Santa Lost

"She's cute."

"Who?"

"Linda. Are you blind?"

"No, but my shoulder hurts like a motherstuffer."

"If you're looking for an apology, go to a Hallmark store. Now go saddle my sleigh."

None of the Titans recognized international copyright law, but Santa was by far the worst transgressor. In his peak years, he was knocking off Barbie dolls and Bing Crosby albums by the millions. These days, though, it was easier to go pop off to the mall than to have to fire up the elves' counterfeiting shop.

It felt good to get out of the old warmth of the house into the bracing air. Santa never felt his bulk when he was out in the elements.

Obispo and the next-eldest elf, Termino, held the sleigh ready. They'd ride along on the runners.

"Boys, I'm feeling frisky. What say we take a spin around the world as long as we're out?"

"You bet, Santa!" said Obispo.

Termino piped in, "If we go over America, can we drop a bag on Eminem?"

"Make it so. What say we fill the bag with rock cocaine and cinder blocks?"

"That's dope, Santa," said Termino.

"Are you black?"

"No."

"Then don't try to talk black. It's embarrassing."

"Can we kill Sammy Hagar, too? Just because?"

"We can't right all the wrongs in the world, little elf. I've got shopping to do."

He hopped into the sleigh, more spry than you would expect, and wasted no time cracking his whip over the reindeers' antlers.

"On Gundry! On Gaviota! On Molino! On Loma! On Orizaba! Away!"