Man of music, man of rage
Sorry this post had to be filed via a time machine, but I got into a fistfight with Santa Claus. He came down the chimney in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Harry Truman was still president when the chimney was last cleaned. So he got a facefull of dirt and twigs, dust, spider webs, and grimes all over his once red and white suit.
Did he like the fact that there was a fireplace screen and a sofa blocking the chimney’s exit?
No, he did not.
Indeed, he said, “What sort of an aadvark’s butt hole puts a screen and a sofa to block my way? And where the feck are my milk and cookies? This house blows dead bears!”
I drew myself to 90 percent of my full height. “Yeah well, at least I didn’t let my reindeer bully Rudolph and exclude him from their reindeer games, you fat, judgmental bastard. Also, I don’t enslave elves to make toys for me, you ball of Arctic pestilence.”
Then words were said that couldn’t be taken back. Fists were raised. Punches were thrown. I out pummeled fatty, having practiced boxing a little bit in college. However, the Jolly Recluse of the North Pole sure could take a punch. That huge belly of Old Saint Nick absorbed anything I could throw at him. The fight went on for hours until Mr. Claus realized he was behind schedule.
He pointed a finger at me. “Thanks to you, kids in Sub-Saharan Africa won’t get their presents until noon, Inconceivable, you whining pustule.”
I sneered. “Yeah, your wife living in Barbados, well I’ve had her. Hasta la vista, Santy.”
I will always wonder if I could have handled our meeting better. Ouch, my ribs! The Clausorino sure possessed a mean right jab. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a long, hot bath with Epsom salts.
– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef, Ph.D.
My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.
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