Jesus Vs. Santa
By Harlowe Pilgrim
Copyright 2012 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
Chapter Two
“And
3 … 2 … 1 … you’re live, Santa!” the cameraman said.
Poised
to begin the interview, Santa took a deep breath. “Okay,”
he thought, anticipating any second the sound of the popular news
anchor’s voice. “Don’t forget to be
jolly, and remember to stay the fuck away from politics.”
A
long, surprisingly silent moment passed … followed by another …
and another.
Santa
squinted into the camera. “Bo, what the hell is going on? Where
the hell are they?”
The
cameraman popped up from behind the camera, scratched his head, and
shrugged his shoulders.
“Is
the fucking studio broken down again? Goddamn it!” Santa whipped
off his earpiece and microphone and stood up out of his chair.
“Everything’s
dead, Santa. Sorry.”
“Where
the hell is Nigel? We’ve got to get this shit fixed, on the
goddamned double.”
“I
… don’t know, Santa. I’ll go find him.” He was already
headed for the door.
“Yes!”
Santa said, “On the double—please!”
Bo
was gone.
“Fucking
elves; I get them everything they need … tools … training … and
then they screw me like this,” sputtered Santa.
“Hey
Santa.” Another elf had entered the studio, lackadaisically
slurping the contents from a giant mug, and moving very slowly. “Have
you tried this new hot chocolate from the coffee shop? It’s Irish!
I wonder if I’m Irish …”
“NIGEL!
What the hell are you doing?”
“What
do you mean? You almost scared me out of my boots, big guy. I could
have spilled my …”
“Sorry
I yelled at you,” Santa said, “but we’re in big fucking trouble
here. Bo went to find you. The studio’s not working, and I’m
supposed to be on TV right now.”
“Oh,
shit—I’ll check it out. Here, hold this.” Nigel handed Santa
his mug. “But don’t drink it.”
“Wouldn’t
think of it,” Santa said. “You know I’m a beer man.”
The
elf hustled over to the camera, and began to examine it, before
moving on to Santa’s microphone and earpiece, and some of the other
studio equipment.
“Hmmm,”
he said, stepping over to the large electrical panel on the wall.
“Hmmm,” he said again as he surveyed the panel’s contents.
“Nigel!”
Bo said as he came through the studio door. “Where the fuck have
you been?”
“I’ve
been right here, helping,” Nigel said. “Where the fuck have you
been?”
“Never
mind that shit, you guys,” Santa said. “Are you getting anywhere
with this, Nigel? Please say you are.”
“The
only problem I see is this,” Nigel said, reaching into the panel.
He flipped a switch, and the studio crackled to life.
“And
for our Christmas wrap-up this December twenty-sixth,” they heard
the perky female voice say over the studio sound system, “we have a
special—the most special—Christmas
celebrity guest, here for you on the Wake Up
World Morning Show.”
“Shit!
The interview!” Santa scrambled back into his seat.
Nigel
hurried Santa’s microphone and earpiece back into place, and Bo got
his ass back behind the camera.
“Santa
Claus, please say hello to our television audience.”
“Ho
Ho Ho! Good morning—and I hope everyone had a merry Christmas!”
“I’m
sure they did, Santa,” the interviewer replied. “At least all of
us good little boys and girls did!”
Santa
leaned into the camera, a stern expression on his face. “And don’t
you forget, young lady—I know exactly which list you are on.”
“Oh,
well …” she stumbled.
“Ho
Ho Ho! Santa was just having a little fun with you. Kind of awkward
though, wasn’t it?”
“I
thought so,” Bo whispered to Nigel, who’d joined him behind the
camera.
“No,
not awkward at all,” said the interviewer. “When you’re good,
you know it.”
“I’m
sure you do, Ho Ho Ho! Well anyhow, we look for the best in
everybody around Christmas. That keeps it fun for me, too.”
Nigel
turned to Bo. “You know how the studio wasn’t working before? We
should make sure it’s turned on
next time.”
Bo
nodded his head in agreement.
“So
Santa,” the interviewer said, “I’m sure our audience is curious
as to just how big a Christmas the world had this year. Do you have
any numbers for us?”
“Well,
we did add to our business this year, as a matter of fact. We
haven’t had a chance to crunch the final numbers yet … but all
indications are that we had more good kids this year than ever
before.”
“And
what do you say to those who suggest that is more a case of the bar
being lowered as to what is considered good behavior, and modern
society’s reluctance to label their naughty
children as naughty?”
“I
can assure you that, while the situation you described may well be
the case, we at The North Pole are using the same formulas that we
always have. There is no inflation of statistics, behavioral or
otherwise, where Santa is concerned.” “Jesus,”
he thought, “this is starting to feel like a
goddamned interrogation.”
