The blissful, near-enlightened state Santa Claus was in during his meditation has been interrupted by Fred, the elf in charge of the reindeer. There’s a problem in the stables and it needs Santa’s immediate attention.
Fred took Santa’s hand in his as he headed towards the door. “Let’s walk and talk, big guy.”
They hurried through the house, scurried past elves working furiously in the factory and out the back door to the stables, moving as quickly as a 350-pound man and an elf can while walking hand in hand.
Along the way, Fred told Santa what the problem was. By the time the pair were ready to enter the stables the big man was apoplectic.
Santa stopped in his tracks. “Let me get this straight,” he said to Fred. “You ordered up chili dogs from Chicago?”
“Yes. You get the best chili dogs in Chi-town. But a food junkie like yourself would already know that.”
“And you fed the chili dogs to the reindeer?”
“Yes. Chili dogs with cheese and onions. That’s the way to roll. Had some myself. Wasn’t gonna let the reindeer have all the fun. Had me some onion rings too. A little greasy though. I know I shouldn’t have had them, they always give me indigestion...”
Santa cut Fred short. “Enough. You fed the reindeer chili dogs...”
“With cheese and onions,” Fred said.
“...and you thought this was a good idea?”
“Well, I thought maybe they were getting a little tired of the same old thing. Fruits and berries and lichen. You ever see lichen? Looks like moss. I’d get tired of eating that. So I thought I’d give them a little treat for the holidays.”
“A treat?” Santa rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s go in and assess the damage. I take it the chili dogs didn’t agree with the reindeer?”
With that Santa opened the stable door and entered. “Ho ho hoooooooooo...what in the name of the Dalai Lama is that smell?!?”
“That smell would be the result of 7 reindeer with loose and angry bowels,” Fred responded. “The liked eating the chili dogs well enough. Guess they didn’t sit too well though.”
Santa stood still, stunned by the odor and the sight of his oh so valuable reindeer, the creatures that were shortly to fly him around the world in one night delivering toys to good little girls and boys, lying on the straw covered stable floor, groaning and writhing with spasms of terrible, terrible indigestion and horrifically upset tummies.
Santa turned angrily on Fred. “Of all the stupid things to do, and to do it now, when I need these beasts more than ever. You cannot begin to fathom how pissed off I am...”
“Hey, calm down there, big fella,” Fred said, “I though fat people were supposed to be jolly.”
“Fat people?!?” Santa screamed. “I’ll have you know I have a glandular problem.”
“Is it a glandular problem when you eat a cookie in every damn house you go into on Christmas Eve?”
Santa had had enough.
He put his big, meaty hands around Fred’s neck and lifted him so that they were eye to eye. Fred kicked his feet and flailed his arms, but to no avail; Santa just continued to look Fred coldly in the eye while he squeezed the life out of him.
Eventually, Santa spoke to Fred in a low growl. “I’m gonna throw your wee body in the woods. You’ll be nothing more than a polar bear snack.”
Fred gasped and managed to speak in a whisper. “Santa, we got other problems.” Santa stopped pressing Fred’s Adam’s apple for a moment and looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean ‘other problems’?”
Santa put Fred down and Fred started to breathe normally again after a minute or so. “Remember, I said we have seven sick reindeer.”
Santa’s eyes got wide. He looked around the stable and then cast a suspicious glance at Fred. Santa asked, “Where’s Ru...uhmm, you know, that reindeer whose name I dare not mention for fear of possible copyright infringement? And Vixen? Where is she?”
“They flew off together.”
“What?” Santa shouted.
“They broke into your wine cellar, drank a couple bottles of glug, then flew off into the night.”
Santa Claus became enraged and picked up poor little Freddy by his neck again.
“How in the world could you let this happen? You’re supposed to protect them! What am I going to do now?!?”
Fred could barely speak but he managed to whisper, “Do you hear that noise? Maybe that’s them.”
“Don’t try to distract me from killing you, you rotten little son of a...”
Before Santa could finish the job, Vixen and the crimson-nosed one came crashing through the roof, flew in a circle around the stable, knocked Santa and Fred down as they passed and then landed in a haystack. The reindeer couple looked at Santa with bleary red eyes, tried to get up but quickly passed out and started snoring.
Santa Claus sat motionless, simply staring at the two unconscious reindeer. “I’m ruined. I’m ruined. What will I do now? How will I get gifts to all the children of the world?”
Santa put his big head in his hands and began to sob. Fred put his arms around Santa’s shoulders, but it was no use. Jolly old Saint Nick was not jolly, he was inconsolably sad.
“I’ve got to find a way to save Christmas,” Santa said through his tears. “Pray for a miracle, Fred. And pray that I don’t kill you.”
To be continued...
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