lights out time for me. Whenever you get a gift on Christmas remember
that it has a price.
Merry Christmas to all and watch out for the fat man.