Santa Feels the Cookies and Milk Thing is Getting Old

Four hours into his journey, exhausted, and covered in soot, Santa Claus is slumped over yet another plate of stale cookies. He bites into one, swallows hard, and says, "Would it kill these people to put out some lasagna?"

Speaking from the kitchen of Steven and Ann Ryan from Bethel, Missouri, its obvious that Santa has grown tired of the age-old tradition of 'Cookies and Milk'.

"To make matters worse, every cookie at every house has a bite taken out of it" he says, "What the hell is that all about?"

With his elbows on the table and searching for answers, he continues, "Some cookies do have substance; a homemade Chocolate Chip for example is quality and shows a little effort." "But a graham cracker or one of those shortbread Lorna Dornes, that's like giving me the middle-finger." "Those cookies say - Leave the toys and get out!!"

"And those Hippie houses, forget it! Its always wheatgrass cookies and soy milk." "You know that's going straight to the dog. Right Radar?" Radar, the Ryan family dog, just looks back at Santa. He remembers seeing this guy about a year ago, or was it an hour ago? Radar has trouble with 'time durations', he's working on it.

Insisting that he does not normally do this, Santa opens the Ryans refrigerator and sees the opulence of the following days meal. There inside is, fresh turkey, glazed ham, pot roast, mashed potatoes, bread stuffing, assorted vegetables, and a perfectly-symmetrical 3-tier chocolate cake. He waves both hands in front of him sarcastically, "Oh, No Thank You! No!; I wouldn't want any of this! Not when I can have my 3 millionth Oreo with someone else's spit on it!"

Now overcome with hunger and rage, Santa quickly loses control and begins a two-handed assault on the Ryans Christmas Day feast. Turkey leg in one hand, mashed potatoes in the other, he swallows large mouthfuls in alternating bites. With no regard for cleanliness or need for cutlery, he moves quickly on to the ham, pot roast, and stuffing. His arms are thrashing about, creating a Red Blur and it continues this way for 15 minutes.

Then as quickly as it started, it stops. Clearly out of breath, Santa places one arm on the refrigerator shelf to brace himself. Then, without provocation, he rears back and punches a hole in the chocolate cake with a closed fist. "Probably shouldn't have done that" he confesses.

Santa collapses back into the kitchen chair and loosens his belt, "that was a long time coming", he sighed. He looks at his watch realizing this transgression has cost him almost 20 minutes. "Wow, I have to get going", when asked if this delay could keep him from finishing his Christmas Eve deliveries, he responds, "No. Whenever I'm running late, I just skip Iraq."