Sunday, December 04, 2005

The Good, The Bad, And The Naughty

Are you good? Are you bad? Or are you naughty?

I'll bet you think you can fool the Old Boy, don't you? What if you were to learn that he really does make a list? Trust me, he doesn't check it twice.

This is a story of Santa Clarabel Klauzinski, Jr. (Yes, that's his real name.) This is a story few have ever heard. (Judging from the site meter, it's likely that few ever will.)

Thanks to the likes of the cartoonist Nast, the poet Clement C. Moore, and the Coca Cola company, we all have a fair idea of what Santa Claus looks like. Thanks again to the aforementioned, nobody really knows what he looks like.
Contrary to the legends created for childrens' stories and of course for free enterprise, he is not a jolly old soul. He does not live at the North Pole and he does not drive a sleigh pulled by reindeer.

He was born the illegitimate son of a Polish wino who arrived at the small North Carolina village by way of a passing freight train. He had promised to marry the young harlot in exchange for a warm bed and a bottle of Ripple. Before the morning sun broke over the hills, he was gone with the wine and was never seen again. He did l
eave something behind, however. The seed he'd left behind would be named for something the wino had muttered in his sleep. Not understanding his language, she thought the Polish words meant "I love you. Oh yes, baby." To her Santa Clarabel Klauzinski sounded poetic and romantic. It was the perfect name for her scrawny, sickly newborn son.
....Exposed at an early age to the lifestyle of his mother, young Santa learned to appreciate a taste for alcohol and women. The other ladies who lived and plied their trade with his mother took a shine to the little tyke. His "aunts," as he came to know them, often offered their breasts to him when they couldn't stop him from crying. At the early age of five, he was an established tit man. Indeed, he often feigned crying just to latch on to as many as he could.
....One day after business had been quite slow, his mother had to leave town in hopes of finding a place with more men willing to pay for her services. She had tried giving out S&H Green Stamps, but the local redneck men were more interested in freebies and signing their marks on IOUs. So young Klauzinski was left in the care of a poor family who made a living selling the milk from the single cow they owned. For some reason the old woman and her two daughters never bared their breasts when he cried. Finally out of desperation, he went to the barn where old Bessie was kept. One look at the huge udders hanging beneath her and he knew what to do. The cow just turned her head as the young boy approached and started fondling her udders. So it was that Bessie allowed him to suckle.

....A strange thing happened while he was feeding and growing from Bessie's milk. He learned that he could talk to her and she to him. He learned that she was a very special cow. Although the humans were unaware of it, Bessie was in fact the famous cow that jumped over the moon. She could fly. She had ended up in the boondocks of North Carolina when her former owner, Mrs. O'Leary of Chicago, had sold her after a rather large fire. On many nights, while the town slept, Santa would hop on Bessie's back and they would fly over the country-side. When he was twelve, he had raised enough money from his part-time job as a pick-pocket, and bought Bessie from the family. ....Riding Bessie like a horse, he returned to his neighborhood home, only to find that his mother had never returned. The women welcomed him at the brothel and were delighted to find that he had grown in more ways than one! He remained there for four years, eventually taking over the business and making it highly profitable. Still a confirmed breast-man, he studied them when he was around the women. His crowning achievement was a chart that cateogorized the female breast by sizes and shapes. He later sold a copy of his chart to a clothing designer, who later invented, to Santa's chagrin, the bra.
....The combination of abolitionists and the mothers of several children he had fathered, gave him cause to pull up stakes and to move on. He changed his name to a much shorter Santa Claus to escape the many warrants issued for him. He finally settled in an uncharted and impassible area of the Okefenokee swamps. In the ensuing years, he purchased a bull and developed a special breed of cattle with the power to fly like Old Bessie. He fashioned a sleigh from an old 59 Cadillac hearse.
....Harassed by the law everytime he ventured into civilization to continue his studies of the female breast, he became an angry, bitter man. He was a very wealthy man by the time he reached his mid-thirties, not bad for a man who had never worked an honest hour in his life. When he noticed the popularity of Christmas growing every year, he came up with a brilliant plan. It was a plan from which he could profit even if others also made money. Late one night, he hitched up his team of eight cattle to his Caddie sleigh and flew off to England. He had written a draft for a poem that he was going to conveniently plant on the desk of Clement Clarke Moore. Knowing the British to be an honorable people, he knew Moore would do the right thing - he would claim it as his own!
...."On Elsie and Flossie, on Gertie and Bossie, on all. Up Hortense and Denise, up Thelma and Louise, up over the wall," he shouted and whistled at his coursers. Moore was looking out the window watching the sleigh and ungainly bovines drive out of sight. Finding the draft Santa had left, he sat and began to pen his famous poem. He ignored the almost empty bottle of booze, if he was seeing flying cows and Cadillacs he'd had enough. He changed the cattle to reindeer and gave them different names. He changed Klauzinski to St. Nick only because he needed something to rhyme with "quick." (He wanted to keep it clean.)
....Meanwhile Santa left an unflattering picture of himself from a wanted poster on the desk of the political cartoonist, Thomas Nast. He hired a struggling young artist at The Saturday Evening Post to draw up a more jolly picture of him. He then sold a copy of that drawing to an accountant at a small company that bottled soda pop. Soon the fame of Santa Claus grew even beyond his wildest dreams. With all the attention on the Old Jolly Elf, there was less attention placed upon his activities.
....While the new Santa made a list of who'd been bad or good, he made up a list of only the naughty. It was he who left the lumps of coal. It was his doings when the really bad ones got nothing. He was especially fond of one particular form of punishment for the naughty.
....With his Cadillac sleigh and team hovered above the roof, he would traipse over to the chimney. There, he would drop his pants and sit on the chimney. He would smile with relief as crap into the fireplace below. If he didn't have to go, that proved to be no problem. From his sack he would pull out a fresh cow pie and drop it down the chimney. With a team of eight cattle, he had an almost endless supply.

....He managed, or mammaged as he called it, to keep up with his breast studies. Sometimes the naughty were girls and women. Then he would make a house call and render special punishment and teach them how to be good when they were naughty. It was a hard job, pardon the pun, but someone had to do it.
So remember as Christmas nears, both Santas are making up their lists. On Christmas eve, two teams of ruminants will take to the sky, one with a driver lively and quick, and the other with a sack of shit. One will say as he flies away, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night." If you have been naughty the other one will say, "Shit Happens!"



jules said...

I love the cartoon. And I am so being visited by the shitty Santa.

Netminder said...

I love it =)

aka_monty said...

I'll have you know that about 3000 of those 10k visits were from me.
And I fall into the grapefruit category.

I've been naughty AND nice...wonder what I'll get? Maybe he'll just take a piss down my chimney.
Oh wait.
I don't have one. :(