Where Santa Came From

So, I got to wondering yesterday about where Santa came from. I mean, everybody has to have a back story, right? This is my theory…

I believe Santa was one of the top angels in charge along with Lucifer. Santa and Luci were like, really close, and one day Lucifer was like, “Yo, Santa! Did you ever notice how this God dude just thinks He’s the shit, and we have to listen to everything He says? What does He think He is, anyway? The general manager of Heaven? I’m not getting paid enough to worship His power-hungry ass 24/7. I’m just as cool as he is, and better looking too. What d’ya say we blow this popsicle stand and find some of our OWN subjects. There’s like, this whole world down there with people just waiting to do bad stuff. We can go get all them.”

Santa thought about it, and since he was kinda weak, he shrugged and said, “OK, I guess that sounds better than just fuckin’ around here all day. Living in perfection gets old after awhile. ”

So off they went, covorting on earth until God decided enough was enough. God snapped his fingers and BAM. There Santa and Lucifer were standing in His presence.

“What do you think you two are doing?!” God thundered. “I made this world and I’m in charge. You think you had it rough flying around all day having nothing to do other than praise Me? I’ll show you what rough is, you little punks. Lucifer, I always knew you were a bad seed, I just didn’t want to believe it. You wanted power? Well, here you go. You can have whatever little fuckers on earth that don’t appreciate my general Awesomeness. All you gotta do is turn ’em to the dark side. And since you decided to be such a prick, I’m gonna let you live in a burning lake of fire for all eternity. Oh, and one more thing. NO MORE WINGS!”

God turned and was about to curse Santa with being Lucifer’s right hand man, and Santa panicked. He didn’t want to spend ALL of eternity in a lake of fire. So he sputtered and pointed at Lucifer and said, “It was all him, God! He made me do it! It wasn’t my idea.”

God narrowed his eyes at Santa and said, “You know what? I believe it. You are wayyy too weak and simple-minded to have gone against him. So you know what you get to do? You get the job of delivering presents on Jesus’ birthday to all the good kids on earth. I won’t make you live in the Firey Lake, but you are hereby banished to the North Pole. I can’t get anything to grow there, and there’s all these little happy people that live there called elves. I think being forced to be jolly for eternity is Hell enough.” God ran his fingers through his beard and thought for a minute. “I suppose if I take your wings away, you’re not going to have any way to deliver presents. But if I let you keep them, there’s no assurance that this won’t happen again. So, I guess I’m going to have to give you some flying reindeer. Oh, and once you get to the North Pole, you’re gonna be old. It wouldn’t look right if a hot young dude brought presents to kids.”

So Lucifer went to Hell, and Santa went to the North Pole.

Once he got there, he was surrounded by elves, which he found out were just midget orphans that nobody wanted. He decided he would adopt them, as long as they earned their keep, and since he had all those presents to make, he put them to work.

After a few Christmases, Santa was getting pretty horny, so he went back to visit God.

“God, I know I sinned and all, but I’m really frickin’ horny, and you DID say it wasn’t good for man to be alone. Soooo, I was just wondering if maybe you could , ya know, hook me up with a chic or something? Oh, and I adopted all these midget kids, and they kinda need a mom.” He added that last part just to look good.

God thought about it, and then said, “Aright, What the Hell. There’s this little place in Nevada that’s got chics that will do you for money. If you go there and pick one out, I’ll make it so she comes to live with you.”

So Santa went down to the Bunny Ranch, and found this chic who wasn’t super hot, but she was really super-duper nice, and she couldn’t have kids, so she ended up as a whore because there was nothing to be responsible for. Santa paid her, ‘cuz he wanted to try her out first, and she was AMAZING in bed. He went back to God and told Him he found a girl.

