Santa’s Bad Day

[Diablo]

drunk key shit. indulge me


Santa was having a bad day— one of his worst
A permafrost on the surface of his sleigh’s windshield saw him stopped in his work.
It isn’t long ‘til his journeys due to begin so he’s in a hurry
but can’t find a decent grease monkey for love nor seasonal money!
It means if he’s running late, there will be no presents delivered
The elves have been given their bonus early so none want to help over Christmas.
They felt they were giving their all while overworked and underpaid
and it wasn’t worth another days labour unless their earning double pay.
Yet were his beloved reindeer ever relied upon but on short notice
one would suppose they’d have a bigger carrots dangled under their noses.
With nothing and no one to help, Santa’s face grew redder than his fit
at this rate nobody was getting any gifts come December 25th.
He cross-references his list, even checking it twice
desperate to find a mechanic who could fix it by the end of the night.
The thing against him was time, well.. that and his constant hounding
it got them down since he seemed to think the world revolved around him.
It meant the ones he counted on turned away when it mattered the most
his anger is shown with cheeks burning as brightly as the lantern he holds.
Now Santa’s alone to face the music and certainly stressing
it isn’t just those spurring his friendship, everything is turning against him.
His coworkers are less than impressed at their expectation to help
when he’s not paying them well, though the store tills jingle like his sleigh with its bells.
Maybe it’s elfish of them, and if that’s what he thinks that fine
but it’s more of a big fat lie than St Nicks pasttime!
So they sit back while he’s rushed off his feet
struggling to keep it together while he’s under pressure like his belt buckle it seems.
His blood pressures reached a level where his face became as red
as the waistcoat that he wears and hat he places on his head.
His greying ageing hair now turned a snowy carpet of white
as eyes once sparkling brightly became lost in the dark of the night like stars in the sky.
It seems good friends were harder to find than two identical snowflakes
he’s seen his merriment grow jaded with resentment and old age.
It’s a bed of his own making with multiple layers
The weather had grown glacial with the winters whistling wind
that bit with a sting like a careless reindeer being fed lichen by kids.
It was your typical artic tundra outside in a sudden snow storm
just then rose four sharp bangs rapped against his wooden oak door.
Santa jumped and sloped forward out of his seat
frowning he heaves a heavy sigh before checking who roused him from sleep.
The door opens out with a creaking yawn as his old eyes search
taking sight of a fairy who had flown by first beneath its faux-pine furs.
The fairy spoke quite tersely “Where is it going?”
staring morosely with its brittle wings now barely in motion.
Santa glared at its glowing thorax with a puzzled expression
but within seconds the christmas tree was brushed past his presence.
It took up a section of his grotto larger than the man himself
“It can’t go there!” Santa yelled “You blasted elves!”
The fairy turned an angered yellow, “How dare you call me that,”
“You fairly short and fat uncaring balding man!” the fairy thought to add.
Its stare had scalded Santa to point he had taken revenge
breaking the stem off a branch, shoving it up the fairies gaping rear end.
Some say this is where the tradition started predominantly
and is probably the reason you now have one sat on the top of your tree!