In this chyoo x-mas story you play the role of no other than Santa Claus himself!
Yes, the real one actually! But not quite the nice, old fat guy with that snow white beard and shiny red clothes that you can see on TV or down at the supermarket...
No... You're actually the real one... The one that noone believes in any more. The one that ran out of business with the introduction of TV-shop and internet. The one that foolishly gave away all and everything he ever owned, in hopes to gain the worship of every christian child on earth, and to become a legend and even a demi-god in his own right...
But faith doesn't work like that... Well, not for you at least. Because everyone know that it is money, and not stupid old goodwill that makes the world go round! And before you even knew it, you'd been driven bankrupt by your own split image, a soulless being that is nothing more than a personification of human greed and modern shoppaholicism...!
Sitting alone for the entire year in your faraway little cottage, with no more than a handful of errant wishlists making their way to your doorstep, you have little to nothing in common with the busy sort of Santa that could be seen at the cartoon channel.
With all your elf-assistants long since gone, instead seeking their fortune as factory workers in the far east, or in oddjob B-movie porno flicks, you've got neither the personnel or the materials left to compete with the great commercial industry that has grown up around your character.
Even so, you still use to take your sleigh out for a ride once every year, just to remind you of the good old days and to get your last flying reindeer a chance for a little excercise.
The rest are long since dead of course, either mistaken for UFO's and shot out of the sky, or simply getting careless and suffering the fate of bird-strike. Not a case of birds stiking them of course, but rather a phenomenon that you feel should be renamed "Engine-suck" instead... Simply because it sucks to be a bird, or a flying reindeer for that matter, in the same open space as a bunch of huge freaking jetplanes!
On each of these rare occasions you take your time to visit only a handful of households, mainly to grab a few snacks and a sip of brandy, but sometimes even bothering to leave some small piece of garbage in one of the socks hanging above the virtual fireplace-screensaver playing at the TV. Some would call you an opportunist, others a simple burglar... And every guard dog that you've ever encountered have always been quick to decide upon the later.
This year you're definitively going to pay more attention to eventual "beware of the dog"-signs outside of the houses that you visit, as well as keeping away from drinking more than half a glass of brandy at each stop, so you won't end up sleeping in a snowpile just outside your cottage again. Well, you weren't actually so drunk that you couldn't get back out of it, but with enough brandy in your body it seemed like such a good idea to stay there. Until your immortallity kicked in, that is, and left you mostly cold and bored towards the morning, rather than as dead as you would've hoped... |