I always felt kind of sad for Santa Claus. Every year, he’s got to visit all the kids in the world, except the godless heathens who will burn in hell, of course, and at each house, Santa was confronted with the same thing. A glass of milk, and a plate of cookies, at every house. Millions of them. Even if he only took one bite, and one sip, that’s still a couple hundred pounds of cookies and gallons of milk. By the end of the night, he can’t be that jolly. The last million or so houses have to be freaking torture for him. Old St. Nick looks like he’s well past the age where lactose intolerance sets in, which means he’s got to be blowing farts that could stun a mule. I bet even the reindeer are bitching about the smell, and you have to be putting out some serious scent to beat reindeer stank. And as for the cookies, well, let’s just say I’m always surprised that some of the bad kids don’t find their stockings filled with something softer and more fragrant than coal, if you get my drift.
Those last half million houses, he’s just got to be grimly slogging through, ticking of how many he has to go in his head, watching the finish line come slowly closer and closer. God help the kid who’s stayed up, and is in the last hundred thousand. One stupid question, and it’s, “Look, just take the goddamn present, kid, or I swear to god I will shove it down your throat. I’m 73,258 houses from being able to go home, I’m holding in a crap that’s twice your size, and I don’t need twenty friggin’ questions, okay?”
The prophet Elijah has to go through something similar. Every year, on Passover, he’s got to visit every Jewish house and share some wine at the Seder. So, some Jews have to be confronted by the sight of a hugely drunk biblical prophet stumbling into their house. Not too steady on his feet, knocking things over, probably still pissed over something someone said 10,000 houses ago, Elijah’s got to be quite the sight. “Yeah, I’m the prophet Elijah, gimme my freakin’ wine. You got a bathroom I can projectile vomit into when I’m done with this glass? People keep putting out this cheap Beaujolais, not proper Passover wine, no…Oh, Jehovah; it’s coming up, out of THE WAY… Bleaaargh…” It can’t be pretty, although I imagine both the children and the more atheistic attendees would get a kick out of it.
The only real question is which one of these thoughts is going to get me sent to hell.
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