God brought Daisy (that was her hooker name) up to Heaven and sat her down. He said, “OK, Daisy. You can’t have kids. I made it that way because I knew this dumbshit was going to fuck up.” He waved his hand at Santa and rolled his eyes. “You’re a really sweet girl, and you know you shouldn’t be fuckin’ around at the Bunny Ranch. So, since I know you don’t like it there anyway, you get to go live with this guy. The downfall is you’re gonna look old, so the elves don’t think Santa is your sugar daddy. But you get to live forever and have a bunch of midget kids, which is what you really want anyway.”

Daisy was thrilled at the prospect of having kids to take care of (because she had a mothering instinct) so her and Santa got married and off they went. Daisy took care of the elves, but Santa realized God had made her so motherly, she treated HIM like a kid too, so anytime Santa was horny, he would yell, “Ho! Ho!Ho!” to remind Daisy that she had, in fact, been a ho, and a damn good one too, which was why he picked her.

Santa has grown resigned to the idea of flying around the world every Christmas Eve.

The End

 

The Road to Perdition

This post may prove that I will never completely be Hannah Homemaker. I have just come from Hell. No, I do not mean that figuratively, because I honestly don’t see how swimming a lake of fire for all of eternity could be worse than making a trip to the purgatory known as the Grocery Store. It matters not that I made the journey armed with a grocery list and my handy-dandy re-usable bags; no, the demon money-grubbers assaulted me, inconspicuously  seizing my dollars while tricking me into thinking I was getting deals.

One of the things I have discovered while taking care of my Beloveds is that it is fatal to one’s pocketbook to attempt grocery shopping without an afore-made list. This became apparent the first time I ventured to the store to procure sustenence for my Lovelys and cruised through the aisles, tossing in this and that, thinking to myself, “This is only a dollar. That is only a dollar.” When the woman behind the counter rang my items up, to my horror, the total on my bill continued to exceed my expected budget, and she was not yet through scanning. I vowed then and there never again to buy something that wasn’t on the list.

I believe my utter loathing of the grocery store stems from the fact that until I was nearly 29, frequent trips to said destination were unheard of. As I have explained in the past, I and or my hubby worked at a restaurant, so cooking was quite unnecessary. When I got divorced, I had a grand idea that I was going to cook a Thanksgiving dinner in my new apartment for my Rockstar and his Daughter. When I announced this plan, my Rockstar was, shall we say, doubtful. When I patrolled the aisled of Cashwise for an hour in search of the brown-n-serve rolls, ( which I never DID find), I should have thrown in the towel right then. Luckily, I bolted to the parking lot before every customer could see the basket case formerly known as Sparklebumps burst into tears. Beware- unsuccessful quests for dinner rolls may result in tears.

As my trip to Hades progressed today, I was becoming more and more preturbed that different grocery stores have different prices. It is one of my customs that I refuse to pay $1 more for caramel coffee creamer when I know I can get it cheaper somewhere else. Or anything else for that matter. This has resulted in much wasted time, creating TWO shopping lists- the one for Walmart, and the one for whatever grocery store has sales that week. I despise Walmart for being the only place that has Cabot cheese (which you must simply go out and find RIGHT NOW if you’ve never tried it), as my Rockstar’s food supply is not complete without a $9 block of cheese that will clog his arteries. Too, I was irritated to find no torillas that were satisfactorly soft. Now I must go into the shitty stink-assed locally owned grocer to procure some.

What’s that? Why don’t I send my Rockstar, you ask? Yes, of course that would make perfect sense, except I tried that once. It will not happen again. I provided him with an EXACT list of what to get, extra dollars just in case, and a warning- “GET ONLY WHAT’S ON THE LIST.” He returned with only half of the list, 6 bags of chips, no moneys, and an observation- “I think you’re a more thrifty shopper than I am.” Ummm, yeah. I believe he did that on purpose, because he knows if he messes up once I will never ever ask him to do it again. I will do it myself. (Bastard.)

When I am rich and famous, the first thing I am going to buy is a little minion to do my grocery shopping for me.

P.S. It never fails. Every time I get to the front to pay, there is something in THE BACK of the store I remember I forgot to grab.