“That’s
certainly good to hear. Can you tell us, Santa, what will you do
now, with Christmas behind you, and the end of the holiday season in
sight? Since next Christmas is a whole year away, will you get back
to work immediately, or do you take time off?”
“Ho
Ho Ho! That’s a great question, and I’m happy to talk about it,
because it’s got a great
answer. I frankly don’t recall ever having been asked about what
happens after
Christmas.”
“So
why don’t you answer it?” she said. “I mean … fabulous.
What happens after Christmas, Santa?”
“Uh
… each year after Christmas, what happens upon my return to the
North Pole is … essentially, nothing. We shut down for a couple
weeks, and relax. Mrs. Claus and I sometimes travel … the elves
kick back … we get the chance to recover from the massive Christmas
effort—and get ready to ramp up to the next one.”
“Interesting,”
she said. “And when do you start watching again, to see who’s
naughty or nice, for next year?”
“Oh,
that never stops. The nice and naughty lists are constantly
updated—we’re always watching.”
“No
kidding, Santa. I guess we’d all better keep that in mind.”
“It
wouldn’t be a bad idea. In fact, I recommend it.”
“Great
advice for all the girls and boys out there,” she said. “Thank
you Santa, for being with us this morning. It’s been fascinating,
as always.”
“Thank
you,” Santa said. “And I’ll be seeing you.”
“Santa
Claus, everybody; be good, for goodness sake.
Next up: The President undergoes surgery to remove his head from his
buttocks—stay tuned.”
“And
we’re out,” Bo said.
“Great
interview, boss,” added Nigel.
“Thanks,
kiss-ass.”
Bo
started laughing.
“No,
really,” Santa said, “thanks. They make me feel like I’m
testifying on the stand sometimes. I think they’re jealous they
can’t wear red like I can.”
“Now
agree, Nige. Tell him how good he looks.”
“Fuck
you, Bo.”
“Bo—don’t
forget,” Santa said. “If you make him stop kissing my ass, guess
who’s next in line for the job! Ho Ho Ho!”
“See,
Bo? Someone has to do it.”
They
enjoyed a good laugh together.
After
a few minutes, Santa noticed a pretty blond face in the window of the
studio door. “Now there’s a sight for tired eyes!” He bade her
to join them, and she obliged.
“Hi
boys,” she said
It
was only then that Bo and Nigel, who were still in the throes of
yucking it up, realized they had company. They suddenly clammed up
and stood at attention, like a superior officer had just walked in.
“Hi
Mrs. Claus,” the elves greeted her in unison.
“At
ease, soldiers. And what was so funny? Nigel kissing Santa’s ass
again?”
“HA!”
Bo laughed. “See? Even she knows.”
“Ho
Ho Ho! Don’t worry Nigel—like I said, I’m fine with it.”
“Geez,
with friends like you guys,” Nigel said. “Keep laughing. You can
all kiss my ass.”
“Aw,
come on buddy,” Bo said, “Let’s go have a drink. It’s party
time.”
“Okay,”
Nigel said. “Bye Mrs. Claus and Santa.”
“Have
a good time, boys,” Santa said.
Mrs.
Claus waved goodbye, and they watched the elves go. “How was the
interview, Kris?”
“Not
bad,” Santa answered, “But so far I like after
the interview a whole lot better.” He put
his arms around her and pulled her close. “Even better now.”
“I
bet you’re exhausted.”
“Nah,
I’m feeling peppy as hell—for an undead fucking zombie.” He
smiled wearily.
She
buried her face in his red-suited shoulder, and gave him a hug. He
sighed, and patted her on the back. “You know,” he said, “I
vaguely remember making some vacation plans …”
“You
do?” she said. “I’d question that memory. I recall us having
plans … that I
made—while you were busy being a workaholic.”
“Yeah.
Those plans.”
“Oh,
then I guess I know the ones you mean.”
“Tell
me, Madam,” Santa evoked his most noble British accent. “Shall we
stand around here all day, rather than making haste for our vacation
destination?”
“You
sound like a butler when you talk like that.”
“Just
play along, will you?”
“I
meant, Sir,” she
said, doing her best American southern belle, “I would most
certainly enjoy accompanying you anywhere!”
“I
love it when you do voices,” Santa said.
“And
I certainly put up with you when you do them,” she replied, still
in character. “You big, strong, handsome man!”
“You’re
going to make my head swell if you keep talking like that.”
“Unless
I’m mistaken, Sir …” She rubbed up against him. “It feels
like I already have.”
-Harlowe Pilgrim
Copyright 2012 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
