On Christmas Eve, it’s tradition to leave milk and cookies out for Santa. Bugger that. That’s what the Yanks do. And seriously, do you think he really wants milk when it’s stinking hot outside? Hell no. To quote Ron Burgundy: “So hot. Milk was not a good choice.” Leave the man a beer. And not one of the crap ones left over from last month’s barbie when Uncle Trev brought round a six-pack of Tooheys Red, and then proceeded to hock into your James Boags. Give Santa a couple of nice, cold Crownies or even a Carlton Draught. At the very least, the Carlton has some trivia under the cap. And bugger the cookies. Hit the man with a kebab. Since he’s probably visited about a million houses before yours, and they should have all left him beer, he’ll probably need some kind of post-alcohol feed. Kebab. Garlic sauce. The meat is up to you.
Trust me. A few small changes in your Christmas Eve routine will be the difference between an ugly jumper (cause you need jumpers in Summer) and a Roboraptor.
Milk and cookies? Poor Santa.