Santa Claus the Socialist Menace

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It was Ditzember 14, and Christmas was rapidly approaching. All over America, people were celebrating the values of Christmas by having family reunions, putting dead trees in their houses, eating lots of food, and celebrating their love for each other by trampling each other on the way in to Wal-Mart. And when I say that they were trampling each other, I mean that they were doing it in a very loving, Christian way.

But not everyone in America was enjoying the Christmas values of cheer, fun, and binge drinking. In fact, the men on a military base in Nevada were quite anxiously discussing a problem.

Discovering the Menace

Colonel James Buttox was standing outside of a locked door. Snow was falling on the military base. I'm not sure if there's snow in Nevada...come to think of it, there probably isn't. But snow was falling anyway. It was a miracle. Anyway, Colonel James stood outside the door and called inside, "General Sideburns, are you in there?"

A voice replied from inside: "Uh...yeah. Yeah I am. Who is this?"

"It's Colonel James Buttox, sir. I have some urgent business to discuss with you."

"Not now, I'm masturbating. Could you come back in...a day?"

"It's very important sir. I believe Americans are at risk."

"Okay, whatever, come on in."

Colonel Buttox opened the door and stepped in to General Sideburns's office. Every surface of the office was decorated with an American flag, including the floor and the ceiling. General Sideburns was zipping up his pants.

"Okay," said the General, "So what's the big deal?"

"The National Security Agency recently sent me an e-mail. They are very concerned about something."

"What, did they run out of porn magazines? I keep telling those guys down at the NSA to lay off the--"

"No, general, I'm afraid it's far worse."

"Oh, no. Have WE run out of porn magazines?"

"No, sir. The NSA informed me that they believe there is a socialist agent who, within a week, will be at large within the United States.

The General projectile vomited across the room. "A SOCIALIST?" said the general, wiping his chin, "Good God!"

"I know. It's shocking, isn't it. But I'll tell you something even more shocking. This is a socialist who has been allowed to run unchecked through the United States for over a century. He's even allowed to fly through American airspace without clearance."

The general vomited again. "Sweet Christ." he said.

"There's more," said the Colonel, preparing for a torrent of vomit from the general, "The majority of Americans trust this disgusting socialist. They trust him enough to allow him into their homes."

The general took a few moments to process this shock. Then he vomited a few more times.

"Sorry about this," said the General, wiping his chin, "But I throw up every time somebody mentions socialism. Just like I have a minor heart attack every time somebody mentions homosexuality."

"Perfectly understandable."

"So who's this socialist?"

"Santa Claus."

"WHAT?" The General leapt up from his desk.

"That's right, THE santa claus. The one who lives at the North Pole and gives out presents to America's children. He's a socialist. A pinko. A Commie. It really makes sense when you think about it. Santa gives away presents...for FREE. He gives away all kinds of crap every year...video games, toys, cars...and he doesn't charge for ANY of it. He just GIVES it to people! Even worse, he gives gifts to everybody, even POOR people!"

General Sideburns was so angry that he stood up, pulled out a gun, and shot the first thing he saw (which happened to be Arlene, his secretary, who had just walked into the room). "Oops," said the general, "I killed my secretary."

"No you didn't," said the colonel, bending over her and taking her pulse, "She's still alive. Should I call the doctor?"

"Naw," said the General, shooting her a second time, "She's not that hot anyway."

"Okay, back to business," said the colonel, "Santa Claus is a menace to our free market system. He wants to indoctrinate the youth of America with his twisted, baby-eating Socialist dogma."

The general stood up and started pacing the floor. He vomited on the windowsill before turning to face the colonel. "I should have seen this before," said the general, "After all, the guy wears a red suit. Red was the official color of the Communist Party in Russia. Besides, he has a beard, just like Karl Marx. The man is a COMMIE!"

"Damn right he is."

"Has the President been briefed?"

"Hell no. Obama's a socialist too. I heard it on Fox News."

"Okay, we won't tell Obama. But we should tell the American public."

"I'm one step ahead of you, general," the colonel said as he pulled a brochure out of his pocket.

"What's it say?" asked the General.

"You can read," said the Colonel, "Read it yourself."

"I CAN read, but I prefer not to, because it requires too much concentration. Just tell me what it says."

"Well, basically, it warns Americans that Santa is a Socialist Menace. It warns each family that if Santa attempts to land on their roof, slide down their chimney, or trespass on their private property in any other way, they should feel free to shoot him with a bazooka and spray his brains across their walls."

