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Christmas In January?

As I lapped up a bowl of Frosted Flakes, my eyes remaining fixated on the debatably-racist cartoon rooster promenading across the television screen. A bit of anxiety festered about a mandatory shoe-shopping excursion supposedly transpiring later, but, for the most part, this was just a normal, delightfully-lethargic Saturday morning for this six-year-old.

With a slap at the front door I jumped.  My weekly slothful ritual had been disrupted. My parents were still asleep and so, ever-cautions for lurking pedophiles with creepy mustache smiles, I peered out the window next to the door.

I couldn’t believe it. There, standing on my stoop in full suit, beard, and hat, was Santa Claus. My breath quickened. It was only late January, but maybe I’d just been so good, so well-behaved, [so unable to tease that fat kid in class who was currently home on bed rest after his Cheeto-induced heart attack] that Santa had noticed and was now rewarding me with a bonus Christmas.

Thoughts raced.  My hands trembled as I fumbled with the lock and doorknob. “Lemmme in, Jess-tin!” Santa barked.

Gah, he knew my name!

As I threw the door open, I charged at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and narrowly missing the White Castle satchel clutched in his hand. He was much dirtier and slimmer than he was last month at the mall, and from the hug alone, my hands had become covered in this filth-gristle that had been caked onto his coat.

He stepped inside and used the walls for balance, chattering too fast to be discernible.  I pranced ahead, leading him into the living room where he swiftly collapsed on the floor after asking if I had any money he could borrow…

Drunk Santa

Everything was happening so fast.

“Crim-mass,” he muttered as he pulled out a bottle with a black crow on it out from his bag and took a sip.  I smiled.

I hoped he’d get to my presents soon because I knew they’d be something amazing, like a robot or a remote-controlled car.  I had to be patient and wait though.  With no giant sack of toys or a sleigh, I knew that the large White Castle bag had to contain my gifts – despite that it was leaking grease and smelled like a carnival toilet.

Cookies!

How had I forgotten to bring Santa cookies?

Instinctively, I dashed to the pantry and snatched up a handful of Dad’s sugar-free cookies and brought them back out to Santa. He snapped up two and smashed them into his rosy mouth, but his face soon soured.

A mist of crumbs erupted from his craw before he grabbed the candy dish off the coffee table and promptly regurgitated the moist wad of post-cookie into it. He gagged, revolted, and subsequently slapped the remaining Diabetic Delightz out of my hand and onto the floor.

Santa then nestled into the couch and closed his eyes.  I was a little discouraged, but this was my first Bonus Christmas—presents must work differently — naps and horrible smells must just be the tradition.

I went to grab my bowl of Frosted Flakes when Mom came down the stairs in her bathrobe. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Marty, you’re fucking drunk again,” she said as she saw the sleeping Santa. “Honey,” she yelled up the stairs, “wake up and get down here; your idiot brother’s here in his Santa outfit and passed out again, can you please drive him home or just get him out?”

Another childhood-tarnishing moment in the books…

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About Howard Gantz, Manager (11 Articles)
Howard Gantz, Manager of Long Awkward Pause here. My credentials include managing the super boy band 98 Back Sync and Ron Howard’s second cousin, Doogie Howard. My father is Richard Gantz, owner of the Gantz T-Shirt Factory.

30 Comments on Christmas In January?

  1. NotAPunkRocker // January 27, 2014 at 9:05 am //

    Huh, our Santa was always drunk too.

    Side note: my kid spent 10 minutes the other night trying to explain who Foghorn Leghorn was to a friend on xbox. I don’t know if that is good or bad.

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    • Hahahaha, that’s hysterical and it kinda seems difficult to try to explain Foghorn Leghorn if you didn’t know him at all. It reminds me of my cousin trying to explain the plot of Space Jam to my uncle.

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  2. Love it! Still laughing. Thanks

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  3. oh my god, this is so funny and sad. we want so badly to believe….

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  4. Bad Santa is becoming all-too common a sight these days…

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  5. Bad Santa!! I say, I say, I have a hankering for some good old-fashioned cartoons!

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  6. SO DOES THAT MEAN YOU DIDN’T GET YOUR PRESENT??

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  7. hahaha, so wait. Marty Claus comes in January? Do you have to be really really good because I’ve never seen him, nor have my kids. My kids are pretty familiar with a drunk santa though. That’s tradition.

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    • According to legend, Marty Claus just comes the morning after any dollar-beer night that was too cold for him not to wear the Santa coat, as it’s the warmest thing he owns. Drunk Santa is a truly great tradition, good to hear your kids appreciate it.

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  8. You must have been very discouraged to discover you were not going to get any gifts!

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  9. You and I have the same Uncle, me-thinks…

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  10. I have met this Santa. *shudder*

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  11. You poor disillusioned child. I have a story about a similar Santa that I met in the park with my kids. I don’t usually do this but here is a link if you’re interested…too much of a coincidence!
    http://jiltaroo.wordpress.com/2012/09/02/im-father-fing-christmas/

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