“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! So, kid, what do you want to find in your stockings this holiday season? Come on and sit on my la-” the mall employee dressed as Santa abruptly stopped in the middle of his sentence as he looked up and saw that it was my turn. I was grinning enthusiastically as I waved at him.
“Yo, yo, yo, dude. Stop. Stop it.” the Santa said. “Aren’t you… a little too old for this?”
“What are you talking about?” I shot back. “I lined up in here fair and square! You can never be too old for Santa Claus!”
“What the heck happened to your childhood, buddy? Everyone knows Santa Claus is-”
“Fake? Dude, you’re going to ruin Christmas for these children. Tone it down a little.”
Santa scratched his head quizzically and mumbled, “I swear there was a sign outside that said ‘For children up to age 13 only’ there. After that little runt tried to poop on my outfit the other day, I thought I’ve gotten the worst-”
Little does this mall employee dressed as Santa know that this was actually my fifth attempt to line up at the “Tell Santa Your Wishes!” booth at this mall.
The first time had me bringing in a couple of screwdrivers. What I didn’t know is that they have guard dogs roaming the mall at night. You can probably tell how it ended. Then I tried bribing a few mall employees in various ways (I’m not at liberty to speak of this but I won’t confirm nor deny that it involved lots of thousand-peso bills and offers of oral sex to various people of ambiguous gender) but that didn’t work out as well.
So today I just walked up and gave a black eye to the fucker who was telling me to move it because the parents might think I’m a creepy sexual predator. After pushing ten security guards out of the way, I made my way towards Santa.
Now you may be wondering why a grown man like me is doing here in a mall, lining up to meet some dude dressed up like Santa to make wishes he knows won’t be fulfilled (example: Dear Santa, for Christmas I want to be able to bang Jessica Alba).
I honestly don’t know why I’m here too.
Oh, yeah. Wishes. I’m here to make a wish. But the thing is, I don’t remember what I want to wish for. I think I want a new laptop. But I also want a bunch of groupies to follow my band around and fellate me. Because nobody notices the bassist. Also I want one of those three wolf moon shirts because, hey, you don’t need a reason to wear one.
Speaking of wishes, have I ever told you of that time when i was a kid and I found this old, rusty lamp in this house we just moved in two weeks prior? I actually thought there was a genie inside it, man. I eagerly grabbed it, ran to my room, and rubbed it like crazy. Two hours later and with both palms rubbed raw, I just resigned myself to the fact that there won’t be a genie comng out of lamps anytime soon.
Speaking of genies, I fucking hate genies. You know how that one genie jumped out of the lamp, half-naked and shit, trying to take advantage of that young boy Aladdin? Yeah, that asshole. I’d love to sic Chris Hansen on him one of these days. If only he wasn’t really a fictional character- yes, the genie, not Chris Hansen, wtf is wrong with you man?
“- and of course I get stuck in this horrible job, sitting in this makeshift throne, wearing this stupid costume and itchy beard, listening to children whine about how their parents don’t want to buy them a fifth iPod!” this guy dressed like Santa was saying. “And now I have to deal with overweight creepos like you. This is so not fucking worth minimal wage. And- hey, are you even listening? Yo, jerkoff, you there?”
For some reason I was standing in line at a Santa booth, and it was my turn. Also, Santa’s cursing in a way that’ll make sailors blush. He was calling me stuff like “jerkoff,” “wankoff,” “shithead,” and “skullfucking shithole faggoty lardbucket.” Two of the children behind me were within earshot of Santa’s shameful tirade, and were about to burst into tears.
“What? Sorry Santa, I was having a bit of internal monologue and I think I lost track of-”
“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE-”
“Dude,” I said. “Kids. Kids are about to cry.”
“WHAT, SHITHEAD? I DON’T HAVE TIME TO LISTEN TO YOU! I AM TRYING TO EARN MY KEEP HERE AND I DON’T NEED NO FATASS TO RUIN MY DAY WITH STUPID ANTICS-”
“Santa, think of the children!”
“SHUT UP YOU COCKSUCKING SHITBUCKET BEFORE I KICK ONE OF THOSE STUPID KIDS IN THEIR FUCKING FACES BECAUSE I AM SO FUCKING PISSED OFF AT-”
At that very moment, Santa’s shouting was cut off by a capochony of screams. Children were crying all at once. It was like somebody destroyed a dam full of childhood dreams.
I looked at Santa with disbelief. “Dude. What have you done?”
Santa’s face was as red as his outfit. A vein was dangerously close to popping on his forehead, and his his expression was one of agony as he screamed the following words. In slow motion:
The next few moments were kind of a blur, but I do remember a fat store manager screaming “YOU’RE FIRED” over and over again on the top of his voice. Also Santa tried to assault me with a stuffed reindeer head for some reason.
Also, I totally forgot the whole point of this post and-
Oh. Genies. I hate genies.
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