Santa lays it on a church autitorium filled with folks doing the religious thing.
"Here we go again," he grumbled into the microphone on the podium. The man dressed in a red costume hadn’t even been invited to the gala Christmas ever, but he continued just the same. "It begins every year at the time. And what I do get out of it? Just a lot of overgrown, outdated, oooh-ahhhs from people who don't really enjoy my offerings, and take them back to the store as so a possible. I don't even recognize the reason for the season anymore, if I ever did. It's so commercialized I don't even think anyone remembers what the actual holiday is supposed to be about.
“How stupid is it to begin running up bills and maxing out credit limits just when you get last year's bills paid off? What makes this season even more redundant and sickening, is that, while engaged in the process, most society pays more to lighting up their homes so they can win a prize that says I’m better than anyone else?
“The practice honoring the significance of a baby, supposedly born in manger halfway around the world, beats me. I never understood it. I’m still getting used to the significance of a tree that destroys thousands of homes each year when it burns to the ground.
“Besides why do people worship the infant when he didn’t accomplish anything?” he groused as he poured another glass of cheer from the picture on the podium, and continued his rant. “It seems to me everyone has forgotten that the infant grew up and became a child/prophet who, if I am to believe the unconfirmed accounts written in the an outdated, supposedly holy book, dared engage the scholars in a philosophical discussion, and won, at twelve years old. And then several years later pissed off those same scholars when he shook the boat of complacency, advocating that just maybe, the world would be better off without organized hypocritical religio/politics. And finally, the great prophet did become a man, who per the afore mentioned source, performed many supposed miracles. Accounts, that, again have never been proven. Oh, yeah, and full of himself—he often humiliated his disciples in front of others—and then, still full of himself, he rebelled and overturned the money tables on the Temple court, in protest of high taxes, scattering gold coins and jewels everywhere. How Bogus is that?
“And finally, his ego in full bloom he bragged daring proclaim in front of these same scholars that he was the son of an unseen god, and set himself above even these educated scholars and holy men. Is it any wonder that governments who profess to follow the wishes of an unseen god, engage in the process of killing the supposed crown of their king’s creation? And yet, today everyone pretends to worship this prophet by first, ignoring his wise counsel concerning religion, and then honoring his life, by celebrating a day that doesn’t have a mention anywhere in their holy Bible.
With a pedigree like this, I should be happy to do this once a year?” During his rant, Santa had emptied both the picture, and he promptly swallowed last dregs from his glass, turned, and staggered from the dais, down the three steps from the stage, and fell on his face. So much for that. He thought. His wife wouln’t be found in any church or other place of supposed worship, so nobody knows her. Besides he hadn’t been invited, so it was just as well, he closed his eyes a left a world of darkness to reside in what lie beyond.