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And the wife. I know, Kringle, she’s old now. You’re bored with her and you want a little strange, but you sure kiss a lot of mommies underneath the mistletoe every year. Yes, Santa’s a milf hunter. It’s just the flagrant disregard for both his own marriage and the marriages of all of those mommies he kisses. An adulterous sleaze like Santa has no problem slipping your mom the north pole, but he puts coal in your stocking because you shouted?

Oh, let’s talk coal. Look, assuming Santa’s in the right with who’s naughty and who’s nice, the coal thing is just petty. I mean, to wake up to find nothing from the big guy is bad enough, but the coal is just insult to injury. Doesn’t Santa have enough houses to visit on Christmas Eve without stopping at the naughty kids’ homes to play his immature little coal prank? Think about all of the energy he wastes each year stopping to deliver this little slap in the face. Just cheap.

He’s also lazy. He has his elf work force making all of his toys (slapping Kenner and Mattel logos on many of them; does he have some sort of deal with the toy companies?), and then he doesn’t even have the class to write his own cards for the gifts. They’re always in your mom’s handwriting. I guess after he’s done defiling her and making a fool out of your dad he tells her to forge the cards in his name for him. Would it kill him to pick up a pen?

Then there’s his god complex. He won’t deliver the presents if you are awake when he gets to your house. Why is he so afraid of you seeing him? Is he ashamed of his morbid obesity? No, more likely he wants to be this all powerful, unseen magical figure. Dude, if I see you poking around under my tree, it doesn’t lessen your mystique any. In fact, it might make you seem that much more powerful, since somehow you got into my Southern California apartment that doesn’t even have a chimney. Get over your own legend, Nick!

I don’t like him watching all the kids while they sleep either. I know he needs to keep some sort of tabs on them to make his all-mighty naughty/nice verdicts, but what sort of mischief can they get into while they’re sleeping?

His treatment of Rudolph really bugs me too. Here’s this poor reindeer with a minor deformity who gets called names and does Santa ever step in to his defense? Noooooooooo. Oh, but then there’s a little bit of fog, suddenly Santa’s all buddy buddy with poor Rudolph. I give Rudolph all the credit here; he actually does Santa a solid. Had it been me, I might have told Santa just where he could put that sleigh of his on that foggy Christmas Eve.

Finally, there’s the elves. We know from Lord of the Rings that these guys used to be awesome, shield-surfing warriors. Somehow, over the generations, Santa’s reduced them to a bunch of diminutive cobblers and Santa doppelgangers sitting in for him at shopping malls every December. (Oh yeah, and the hot chick elves that monitor the lines at the malls. I wonder how Mrs. Claus feels about them?) He’s destroyed their dignity and beaten any sense of individuality out of them. Oh the disgrace when poor Hermie decides that he wants to be a (gasp) dentist instead of toy maker. These North Pole denizens enjoy a high sugar diet and Santa has the gall to allow one of them who wants to care for their teeth to be labeled a misfit? Typical forest for the trees shortsightedness. Or is it Santa’s attempt to squash any sort of freethinking in his subjects?

All right, enough whining about Santa Douche. I have presents to buy still. I wonder if I’ll get a lump of coal in my stocking for the horrifying sin of procrastination?

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