Let me summarize it for you. Once a year, a middle-aged whitebeard flies around the world. Visiting houses. At night. When the occupants are sleeping. He doesn’t knock on the front door like a regular human being. No. He sneaks in via chimney.
And it doesn’t stop there.
Once inside, he devours plates of cookies, then skedaddles, leaving packages with unidentified contents in his wake. If Santa ever turns terrorist, Western culture will have much to fear. It will be an unparalleled time to be a bomb technician.
You may think me paranoid, but this is simply not the case. It’s just, when I lie awake at night with a wailing baby downstairs, I tend to think about things that go bump in the night.
Let me tell you, if I ever stumble downstairs–bleary eyed–to find a fat man in a red suit rummaging underneath my Christmas tree, that will not be a happy night. Beard or not. Hearty “Ho Ho” or not. I will use that poker.
For comparison, think about all the other fantastical creatures which roam the night. The Easter Bunny leaves piles of chocolate, the Tooth Fairy leaves money under your pillow. Put aside the fact that the EB and the TF are either both in cahoots or mortal enemies. They just aren’t particularly creepy.
A pint-sized Tinkerbell with wings can’t do you much harm, and a soft Angora rabbit even less. Neither of these creatures engage in 24/7 moral surveillance or have their own elven armies.
Who do I worry about at 2AM in the morning? Santa and his minions.
Yes, that includes you, Rudolph. You enabler. You purveyor of all that is red, bearded, and stalkerish. If it weren’t for you, guess who’d be stuck in the North Pole during foggy weather? That’s right. Your boss.
To all of you who laugh, beware. Stalker Santa is coming. If you got lucky this year, remember: next Christmas could be your last.
Until next time,
- Daniel
