Damn! I’m glad Christmas is over now everyone can get off my balls.
What? Expecting ‘jolly old Saint Nick’? Listen, I haven’t been jolly for centuries. Being alive for so long does something to you.
Technically speaking, I’m dead. But you wouldn’t let my spirit die. Well not you but your forefathers or whatever you call them today. They went rambling on about keeping my memory alive. Here I am, basically undead in another realm and the same thing is about to happen to Michael and Whitney unless you let them go.
On that matter of pop culture or art or whatever, how dare you spread this idea that I’m fat old bastard? The last time I was visible I didn’t have fattening food to eat like you all do. Granted in the earlier part of my new life I enjoyed all the cookies and milk, rice porridge with cinnamon, sherry, beer, mince pies and pudding that was left out for me.
Yeah, sure. I did deliver gifts once upon a time but I stopped doing that shit so many years ago. I’m not doing shit in 2015. Parents are the new Santa Claus. They do the work for me. Besides, the reindeers I traded my grey horse in for don’t move as fast as you think they do. (*PS there is not, was never and will never be a Mrs Claus).
You may be wondering how come you’ve never seen or heard stories of me in some countries. Simply put it was because of one of the following:
- Their food was an acquired taste I never acquired,
- Natural disasters followed me there,
- The country was just plain boring or way too different from Turkey, where I spent my first life.
I’m now enjoying my life in Las Vegas where I get free access to what I had sworn off in a previous life, plus the temperature is nice most of the time.
There is no naughty or nice list. You created that. I never received any letters from kids and I thank my lucky stars ‘cause kids are way too demanding! The little brats. I just can’t bother anymore. I’ve been commercialized, so enjoy your creation.
Now buzz off.