Fa la la la la.
Well, it’s getting onto being Christmas again, where we can all go out and eat pig and drink mead and generally be Vikings about the whole world. It comes around the same time every year, but people are always complaining how it “snuck up on them” even though they’re the same people who complain that Myers have had Christmas decorations up since August. Yes, very sneaky. Santa is all about sneaking. A grossly obese man in a big red jumpsuit who flies around with reindeers, lands on your roof and hauls his fat ass down your chimney with a giant sack of presents is indeed the very definition of stealth.
Now, Santa may very well be happy to wear his red suit when visiting the northern hemisphere around Chrissytime, as I hear it gets quite chilly during the Winter. But what happens when he’s flapping around in Australia in 35 degree heat, travelling through the sky at 12 times the speed of sound or something? He’d be sweating like a badger in a wetsuit, and by the time he gets to your place with your pressies, he’d be one angry, hot, pissed off dude, who is more likely to pass out under your tree than leave you a Transformers toy. I’m surprised the smell of him doesn’t wake more people up – ever been next to a fat guy on a bus, train, plane, office, elevator, bench, tree, monkey, volcano or muffin? Yeah, the smell really hits you. Add about a thousand per cent to that and you’ve got Santa’s sweaty arse. I wonder if he gets chafing?