Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes
THE idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do—even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of tooth-rotting fervor—it was still the only thing that could be done. After all, Santa as the world had known him had just died of a massive coronary.
See, he was trying to break up another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of stress and binge-eating, he just finally collapsed in the tussle. Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth, nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended, and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit… um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy. A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and milk. There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly died instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.
The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially Father Time, who had been eyeing the position for some… time. (Time was, and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.)
The new Claus was the handsomest of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced… well, the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so that the young guard’s twenty-two-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosened to accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them.
The consensus was that he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed, his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings.
COCK was a bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening place, and the committee eventually convinced itself that people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip. (Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no more Ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!
He called himself The Kid… Kid Christmas, that is. (Clearly, a fan of Western films.)
