santa: myth or terror?
Posted: Dec 19, 2007 10:31am
Derived from the character based on a Saint who would pass out presents to children in his village, the magic of Santa Claus has grown into an unstoppable force to current date.
Seen in shopping malls and stradling chimneys on roof tops across the world; all in one night seems a little too super voodoo to me. So I decided to dive deep into the world of this so called Santa Claus.
My research would prove to be frosty indeed, as I ventured to the supposed home of this jolly crusader in search of some serious answers. I wound up in the North Poll with jet lag, and a serious case of the diahrea from the complimentary fruit cup on the flight. I immediately hit the mean, unforgiving, and ice covered streets of Polstein throwing American 20's around to anyone willing to give up the goods on this Holiday Hoax, and much to my shagrin the residents were reluctant to give up any information at all, peppering me with cold and wicked songs and chants of "Go Home Or Santa Will Eat Your Eyes!" Now, according to legend, even the ones who were deemed "naughty" were to receive a lump of coal in their stocking at worse case scenario, so Santa eating my eyes seemed a little too far fetched. That night as I laid in the cheap and urine stained Hotel bed, just as I was going to fall into a deep, deep sleep there was a rapping at my door. A small tap followed by the sound of a single jingle bel. I thought to myself it had to be the local yolkals just trying to scare me off like they've no doubt done before to others like myself insearch of answers. Well I don't fall for the Eskimo in a powdered wig routine, so I hopped up and went to unchain the door looking to give whoever was standing behind it a serious piece of my mind. No sooner than I could pull the door open, a Christmas tree came smashing through the window of my room, and I was struck in the back of the head with something heavy enough to knock me out. When I awoke, I was bound to a chair made completely of candy cane. I've talked to many phychologists, and therapists as well, and no matter how many sessions I attend, or how many prescriptions they write me, I swear to you the chair was made of candy cane, and I was bound with licorice twine. Standing in front of me were 13 Santa, each with some sort of physical trait like long arms or a crooked smile to distinguish them apart. Their eyes were glowing bright red collectively, that eerie trait they all seemed to have in common. Now, I must reiterate that when I was found stripped and nearly dead in a snow drift just a mile or two away from my hotel, the hospital report clearly states that I had suffered a massive blow to the head leaving me unconscious, also I was found covered in some "unknown" sticky substance having the characteristics of a syrup with an immense peppermint smell. Let's be serious folks, I'm not crazy, and I know I was without a doubt abducted by the S.O.S - theSet Of Santa! The best kept secret of Claus deceptfuls under the sun. These men have sworn a life oath of protecting the Icon's valor at all cost, even if it means murder. Lucky for me I was only tortured and prodded in the ribs with make shift spears made up from deer antlers, then forced to sing the lyrics of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" againand again until I broke down into tears. After enjoying a good hearty laugh courtesy of my emotional breakdown, they told me that they would consider letting me go only if I promised to tell everyone that Santa Claus is Real! I was so terrified at that point that I would have promised to say that I'd seen Santa riding the Loch Ness Monter while Big Foot and the Moth Man split a bag of Cheetos. Anything to get me out of that demented and evil Christmas card setting that was far too real to deny. As part of my agreement with the S.O.S. I have left well enough alone until now. I haven't muttered so much as a word of their existance and religiously ran full page ads in my local newspaper proclaiming that Mr. Claus is REAL for the past 13 years. Why now? I'm certain anyone reading this far into this article has to be scratching their heads asking that very question. Why have I waited until now to break my promise with the mad men who would have ripped me from limb tolimb all in the name of love for Christmas?
I have a theory, it's something of a 2 part theory, but with it I believe I'm safe. My first theory is that the 13 years of ads I ran would have accounted for each of the Santa in the set, supposing that they would keep track and share their reports with each other of the naughty or nice list - I would always be sure to be on it. My second theory is that I wasn't abducted by a set of Santa worshipping wierdos at all, and I was actually the victim of a really bad drunken fraternity pledge gone horribly wrong, which in turn would make me just a terrified old fool wasting my money on these damn ads saying things I truly don't believe for 13 long years. Needless to say I have come to the end of my road of fear and obligation and this year I'm NOT running the ad at all. I will not do it! But I have in turn written this article documenting the truthful accounts of what has taken place with me, should I be slain by some village idiots with peppermint schnapps on their breath. Those of you reading this will know the truth and if nothing happens I guess I'm a sucker for a head contusion and a good story. The End..
In the news...
Acclaimed writer, publisher hatchetman was found dead this morning in his highrise apartment in Baltimore. Reports claim that he was separated into 13 pieces and scattered about the room in what is being called a puzzle-like fashion. Authorities are calling it a suicide but have not ruled out the possibility of foul play.
