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A Holiday Wish

Well, I know how you’ve all been waiting patiently for another post. But since I can’t seem to get my latest concept working, I thought I’d try to write something on the fly. I apologize if I’ve offended anyone. I’m a very disturbed individual.

Once upon a time, there was a little boy by the name of Marcus. Marcus was a very nice kid. He did all of his chores and never talked back to his parents. When it was time for bed, Marcus would obediently brush his teeth, wash his face and then slip into bed without touching himself. Yes, Marcus was a very good boy.

Since Marcus was so well-behaved, on December 15th, his mom and dad took him to the mall to see Santa Claus. Marcus climbed up on top of Ol’ Saint Nick’s lap and looked up at the bearded jolly man.

“What would you like for Christmas, little boy?” Santa said in an obviously fake, deep voice.

“Marcus,” the child replied.

“A Marcus? What’s a Marcus?”

“No, my name is Marcus. Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Uh, well, I have a lot of little boys and girls to keep tabs on. I guess it just slipped Santa’s mind.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see that. But really, what else do you have to do? It’s kind of your job to make the list, check it twice, know who’s naughty and nice, isn’t it? I mean, you see me when I’m sleeping. You know when I’m awake. You know if I’ve been bad or good –”

“Uh, what is it you’d like for Christmas? There’s a line. Mustn’t keep the other children waiting.”

“That’s the other thing. Wouldn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know what I want for Christmas. I’ve been good all year. I wrote you a letter, even.”

“You did?”

“Sure, my parents told me to just address it to the North Pole, but I really thought it needed a street address.”

“Santa’s leg is falling asleep. Do you want a train?”

“A what?”

“A train.”

“My grandfather was killed by a train. Honestly Santa, I don’t know what’s happened to you. You’re really disappointing me.”

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I. . . I forgot. Santa hasn’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“That’s OK. I’m just kidding about my grandpa dying. He’s fine. The train only made him lose a leg. And an arm.”

“Oh. Uh, have you told me what you want yet?”

“Guess.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to guess.”

“Oh, fuck me!”

“What?”

“Listen, you little bastard, tell me what the fuck you want for Christmas before I take you in the back and let the elves eat you for lunch.”

Marcus looked at Santa.

“Santa, you really need to seek some professional help.”

“You’re telling me, kid. You’re telling me. Now, for the love of Pete, would you please tell me what the hell it is your want for Christmas? It’s been a long day.”

Marcus looked up at Santa’s pleading eyes, and as he did, Santa’s eyebrows came down to meet at a point. Santa was pissed, but this didn’t seem to phase Marcus at all. Finally, after five minutes of silence, Marcus slid off of Santa’s lap, then came around and whispered in his ear. Santa smiled at first and chuckled, then suddenly his face went pale and his jaw dropped. Marcus walked away with a big smile on his face. Shortly thereafter, Marcus’s father went up to Santa.

“Hi, I’m Bob, Marcus’s dad.”

“Oh. I see. You, uh, must be proud.”

“So, Marcus won’t tell us what he wants for Christmas. Did he tell you?”

Santa, still somewhat bewildered, nodded.

“So, what is it? A new bike? It’s a new bike, isn’t it?”

Santa turned his head from side to side slowly.

“Hm. It’s not another stupid robot kit, is it? I really wish that boy would show some interest in sports.”

Again, Santa turned his head from side to side, his eyes seeming to glaze over.

“Well, you gonna tell me?”

“I. . . I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I. . . I really shouldn’t.”

“Just tell me, damn it.”

Santa looked at Bob, then nodded.

“OK, OK. This is what your son said to me. He said, ‘You wanna know what I want for Christmas, old man? Santa’s balls in a Mason jar. Yeah, that’s right. That way, I could take them to school for Show and Tell, let the kids pass them around. Then later, I might put them up for auction on eBay, where you can bid on them like everyone else. So enjoy ’em while you can, fat boy. ‘Cause come Christmas, they’re gonna be mine.'”

Bob looked at his son. Then he looked at Santa.

“That’s what my son told you?”

Santa nodded.

“I’m very sorry,” Bob said.

“That’s OK. He’s just a boy.”

“Yeah, I guess. I guess.”

Weeks passed. And finally, Christmas came. Marcus received all sorts of presents: a new bike, a football, a pair of roller skates, a stupid robot kit, but he was sad because the only gift he truly wanted was nowhere to be found. Marcus was starting to wonder if this whole Santa thing was a load of crap. That’s when his father took him aside.

“Son,” he said, “you seem to be upset about something.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dad. It’s just that I was hoping for something special and I guess I asked for too much.”

“Well, son, Santa can’t give us everything we want.”

“He can’t?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Hm. I’m starting to wonder about this whole Santa thing.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, it’s fun and all, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. I get all this crap that I didn’t ask for, but the one thing I wanted, the one thing I really wished for is nowhere to be found.”

“Hmmmm that reminds me.”

Bob opened up the cupboard and pulled out a beautifully wrapped box and handed it to his son.

“Santa wanted me to give this to you personally.”

Marcus looked at his dad.

“Go on,” his dad said, “open it.”

Marcus eagerly tore off the gift wrap, revealing a white box. He opened up the box, smiled, and pulled out a Mason jar with pair of testicles floating inside. Of course, these weren’t just any testicles. These were Santa’s testicles, more specifically, the testicles of the man who threatened Marcus only a few weeks ago at the mall. Bob purchased them for an ungodly amount and made sure his son had them in time for Christmas. Why? Because Bob was filthy rich and could buy the entire mall, if he wanted to. And more importantly, Marcus was a spoiled brat. But at least he never touched himself.

Have a happy new year.

Fa la-la-la-la la-la la blehhh

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