Santa's Soliloquy

"Why go on?" Santa contemplated as he watched the snow fall with a jaundiced eye. "Another insufferable, unremitting winter." Of course, he knew it wasn't just the winter: It was the eternal tedium of flying interminably about earth every year delivering the latest state-of-the-art (Soon-to-be-obsolete) cheap, imported presents; it was the insubordinate little brats who rarely if ever left a morsel of a cookie or a drop of milk; it was nearly going bankrupt trying to pay for Rudolf's cancer treatment for the malignant lymphoma in his nose; it was the internecine struggles between the intransigent elf and reindeer unions; it was having to let go his helpers because apparently the North Pole isn't too big to fail; it was having to see Sarah Palin from his factory; and since his wife left him for the leaner and more fit Kwanza Kareem, the onerous addition of paparazzi incessantly harrassing him. All of this unbearable mess had become an inveterate part of Christmas

Compound this with Prancer's intemperance of being his number 2 guy and Santa was ready to sell his pristine acreage of permafrost to Exxon Mobil. "I should indeed leave this wretched place once and for all," Santa ruminated as he sat intractably in his wooded chair since Mrs. Claus had inherited the Ikea furniture from the divorce. In spite of all of this seemingly ineluctable misery, Santa had an epiphany: "I wonder what the Goldbergs are doing on the 25th?"