Last Year I Met Santa!
Hi I'm 21 years old. So last year at Christmastime, Christmas eve night to be Pacific, I met Sainty Clows. You know, holly jolly, brings you presents, makes bad dietary decisions Sainty Clows? Well he found his way into my chimney-less house.
I awoke to the sound of my Christmas tree falling against the wall and a whispered "shit". I proceeded to the Christmas tree room to see what the matter was, and that's where I saw him. Red suit, white hair, morbidly obese, this was Sainty alright.
Through mouthfulls of biscuits he muttered to me "ho ho ho, go back to bed and..." he checked his phone, "yeah that's it."
"Sainty Clows, be it you?" I sleepily whispered.
"Um ... Yeah yeah" He replied.
It was him.
He sat down, wheezing, obviously this was a lot of physically exertion for this unhealthy man. He gestured for me to sit on his lap.
He started to tell me a story. He told me many stories. A steady flow of biscuit crumbs landing in my hair seemed to go unnoticed by him, he was so engulfed in his own narcissistic stories. He told me he gets to speak with reindeers. He told me how he travels the world for his job. He told me how he barely meets anyone on these travels. He told me how lonely he feels on these travels. So very lonely.
He told me how he copes.
His cold, biscuity breath washed over me. His eyes looked dead into mine, unmoved, fully aware of what he was saying, fully uncaring of the situations he mentioned. He felt nothing.
He told me about the murders. He told me about the robberies, the torture, the house fires.
He told me what he did to people. It was yucky to say the least. Fucking horrid to say somewhat midway of what I could say.
He stood up, forgetting I was on his lap, the junk food had obviously gotten to his brain. I, and a myriad of crumbs fell to the floor. I was stunned.
"Oh shit, sorry." He said, checking his phone again, offering me no help.
I stood up. He looked me up and down. He thought for a second.
He shook his head, "nah, it's been a long night." He said. Then he just fucked off. He floated off through the ceiling, licked his lips as he smacked Rudolph on the arse, and he rode off on his sleigh into the night, wheezing from lack of breath after smacking Rudolph.
There are now two clearly defined points in my life, before Santa, and after Santa. Nothing is sacred, Christmas is hell, I want to die. Only a couple nights left until He returns. Am I ready? Hell no. Am I excited? HELL YES! TONE CHANGE! I LOVE SANTA!
I'VE RUN OUT OF JOKES AND DON'T KNOW HOW TO END THIS SO YOU'RE WELCOME! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE I JUST DON'T CARE FUCK IT WHATEVER I'M ENDING ON THIS NOTE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAST WORD OF THIS SENTE
Credited to shitthrowawayaccount
| Comments • 1 |
Loading comments...
|
