It's that time of year again when I dust off the ol' child kidnapping sack and start spreading holiday cheer. I've been busy lately--children seem to be getting badder and badder--and who else is going to drag their little souls down to hell? Not Saint Nick, I'll tell you. Well, let me let you all in on a little secret--Santa doesn't like kids anymore than I do. We simply perform our delegated tasks and keep our prejudices to ourselves. Maybe I would like to be the gift-giver one year. I dunno. Could be nice, though it would take a substantial makeover for me to not look terrifyingly demonic. Trim the horns, cover my hooves, hide the tail. Keep my tongue in my mouth. All that sounds like a big hassle. Nope, I'll stick to my job, and Santa can stick to his. I have no problem being the bad guy.
But, and this is a big but, could somebody leave some cookies or something out for me? Santa doesn't need anymore, I'll tell you that. The guy's pushing three-bills, and he's like what, five-nine? Why's everybody feeding him cookies? Are you all trying to give him a heart attack? I on the other hand am a very fit 190. Almost shredded, in fact. If I shave the hair on my stomach, you can see my abs. I have a very demanding fitness regimen. Just joined a Crossfit in fact. A couple cookies won't hurt me. Maybe I'd spare one of your brats if a few chocolate chip cookies were left out for the Krampus. Certainly wouldn't hurt, right? Do what you want, though.
The holidays are a difficult time for single people, myself in particular. It's always hard to keep a girlfriend when she finds out what I do for a living. I try to explain that somebody has to do it; why not me? Somebody has to take out the garbage. Somebody cleans the sewers. It's kind of snobbish to break up with somebody because of their work. I've done other things during my life. This is just what I'm doing now. I don't consider this to be a permanent position, despite the fact that I've been doing it for over four-hundred years. Let it be known that I'm working towards a promotion, and a big pay day is coming. Hell takes care of its own. You could be dating the future CEO of Walmart. Just keep that in mind, potential Mrs. Krampus.
Have a great Christmas, everyone. Children, watch out for the Krampus. Oh, just so parents know, my position affords me a certain moral flexibility. If you want me to take a particular kid, leave a note and three-hundred dollars under their pillow. Hell is very cool about bribes. Just a heads up.
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