"AWESOME!"

"Yeah. We'll have these brochure mailed to the majority of American families by Christmas Eve."

"Good work, Colonel."

Fighting the Menace, Part One

The General vomited a few more times, then said, "Follow me, colonel. I'm going to write a letter to Santa Claus this instant and ask him to convert to capitalism."

"You really think that's gonna work?" asked the colonel as he followed the General out of the office.

"Probably not, but it's worth a try. If we can get him to convert to capitalism, it could become a major business. Just imagine the profits his business would make. It would provide a lot of stimulus to the American economy, and maybe even lift us out of this recession."

"WHO CARES about the recession?" said the colonel, "Let's freakin' KILL santa! The recession doesn't matter! You and I are still getting paid, so why should we concern ourselves?"

"If we convince Santa to sell toys instead of giving them away, we could get in on the profits. We'll both get rich."

"I'll get an envelope."

Within an hour, the two men had written a letter to Santa Claus. It went like this:

Dear Santa,

It has been brought to our attention that you are a socialist bastard. You might not be aware of this, but America is a capitalist country. You could make quite a bit of profit by selling all those toys instead of just handing them out for free. You can't make it on planet earth unless you can make a profit. Your little operation up at the North Pole will NOT make you profit, because you just give crap away. How do you sleep at night knowing that you are the scum of the earth? You make us puke. Literally. I just puked all over the keyboard. Anyway, you ought to consider converting to capitalism. You could become another Donald Trump, except fatter and with larger man boobs. If you do not convert to capitalism, we might be forced to take action against you. Meaning that we'll drop so many bombs on your head, we'll clean up your remains with a vacuum.

Sincerely,

Colonel Buttox and General Sideburns

United States Army

P.S. You know any good porn magazines?

After sending the letter to the North Pole, they waited apprehensively for Santa's response. It arrived in a matter of minutes, which was kind of farfetched, but whatever. Santa used magic. His response went like this:

Dear General Sideburns and Colonel Buttox,

Just for that, you won't be getting the toy firetrucks I was gonna give you. You suck.

Sincerely,

Santa V. Claus

P.S. Yes, my middle name DOES start with V.

P.P.S. I prefer videos.

"Damn," said Colonel Buttox, "I was gonna get a firetruck?"

"HEY!" screamed the General, slapping the colonel across the face, "Don't lose your focus! I can see from this letter that Santa will NEVER be letting go of his twisted socialist philosophy. Which means that we have two options. We can allow him to deliver gifts to American children, or we can launch a full-scale military campaign against him."

"I say we take him out!!!"

"Agreed. The man has been allowed to give away free stuff for two long. To think that so many Americans had a known Marxist INSIDE THEIR HOMES!!!"

"What's the first step?"

"Well, before we take on the big man himself, we'll have to weaken his support."

"You mean...?"

"Santa's helpers. Tell the men we're moving out. Our target: the mall."

An hour later, the entire military base was armed with machine guns, bombs, grenades, missiles, and flamethrowers. They all climbed into their tanks and trucks. "Let's MOVE!!" bellowed the general over the intercom. They sat there for three hours.

"Oops," said a soldier, "We forgot to fill up the tanks with gas!"

They did so, and rolled off toward Las Vegas.

As they moved, the General briefed the soldiers about their mission.

"Okay men," he said over the radio, "We are to take out everybody in the city who is dressed like Santa Claus. We'll take out all the street Santas first, then we'll infiltrate the shopping malls and eliminate those Santas before they poison the minds of our children."

"Wait...why?" asked a soldier.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!!! I'M THE GENERAL!!!" screamed General Sideburns, shooting the soldier and tossing him off the tank. "But to answer his question, Santa is a known socialist. This means that the people in Las Vegas who are dressed up like him...his "helpers"...are socialist agents. They must be killed before they turn America into a Communist dictatorship, just like...like...Peru!"

"Peru isn't a communist country, sir," mumbled the Colonel.

"Whatever!" screamed the General, "We've gotta kill them!"

Eventually, the tanks rolled in to Las Vegas.

"FIRE AT WILL!!" screamed the General, "Shoot anybody who looks vaguely like Santa Claus. ANYONE who looks like him is a suspect."

They began rolling down the streets in their tanks, blasting at old santas on street corners.

"CITIZENS, REMAIN CALM!!!" the general bellowed at terrified pedestrians, "WE ARE PROTECTING YOUR NATIONAL SECURITY!"

