All right, let’s get something straight right from the start. I love Santa Claus. Love, love, love him. I love the whole thing, the reindeer, the sleigh, going down the chimney, the obscure need to make toys when you can buy in bulk and save so much money in elf labor, everything. If I had to say anything negative, it’s that he’s really flirting with Type 2 Diabetes, being so overweight and eating all those cookies. I was so concerned last year, I left two SlimFast shakes and pamphlets for some gyms in the area. Then again, he is five-hundred-years old, so I guess one day of indulging in sweets isn’t so bad. But, according to the poem, he also smokes a pipe. Of course, we don’t know what goes on at home. If he only smokes when he travels, like my uncle Herman, perhaps it’s not too bad. Moderation is always the key. But he better be careful what he puts in the pipe. (Wink wink.) I’ve heard the Cheech & Chong thing about Santa Claus and his old lady. But I digress.
For a heavy old guy, he’s pretty tough as well. His exploits were chronicled in the 1964 video documentary Santa Claus Conquers The Martians. He took charge, prevented catastrophe, and defended the North Pole from what could have been a holiday nightmare. Yes, the beefy, bearded man in red took no prisoners as he used toys to stop an invasion that could have led to destruction of life on this planet. Then again, in 1993 when Halloween threatened to wreak havoc on Christmas, Santa taught Jack Skellington the meaning of both holidays in The Nightmare Before Christmas. He was also smart enough to know the days, while both fun and valuable, need to be kept separate. And he still has time, every year, to fight commercialism in The Miracle On 34thSt. Wow, what a guy.
The thing is, he needs a better press agent, and perhaps a slander lawyer. I mean look what’s going on in the movies. Everybody’s trying to build themselves up by casting aspersions against Kris Kringle. Earnest, Elmo, Mickey Mouse, Thomas the Tank Engine, Dora (The Explorer), Diego (Her Cousin), Barbie, and The Tick all have convinced a gullible Hollywood that each of them, in turn, saved either Christmas, or worse, Santa himself. Santa does not need saving! Sure, he can use a little help on foggy nights from a red-nosed reindeer (who shall remain nameless, because he himself is a huge publicity hound, too.) As if these aren’t enough various elves, dogs, reindeer, pets, cartoon characters, and sponges who live in pineapples all claim to have a hand in saving Christmas. It’s a bald-faced lie, I tell you. Don’t believe it. What really happened is that money-grubbing Rudolph, got the outrageous idea he had actually saved Christmas. Yes, he helped, but saved it, no way. He got the notion because he was bitter from being bullied for much of his young life. Sure, all of the other reindeer should apologize for the laughing, name calling, and the whole Reindeer Games thing. But what the red-nosed hooligan did was unthinkable. He copywrited the idea of saving Christmas and sold the rights to a bunch of Hollywood studios with the stipulation they all had to use different actors doing the saving. He made millions, which he quickly laundered in a Cayman Islands account, all while keeping his job as a prominent member of the sleigh team. What a Grinchy thing to do. I have documented proof that even Wikileaks is afraid to publish. Julian Assange is afraid of getting coal in his stocking. But the truth will out.
I guess I can sort-of understand. You see, reindeer are actually are fairly dishonest creatures anyway. I have dossiers “On Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen. On Comet, on Cupid, on Donder, and Blitzen.” But you must recall the most infamous reindeer of all. (OK, enough of that) I really don’t mind if those deer make a bit of illegal hay on the side. I mean, politicians do it all the time. But I can’t let them besmirch the good name of Santa. Santa is an institution. Just look at all those Coke ads over the years. I mean the drink, not the white powder. One movie might have been all right, but they’ve made my main-man in red out to be a weak, wimpy, doddering fool, who needs saving every other day. He’s not a princess, or damsel in distress. He could be in prowrestling if he wasn’t in the toy business. So, stop this horrible parade of slanderous movies. That’s what I say.
And while we’re a little bit, sort of, close-ish to the subject: give those poor Dickensian ghosts a flipping break, too. I ask you, how many times do we need to see old dead Marley rattling his chains and giving Scrooge an extra chance. He should visit the Grinch, have a beer and a plate of nachos before invading someone’s Christmas eve. And Marley’s job is easy, compared to the other three. All he has to do is clank some chains and tell about the others.
Think about this: If you look at all the remakes of A Christmas Carol, that ghost of Christmas past has to research a lot of lives. With that amount of searching, Google has probably crashed once or twice. Also, it has to be depressing doing all that research knowing these sweet young people are going to turn out so wretched. Bring on the Zoloft and Prozac for the rest of the year.
Then you have joyous Mr. Present. Now, he’s a good sport, taking the Scrooge du jourto all them parties, but he never gets to join in. Just once I’d like to see that ghost drop Ebenezer like a hot potato, and join in the fun. Maybe he should slap a big wet sloppy kiss on Scrooge’s sister, or Mrs. Crachet. They’re usually portrayed as being pretty cute. He could also join one of the dances and the old fuddy-duddy out in the cold street to find his own way home. I’m just saying.
Now, Christmas Yet To Come, has got a pretty easy gig. Show up in a hooded cloak. I’m thinking the first-time he had just come from the barber with a bad haircut, so he put on the hood. The look worked for him so now he just keeps it up with all the various movie Scrooges he comes in contact with. Show off a couple of headstones and it’s home to the wife and baby ghouls.
Here’s a thought: maybe we could come up with some new stories for Christmas movies. Naw, that would mean somebody would have to be creative, and work in California. That’s not likely to happen. Hey it was just a thought.