I knew my initial instincts about Santa were right. When I was a baby and my parents took me to see Santa, I promptly started screaming the second the fat man started ho ho ho-ing at me. Then, as I got older and understood that he gave out presents, I was still very nervous about the fact that this big red sack of jolliness was going to squeeze his fat-ass down my chimney. What if he broke it? Let’s just face it the chimney is not that big. Then around age 4, it dawned on me, Santa was Breaking and Entering! You can’t tell kids not to talk to strangers and then expect them to be okay with it once a year when a giant stranger breaks into their house and gives them presents!!! I am just not that materialistic. I was finally at ease when I found out there was NO Santa and my sleepless Christmas Eve's where because of excitement-not terror.
But seriously, what grown man wants to be Santa at the mall? What man wants to dress up in a fur trimmed suit and have child after child sit on his lap? A creeper, that’s who! A creeper who probably sits there hour after hour hoping for a group of teeny bopper blonde girls who think it would be funny to sit on Santa’s lap. Who is Santa? An old, fat man trying to buy your love and get into your stockings, that’s who! I think we need a change in customs.
-Taylor.
-Taylor.
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| after a million babies, Santa gets lucky and gets a blonde to sit on his lap. BAM SHAKA BAM BAM |
