In Search of Santa Claus: An Insane Journey.

I awoke with a conspicuously suspicious mind this morning. Who is Santa and what exactly does he gain for tirelessly cramming his ass down chimneys to leave gifts for duped children? Qui bono, dammit? No one is perfect and infallible in their altruism, right? Does altruism exist? Why do we do good deeds? But first I had to find out if he was real. I needed to find out.

I kissed my wife good-bye and left. "Don't bother coming back," she indifferently mentioned. I smiled and replied, "You crazy girl."

I started at a local school. No luck. The kids are way too deep in their absorption of Santa Claus propaganda. Worse, the teachers willingly feed this crud under the guise of selling the spirit of Christmas. Steal the spot light from my boy Jesus, eh? Wait until I get my hands on jolly St. Nick.

Next, it was the shopping mall. I found him sitting there alright; all cheap, fat, old and dirty. You can tell by the black rings along his red suit that he has not washed his clothes in some time. Pig. His beard was browning at the edges.

While I waited in line, rehearsing what I was going to ask him, I began to sweat. Which line should I open with? "Here Santa, a blood soaked suit for you. I killed the walrus myself!" Or I could simply make him bleed and stain his own clothes. I'm not sure.

Stage fright was about to hit! The fiendish looking elves were directing us along and when my turn came I felt a sudden kick, "Move, Mister!" I look back; it was some dumb nipper. I looked at his mother and simultaneously wanted to slap and fuck her. I wouldn't mind sticking my north pole in her ass. But before I could further embellish my thoughts, one of those awful looking elves - who were really midgets - yelled at me. They had whips. They spoke with Bismarckian authority. "Break you momma's back!" one yelled. They scared me.

I ran away like a Taliban mental case. I drove my car into the parking lot of another mall. Silently and with purpose, I entered. I wasn't sure what I was going to find. As I turned, my knees buckled. Sock puppets!

I ran away like a Commie hippie pinko left wing pothead. Another mall. This time no sock was going to distract me. This time, no one was going to push me. This time, what the hell? Is that Santa? B-but, I just saw him at the other mall! How many are there? Is he like the Wile E. Coyote? One or many? I asked him the question while sitting on his lap. I don't weigh all that much - 152lbs. He answered, "I am omnipotent. I live in your heart." "Oh" I said, "like God?"

"What do you want for Christmas?" he interjected curtly. "I want the truth" I told him. "You're kidding right? I mean, you're not serious?" he said. "No, no I'm dead fucking serious Santy. I want to know what union you work for and exactly how you profit. I want to see a break-even analysis. I want..." "Security!" They have sock puppets. I leap for my freedom.

Outside, I lean against a wall catching my breath and thoughts. I punch the calming air and tantalizing wind with my fist and demand, "Show yourself you coward. Damn you!"

I ran away. I was confused. I was not closer to the truth. Worse, I may have uncovered a racket. A consortium of diabolical Santas had entered our quiet little town. I'm sure the Jews are behind this. I hear and read that they are behind everything. Heck, Santa Clause may be a Jew. His real name may be Clauseberg or Clausevitch. His whole network may be nothing more than an Israeli plot to take over the Middle East and eventually the world!

I lit a cigarette and went home. My key didn't fit the lock. "Hmm, that's strange. 2B. This is my apartment alright." I look around. Neighbors look at me but say nothing. I plot my next move.