Seen in shopping malls and stradling chimneys on roof tops across the world; all in one night seems a little too super voodoo to me. So I decided to dive deep into the world of this so called Santa Claus.
My research would prove to be frosty indeed, as I ventured to the supposed home of this jolly crusader in search of some serious answers. I wound up in the North Poll with jet lag, and a serious case of the diahrea from the complimentary fruit cup on the flight. I immediately hit the mean, unforgiving, and ice covered streets of Polstein throwing American 20's around to anyone willing to give up the goods on this Holiday Hoax, and much to my shagrin the residents were reluctant to give up any information at all, peppering me with cold and wicked songs and chants of "Go Home Or Santa Will Eat Your Eyes!" Now, according to legend, even the ones who were deemed "naughty" were to receive a lump of coal in their stocking at worse case scenario, so Santa eating my eyes seemed a little too far fetched. That night as I laid in the cheap and urine stained Hotel bed, just as I was going to fall into a deep, deep sleep there was a rapping at my door. A small tap followed by the sound of a single jingle bel. I thought to myself it had to be the local yolkals just trying to scare me off like they've no doubt done before to others like myself insearch of answers. Well I don't fall for the Eskimo in a powdered wig routine, so I hopped up and went to unchain the door looking to give whoever was standing behind it a serious piece of my mind. No sooner than I could pull the door open, a Christmas tree came smashing through the window of my room, and I was struck in the back of the head with something heavy enough to knock me out. When I awoke, I was bound to a chair made completely of candy cane. I've talked to many phychologists, and therapists as well, and no matter how many sessions I attend, or how many prescriptions they write me, I swear to you the chair was made of candy cane, and I was bound with licorice twine. Standing in front of me were 13 Santa, each with some sort of physical trait like long arms or a crooked smile to distinguish them apart. Their eyes were glowing bright red collectively, that eerie trait they all seemed to have in common. Now, I must reiterate that when I was found stripped and nearly dead in a snow drift just a mile or two away from my hotel, the hospital report clearly states that I had suffered a massive blow to the head leaving me unconscious, also I was found covered in some "unknown" sticky substance having the characteristics of a syrup with an immense peppermint smell. Let's be serious folks, I'm not crazy, and I know I was without a doubt abducted by the S.O.S - theSet Of Santa! The best kept secret of Claus deceptfuls under the sun. These men have sworn a life oath of protecting the Icon's valor at all cost, even if it means murder. Lucky for me I was only tortured and prodded in the ribs with make shift spears made up from deer antlers, then forced to sing the lyrics of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" againand again until I broke down into tears. After enjoying a good hearty laugh courtesy of my emotional breakdown, they told me that they would consider letting me go only if I promised to tell everyone that Santa Claus is Real! I was so terrified at that point that I would have promised to say that I'd seen Santa riding the Loch Ness Monter while Big Foot and the Moth Man split a bag of Cheetos. Anything to get me out of that demented and evil Christmas card setting that was far too real to deny. As part of my agreement with the S.O.S. I have left well enough alone until now. I haven't muttered so much as a word of their existance and religiously ran full page ads in my local newspaper proclaiming that Mr. Claus is REAL for the past 13 years. Why now? I'm certain anyone reading this far into this article has to be scratching their heads asking that very question. Why have I waited until now to break my promise with the mad men who would have ripped me from limb tolimb all in the name of love for Christmas?
I have a theory, it's something of a 2 part theory, but with it I believe I'm safe. My first theory is that the 13 years of ads I ran would have accounted for each of the Santa in the set, supposing that they would keep track and share their reports with each other of the naughty or nice list - I would always be sure to be on it. My second theory is that I wasn't abducted by a set of Santa worshipping wierdos at all, and I was actually the victim of a really bad drunken fraternity pledge gone horribly wrong, which in turn would make me just a terrified old fool wasting my money on these damn ads saying things I truly don't believe for 13 long years. Needless to say I have come to the end of my road of fear and obligation and this year I'm NOT running the ad at all. I will not do it! But I have in turn written this article documenting the truthful accounts of what has taken place with me, should I be slain by some village idiots with peppermint schnapps on their breath. Those of you reading this will know the truth and if nothing happens I guess I'm a sucker for a head contusion and a good story. The End..
In the news...
Acclaimed writer, publisher hatchetman was found dead this morning in his highrise apartment in Baltimore. Reports claim that he was separated into 13 pieces and scattered about the room in what is being called a puzzle-like fashion. Authorities are calling it a suicide but have not ruled out the possibility of foul play.