For about an hour, the tanks proceeded through the streets. Then the men arrived at Las Vegas's largest Mall, which was creatively called LAS VEGAS'S LARGEST MALL.

The general and the colonel walked up to the front door of the mall.

"Well, here we are," said the colonel. "We going in there?"

"Yep," said the general. "Tell the men to prepare their grenades."

"Grenades? But...the door's open. Can't we just walk in?"

"Are you kidding me? We're the ARMY! We do things DRAMATICALLY!!"

"But...wouldn't it be easier to just open the door and walk inside?"

"We have to set an example for the American people. Don't you want to have an inspirational war story to tell your grandchildren? Nobody would ever be inspired by stories of soldiers walking up to a door and freakin' OPENING it. People want VIOLENCE and INTENSITY!!! That's what motivates them. Now let's BLOW this door open!"

The colonel reached out his hand and turned the doorknob. "No, sir." he said, "I won't do this. The mission's too important. We have a disgusting socialist trying to indoctrinate the youth of America with socialist propaganda. We can't afford to get distracted by trivialities. The door isn't locked, so let's just go inside."

"Fine, you want the door to be locked?" said the general. "Fine." The general sprinted in to the mall, ran to a nearby jewel store, and snatched a combination lock. He then ran back out to the door, closed it, and locked it with the combination lock. "NOW the door is LOCKED!" he said triumphantly, "I guess we'll just HAVE to use force to get inside!!!"

Gleefully, the general ordered the tanks to fire with their full power at point blank range, straight at the front of the mall. The front of the building spectacularly exploded. Not yet satisfied, the general ordered the men to rebuild part of the building so he could blow it up again. After five hours, they had almost completely reconstructed it. This time, he had them blow it up with grenades. This time, the explosion was much more dramatic, and the general seemed happy. "THAT is how you make an entrance in the United States Army. Now let's go kick the butts of some Santa's Helpers."

Fighting the Menace, Part Two

The soldiers burst in to the mall, with the general and the colonel leading the way. "Attention shoppers!" bellowed the Colonel, "This is an emergency! It has come to our attention that there is at least one Socialist within this very building, with innocent children sitting in his lap!!!"

The shoppers screamed. Several women fainted.

"You must evacuate this mall as soon as possible," said the general, "It's for your own safety. Socialists are known to use mind control on people who are near them. You must leave this building immediately, unless if you're a hot girl. If that's the case, feel free to stay."

The people sprinted out of the building, as the soldiers locked it down. After most of the people were evacuated, the general and the colonel led the soldiers to the toy store, where they saw an old man dressed in a Santa costume sitting in a chair. He had a small girl in her lap.

"LET THAT LITTLE GIRL GO AT ONCE, YOU SOCIALIST FILTH!!!" screamed the general, loading a small flamethrower. The old man stood up, in shock, and the girl fell from his lap.

The colonel scooped her up in his arms and said, "No need to fear, young lass, I won't let the evil socialist agent fill you with his lies, or worse, GIVE something to you."

As the colonel comforted the girl, the general smacked the old Santa to the floor, and ripped off the man's fake beard.

"What's your name, you communist dirt bag?" asked the general.

"Roger."

"AHA!" said the general, smiling triumphantly, "CONCLUSIVE PROOF that you are a socialist! Your name has the letter "R" in it. Just like KARL MARX!"

Old Roger rolled his eyes and said, "You think I'm a socialist? Good grief."

"I DON'T WANT ANY BACK TALK!!!" bellowed the general, kicking the old man in the shin, "Colonel Buttox, I believe we'll have to torture this guy into confessing."

The old man sat up, alarmed. "Torture? Uh...don't torture me. I'll confess. I'll say whatever you want me to say. Just don't torture me."

"Well, thanks for the confession," said the general, rolling up his sleeves, "But I'm afraid I can't accept your confession. Not yet, at least. It'll make me seem weak to just allow you confess without at least torturing you a little bit first. Colonel, fetch the instruments."

The colonel said, "I can't sir. I forgot them. They're back at the military base."

"DAMMIT!!" bellowed the general, "Okay, well I'm pretty sure there's a discount on them at Wal-Mart around this time of year. Go out and buy some, and I'll try to make due here by myself."

The colonel said "Yes, sir!" and ran off to Wal-Mart. The general stayed behind.

"Now," said the general, "Roger. Are you going to confess?"

"YES!!!" said Roger, "I already confessed! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!!!"

