Merry Christmas to All, Except for Germany
“Screw this script, why does it start by emphasizing your hard work instead of mine. Everybody knows that I’m the breadwinner here, me, Kris Kringle, THE Santa Claus.” Santa drunkenly complained.
“Kris have you been drinking before rehearsal again, how do you expect to earn the revenue we need to keep the North Pole up and running if we don’t film this new NBC special?!” Mrs. Claus vehemently lectured with fizzling patience.
“We can go back to Coca-Cola, like the good old days!” Santa Claus insisted, slurring a bit and stumbling about.
“You know that we can’t go back to Coke, not after the polar bear incident.” Mrs. Claus reminded Santa.
“It’s been years since then, you watch me!” Santa said before turning around, reeling himself towards his sleigh. “I’ll win back their hearts you just wait and see, I don’t need to take any crap from the stupid NBC!”
“Hey come back here, you bastard!” Mrs. Claus cried out in desperation as Santa rode out on his sleigh, muttering incoherent nonsense to himself as his marriage was left in shambles.
As Santa was flying, about to call his friend at Coca-Cola’s marketing team, he spotted his favorite pub and remembered that it was happy hour. With breathtaking speed, he whipped his reindeer redder than Rudolph’s nose and landed atop the roof of the pub.
“I’ll have two glasses of the usual Frank; I’ve had one hell of a week!” Santa exclaimed as he busted through the saloon-style doors of the bar.
“I bet you have Kris, with all those overtime shifts, I barely see you around as much as I used to, and right before Christmas too, here, have a seat, I’ll be right with you.” Frank replied with a friendly grin.
Santa lumped into a barstool and let out a heavy sigh as he waited for his drinks, two margaritas mixed with some scotch, and an extra olive on each drink.
“Here you are big guy, drink up.” Frank said as he handed the Santa the glasses.
“Thanks Frank, it’s been too long since I’ve been able to come here on my own time and have a drink.” Santa said relieved with more blush in his rosy cheeks.
As Santa continued sipping his liquor, a slender figure with an oversized hood cloaking his head stamped into the bar, his feet clopping loudly as they trotted on the hardwood floor like hooves. The man took the seat next to Santa and called Frank over to him.
“Zerffe me ein glass of your finest chäger.” The figure bluntly asked with a slight German lisp.
Santa froze in his seat; he had realized who was now sitting beside him.
“Krampus you old prune, what are you doing in a place like this, shouldn’t you be busy being a strict strudel to some German punk kids or, I don’t know, chewing on furniture or something.
Krampus leaned over and revealed his protruding goatish face to Santa underneath his hood. Santa sat through a moment of intimidating silence as he waited for Krampus to cut the tension between what had become a staring contest between two insomniacs.
“I’m not amuzed vith your teazing. Pezites vu schould try to take ein bage out of mein pook, zee children of Germany are much more disciblined zince zey haffe zomezing to scare zem into peing resbonzible, honoraple cidisens. Vu do not bunisch your naughty children nearly enough.” Krampus coldly replied.
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“You should watch that long disgusting tongue of yours, I deliver presents and coal to children across the world, you only have to worry about one little country.” Santa countered.
Krampus leaned back up, heaving heavy breaths through his wide nostrils in between sips of alcohol.
“Even if I had the time to physically punish them,” Santa continued, “I wouldn’t, when naughty kids get coal in their stockings, they get the message, it’s something all kids understand, only a sadist would go out of their way to be so harsh.”
“Not all kinter, und I zink it’s zafe to zay zat your definizion of naughty is far more forgiffing zan it schould pe.” Krampus replied, more incensed than before.
Santa slammed down his beer mug.
“Ok then you reject demon, tell me since you’re so arrogant to incline to Santa on the difference between naughty and nice, what is a naughty child?!” Santa yelled back.
The bar went quiet as Santa realized that he had spoken too loudly. The two waited in awkward silence for the clattering of cups and drunken locker room talk to resume over their conversation.
“Ein naughty child is any child zat is intignant und rude to one’s elters. Zey dezerffe to pe kidnabed und dealt vith as ein examble pefore zey haffe ein chance to sdain zee dignity of zeir family name, as zo many of your children haffe grovn up to do.” Krampus swiftly explained.
“Don’t act like Germany is so perfect Krampus, I still haven’t forgotten about that moody Hitler child.”, Santa drunkenly pointed out, “Your style of discipline only creates traumatized psychopaths that wreak havoc on the world because they never realized that the only real naughty behavior is never giving in to the evil demons of the world like you.”
Krampus slammed his drink down onto the bar counter and loomed over Santa with peering eyes that seethed with a uniquely controlled rage.
“Vu need to sdop blaying zee Hitler card, it’s peen decates zince zen und zee brime of Zanta Claus too. Arh! I’m ein force of chusdice reckoned among zee kinter kind; vu are merely ein drunken schlucksbeccht.” Krampus bickered. And with those final words Krampus stomped off and disappeared into the shadows of the night.
“I’ll schow zat drunken fool!” Krampus brooded in the dark.
“Zis Christmas vill pe Germany’s year, nein, Krambus’s year to schine! Once I lay zee vip ubon zoze vo don’t resbect zeir elters in Zanta’s vorisch mozerland, he’ll pe zorry he effer doupted mein mezods.” And Krampus began to grinchily scheme away at how he would deliver his plot to ruin Santa’s Christmas. With frightening German precision, he scheduled his routes and developed an efficient strategy to weed out the disrespectful youth of America.
Eventually, Christmas morning came, and parents across the nation were shocked to find their children missing with a note by their bedside which read: Respect your authority, ok zoomer. It appeared that Krampus had assembled a simple, but effective, method for distinguishing the disrespectful from the respectable youth that night. He had spied on every single child and whomever had used the phrase “Ok boomer” had clearly disrespected their elders and thus, had to be punished by the hands of Krampus. Krampus had been so proud of the work he had done that night, but forgot one important detail. He neglected to mention in the notes that he was the one who had killed all those nasty boomer hating children.
But the deed was already done. Krampus’s massacre had created a generational divide between the surviving youth and the elderly of the world which could not be healed. Krampus’s actions sparked the worst genocide to occur on American soil, since that’s where most of the disrespectful youth were, but it had international consequences, nonetheless. The global economy and many foreign relations collapsed as a new world war catalyzed among the youth of each nation to rebel and band together against the establishment. The war was a bloody one, but eventually the youth outlasted the lifespan of the world’s strongest leaders after 30 long years of fighting which had left much of world a desolate, war-torn wasteland. There was no more Christmas to speak of after the war.
While Santa and Krampus were still alive, they should have realized what would’ve preserved them as cultural icons for several generations to come, the true meaning of Christmas. Christmas is the time of giving, whether that is giving gifts, love, or even giving a shit about what boomers have to say, it is important that we give it. Because when we start to get caught up in our own selfish desires, and lose the empathy to give, we become like Germany. And can’t we all agree that the Germans are the true villain of this story?