Zat You, Santy Claus?

Late one cold December night, as the embers in the fireplace glowed and the brandy in our snifters warmed, a great clatter and considerable profanity came from the chimney. And suddenly standing there, covered in soot and with a bird's nest on his toque, stood Santa Claus. A spectacularly unkempt and un-jolly Santa Claus. A Santa Claus who looked like Nick Nolte.

"Uh--is that you, Santa Claus?" I asked.

"Who the #&*$& comes through the chimney?" he said. "And is it too much to ask that you get the $#@&*% thing cleaned once a year?"

"Perhaps," I said, "I could offer you a restorative brandy?"

"Just tell me where the liquor's kept," he said. "I'll serve myself."

As he stood by the liquor cabinet drinking a rare Glenfiddich from the bottle, we were interrupted by a commotion at the entrance door. Standing there dripping on the Aubusson carpet was a bedraggled creature in a green elf outfit. A creature who looked remarkably like Christian Bale. 

"My head elf," said Santa. And to the elf, "Where you been, pal? Stop at a strip joint somewhere?"

"Had to park the freakin' reindeer. Not easy in all that %#$*& snow. But listen, man, where are the chicks?"

"This isn't the place. I know I promised you the sorority residence again, but after last year, they've made it a no-fly zone. I ask you, what kind of Christmas spirit is that?" 

"What a drag. Hey, Donner and Blitzen are a little peaked after all that egg nog. Okay if I bring them in?"

The door swung wide and two wobbly reindeer slumped in. I must report that the reindeer had not been house-broken. Goodbye, Aubusson carpet.

"Is that all the booze you've got?" said Santa, throwing another empty into the fireplace.

"I thought," I said, "the usual treat was cookies and milk."

"Are you serious, man? On a run like this?"

"Remember when we used to hit Miles Davis's place?" said the elf. "That was cool."

"Very cool," said Santa.

"One year we didn't get back to the Pole until January."

"Ma Claus was already talking to her lawyer." 

"Good thing you brought her some of that Liz Taylor jewelry."

"She said to me, 'Now this is the kind of ice I like.'  Okay, Elf, time to move. With luck, we can make the late show at The Penthouse."

Reaching into my teak humidor, he extracted a half-dozen hand-rolled Cuban cigars. "You got good taste, fella," he said. "We'll be back. Maybe bring some of the other elves."

And then, before vanishing up the chimney, he pressed a finger to his roseate proboscis and said with a wink--or, perhaps, twitch--of his eye. "Stay cool, dude."

"What happened," I said, "to Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night?"

"Oh, man," he said, "that is so last Christmas."