"QUIET!!!" said the general, "Just for that, I'm gonna subject you to my very special ANIMAL TORTURE!!!" The general turned to one of the soldiers. "Soldier? Fetch the starving wolverines."

"We forgot them sir," said the soldier.

"What about the lions? Do we have any lions?" asked the general.

"No, no lions either" said the solider apologetically.

"What animals DO we have?"

"Two hamsters and a worm."

"Okay," said the general, thinking fast, "Bring them. Tape some big, scary, sharp claws to the hamsters. And tape a fang to the worm."

"YES SIR!!!" The soldier ran off. The general turned back to Roger, who looked uncertain.

"When we're through with you, Roger, you'll wish you'd never been born. We're gonna make you tell us everything you know."

"I don't really know that much," said Roger, "I'm not particularly intelligent. After all, I DO dress up as Santa for a living."

The soldier returned, holding two hamsters with paper claws tied to their feet, and a worm that was taped to a banana.

"Thank you, soldier," said the General, taking the hamsters and the worm. He then looked at the worm with the banana attached to it, and said, "What's with the banana?"

"Well," said the soldier, "I know you wanted me to tape a fang to the worm, but I couldn't find a fang. I thought this banana looked sort of like a fang, so I just attached it and hoped the old guy wouldn't notice the difference."

"Okay, good work, soldier," said the general. He then turned to the old man and said, "Normally, Roger, we have wolverines that shred the flesh of our prisoners of war. It's a tremendously awful experience for them. But today, all we have is a few hamsters and a worm. I'm going to put these animals on you, and it probably won't hurt at all. But I'd appreciate it if you at least PRETENDED to be in pain."

"Uh...okay," said Roger.

The general put the hamsters and the worm on the old guy. The hamsters simply sat there looking fuzzy and adorable, and the worm promptly died.

"GO ON!!!" said the general eagerly, "SCREAM!! WRITHE!! BEG FOR MERCY!!!"

"Uhh..." said Roger, "Uhhh...aah. This hurts. Oh, the agony. Oh, the pain."

Just then, the colonel arrived with a Wal-Mart shopping bag.

"EXCELLENT! Welcome back!" said the general, "Did you get some instruments of torture?"

"Yep," said the colonel, "Sorry it took so long. The torture department was really crowded. You know, since it's the Christmas season, everyone wants to get instruments of torture for their kids. But I managed to buy a whole lot of instruments. Knives, corkscrews, barbed wire, chainsaws, rubber ducks...I got it all. I also bought some CD's for us, because it's always more fun to torture people while listening to good music."

"What music did you buy?"

"I bought "Generic Pop Songs" by Britney Spears and "Other Generic Pop Songs" by Christina Aguilera."

"Excellent! Pop in one of the CD's, and let's do some torturing!!!"

After 12 hours, the general and the colonel had used every single instrument of torture they had. All that was left of the old man was a single, solitary eyelash in the middle of the room. The rest was obliterated.

The colonel said, "That was fun! We didn't get any information out of him though."

"That's okay," said the General, picking up the eyelash and handing it to a soldier. "Have this eyelash taken to Guantanamo! And lock it in a maximum security cell--it's a SOCIALIST eyelash!!"

The soldier looked at the eyelash in horror, and walked away with it. The colonel said, "Okay, well we have now eliminated the Santa threat in Vegas. What next?"

"We have two options. We could move from city to city, taking out Santa's helpers and destroying any decorations with Santa on them. OR we could go straight to the North Pole and take out Santa himself."

"I vote for taking out Santa himself. He's the source for all the socialist evil. Plus, Christmas is coming soon. We've gotta kill him before he starts his marxist gift distribution programs."

"I agree. Our next target is the North Pole!!!"

Fighting the Menace, Part Three

Two days later, the General and the Colonel stood side by side at an Air Force base in Oregon, looking out at a large fleet of 450 bombers, 500 military helicopters, 10 nuclear bombers, and 1 tricycle.

"It's an impressive force," said the General, "Especially the tricycle. When will the soldiers be ready to attack?"

"Oh, right away sir!" said the colonel, "I told them to be prepared to attack on a moment's notice!!!"

"Right, then let's GO!!!"

The general's order circulated quickly amongst the soldiers, and within an hour, their entire force of over 2000 troops had boarded their planes, helicopters and tricycles.

They then took off in to the air. "Our target is the North Pole," said the general, flying ahead of all the other planes, "I want you guys moving at MAXIMUM SPEED."

