in the fade


  1. Listen. Listen to me. Just..listen. Ok. Ok, you’re listening. Good. Where was I? What was I saying? Oh, yea. Come have a drink. Have a drink with Santa. It’s just punch. Santa can have some punch even if it does have three quarts of gin in it. Ok, there’s like not even any fruit in it. Or juice. It’s just gin punch. A big fucking bowl of gin. And I’m drinking it with a fucking scoop. You know why? Because look at my life. Just look. I’m like 200 pounds overweight, I dress like I foraged through a Salvation Army clothes bin in the dark and I’ve got about 300 midgets in the next room who are on a work slowdown because I won’t let them unionize. So it’s December and…wait, it’s December, right? These months all seem to flow together when those assholes put up Christmas decorations right next to the Halloween shit. Honestly I’m not even sure what fucking day it is let alone month. I’m just gonna assume it’s December because I’m wearing this god damn hat and someone is playing “Do They Know It’s Christmas” somewhere HEY, WOMAN, TURN THAT FUCKING RADIO OFF, I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS MUSIC IN THE HOUSE ESPECIALLY THAT SONG uh, wives. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t stuff them down someone’s chimney and say HERE’S YOUR PRESENT, FUCKER. So anyway, I’m piss drunk and you know what? That’s my right. I’ve got to spend an entire night driving some obstinate reindeer all over the fucking world just to give presents to a bunch of ungrateful, spoiled kids who don’t even believe I exist just to keep up some god damn legend. If that’s not pressure, I don’t know what is. That’s why I drink, people. You know what I want to do? I want to leave a note with every plate of cookies and fucking milk - I’m lactose intolerant by the way - left out for me that says YOU’RE THE REASON I DRINK. That will make those bastards believe in me real quick. So, yea. I’m just gonna sit her with my big bowl of gin and listen to The Smiths and think about what a mess I made out of my life. What a stupid career choice, right? I mean, I took this job as a temporary thing because I couldn’t find anything else. This is what happens when you major in English, kids. You end up in a dead end civil service job with no chance of promotion or a raise or anything and the only skills you learn are how to commandeer a herd of reindeer and how to fit your fat ass safely down a chimney. You end up spending a Sunday afternoon at a shopping mall Ho-Ho-Hoing while some two year old pisses on your lap. But hey, I have an English degree. Want to sit around and talk about James Joyce? No, you want to pull my fucking beard and beg me for a pony you’ll never get. Jesus Fucking Christ. Speaking of, I better give that guy a call. Isn’t his birthday coming up? Ok, who wants to come over and help me finish this bowl of alcohol? I only have 21 more days until I have to make that fucking drive around the world. I’ll have enough gin in me by then to set a breathalyzer on fire. And even if I get pulled over, no one will do a god damn thing. Because I’m Santa Claus, damn it. I’m the motherfucking Santa Claus hey are these berries poisonous oh god I think I’m gonna puke brb.

    Listen. Listen to me. Just..listen. Ok. Ok, you’re listening. Good. Where was I? What was I saying? Oh, yea. Come have a drink. Have a drink with Santa. It’s just punch. Santa can have some punch even if it does have three quarts of gin in it. Ok, there’s like not even any fruit in it. Or juice. It’s just gin punch. A big fucking bowl of gin. And I’m drinking it with a fucking scoop. You know why? Because look at my life. Just look. I’m like 200 pounds overweight, I dress like I foraged through a Salvation Army clothes bin in the dark and I’ve got about 300 midgets in the next room who are on a work slowdown because I won’t let them unionize. So it’s December and…wait, it’s December, right? These months all seem to flow together when those assholes put up Christmas decorations right next to the Halloween shit. Honestly I’m not even sure what fucking day it is let alone month. I’m just gonna assume it’s December because I’m wearing this god damn hat and someone is playing “Do They Know It’s Christmas” somewhere HEY, WOMAN, TURN THAT FUCKING RADIO OFF, I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS MUSIC IN THE HOUSE ESPECIALLY THAT SONG uh, wives. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t stuff them down someone’s chimney and say HERE’S YOUR PRESENT, FUCKER. So anyway, I’m piss drunk and you know what? That’s my right. I’ve got to spend an entire night driving some obstinate reindeer all over the fucking world just to give presents to a bunch of ungrateful, spoiled kids who don’t even believe I exist just to keep up some god damn legend. If that’s not pressure, I don’t know what is. That’s why I drink, people. You know what I want to do? I want to leave a note with every plate of cookies and fucking milk - I’m lactose intolerant by the way - left out for me that says YOU’RE THE REASON I DRINK. That will make those bastards believe in me real quick. So, yea. I’m just gonna sit her with my big bowl of gin and listen to The Smiths and think about what a mess I made out of my life. What a stupid career choice, right? I mean, I took this job as a temporary thing because I couldn’t find anything else. This is what happens when you major in English, kids. You end up in a dead end civil service job with no chance of promotion or a raise or anything and the only skills you learn are how to commandeer a herd of reindeer and how to fit your fat ass safely down a chimney. You end up spending a Sunday afternoon at a shopping mall Ho-Ho-Hoing while some two year old pisses on your lap. But hey, I have an English degree. Want to sit around and talk about James Joyce? No, you want to pull my fucking beard and beg me for a pony you’ll never get. Jesus Fucking Christ. Speaking of, I better give that guy a call. Isn’t his birthday coming up? Ok, who wants to come over and help me finish this bowl of alcohol? I only have 21 more days until I have to make that fucking drive around the world. I’ll have enough gin in me by then to set a breathalyzer on fire. And even if I get pulled over, no one will do a god damn thing. Because I’m Santa Claus, damn it. I’m the motherfucking Santa Claus hey are these berries poisonous oh god I think I’m gonna puke brb.