Naughty Santa Claus

"Mr. Claus," squeaked an elf from Santa Claus's door frame, "it is now half past nine, and your trip will commence at exactly 11:59 P.M. tonight and you're making a round trip starting with Greenland and - "

"Yeah, yeah," Santa said, waving a ham-like arm and silencing the elf. "I heard you." However, he remained in bed, the covers tossed around him.

There was something dangerous in Santa's eyes that made the elf nervous. He fidgeted with the bells hanging on his belt while Santa ran a hand through his tangled beard.

"Mr. Claus, the hair and makeup crew is ready to see you in case one of the children spot - "

"One of those brats spot me every year," Santa growled. "Never had to have a hair and makeup crew before. Do you remember those decades when I distributed gifts wearing nothing but Mrs. Claus's stockings?" Santa laughed nastily, remembering the children's screams of terror at seeing 300 pounds of blubber forced into sheer nylons. "Those were the days."

"Mr. Claus, ever since that little boy saw you...ah...engage in -"

"So what?" Santa boomed, leaping out of bed, his full girth towering over the two-foot elf. "So I kissed his mom. There was mistletoe and she was suggestible! I've been doing it for hundreds of years, and no one complains until the kid decides to go ahead and record a song about it. By the way, his voice in that recording is incomprehensibly annoying." Santa sighed and sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Send in the makeup crew," he said, resignation in his voice.

The elf scurried out, relieved.

Still sitting on the corner of his sagging mattress, Santa buried his hands in his face. Where had the good times gone?


Word Count: 298