Four hours later, they saw icebergs ahead.

"There it is," said the colonel, "You'd better make a motivational speech, General."

"What?" said the general, "I can't make a speech right now, I'm masturbating."

"But sir. You HAVE to make a motivational speech. It's dramatic."

"Okay, fine."

The general switched on the radio and said to his men, "Okay, guys. I've been instructed to make a dramatic speech. Apparently, it's some sort of tradition to make a motivational speech before attacking. However, I'm really not in the mood to make a speech at the moment. I can't even think of anything. So I'd appreciate it if you all just PRETENDED to be moved. I don't know, applause would be cool, and maybe if someone played something dramatic and patriotic, like "The Star Spangled Banner," or "America the Beautiful."

"The only song I have is "My Humps," said the colonel.

"That's close enough!" said the General, "Play it!"

The colonel plugged his mp3 player in to the airplane radio, and "My Humps" was broadcast over the planes. "My hump my lump my hump, my hump my hump my hump! My lovely lady lumps!" sang the song.

"Oh God," said the General, "This song makes me want to masturbate again."

"CONTROL YOURSELF!" said the Colonel, "We're almost there! Look, the icebergs are getting thicker. Remember soldiers, Santa Claus is the most dangerous socialist dictator the world has ever seen. Worse than Karl Marx, or even FDR. America is at serious risk. If we fail today, innocent children will be at risk of having things GIVEN to them. We must not fail."

"Shut up!" said the General, "We've reached the pole!"

Indeed, the men were now flying over a barren expanse of ice. But there was no sign of Santa Claus. In fact, there were no signs of life at all.

"That's odd," said the colonel, "Where the hell is Santa?"

"Let's keep flying," said the general, "Maybe Santa's headquarters is hidden somewhere."

They flew around and around, for over three hours. It didn't do any good; there was nothing beneath them but barren, lifeless ice. No Santa. No reindeer. No elves.

"OH!!" screamed the colonel suddenly, "This is the SOUTH pole! We were holding our maps upside-down!!!"

They flipped their maps over and flew off toward the north pole. It took them eight hours to reach the north pole. Which is kind of farfetched when you think about it--eight hours to fly the entire length of the planet? But nonetheless, they did it in eight hours.

When they arrived at the North Pole, they saw a massive palace, surrounded by elves.

"Okay guys," said the General, "Let's KILL!!"

Simultaneously, every single plane and helicopter fired at the palace. Not only did they blow up the palace; they blasted a hole in the earth's crust. A single, disembodied beard was flung upwards by the explosion. It was Santa's beard.

"SUCCESS!!" screamed the general, "I want Santa's beard ceremonially burned. Let's land and search for surviving elves."

They landed, and found about nineteen terrified, slightly burnt elves. They were huddling together in horror.

"Greetings, elves," said the General, "You are now free. We have liberated you from the socialist menace."

"FREE?" asked an elf, "We aren't free! You blew up our home! You killed our leader! You destroyed all our families and friends!"

"Yes, but we're your liberators!"

"LIBERATORS? Up until you showed up, we were fine. Now there's a massive crater where our home used to be."

The general laughed. "Of COURSE your home is a crater! But it's a CAPITALIST crater!"

"You bastard!!!" screamed the elf. He began kicking the general's shins.

"He's so grateful, he's hallucinating!" said the General. "He's so happy, he's lost his mind." The general then frowned down at the fuming elf. "Screw this," said the General, as he stomped on the elf, and proceeded to stomp on all the others.

"Okay," said Colonel Buttox, "Now what?"

"Now," said General Sideburns, "WE replace Santa. You and I. We'll reinvent Christmas, in the spirit of capitalism."

The New Santa

Christmas day had arrived in the United States. Ronny and Bonnie Smith, two four-year-old children, were playing Grand Theft Auto on Christmas night, when they heard a knock at the door.

They walked up and opened the door, and there, standing before them, was a man wearing a suit designed from American flags. He had a gun slung over one shoulder, and in his hand he held a can of Sprite.

"Who are you?" asked little Bonnie.

"I'm Santa!" said the man.

"You aren't Santa," said Ronnie, "Santa Claus has a beard."

"Oh," said the man, "I'm not Santa CLAUS. Santa Claus hated America. He also hated freedom, happiness, and love. Santa Claus has been blown to smithereens by America's patriotic armed forces. I'm his replacement, Santa Sideburns." the man pointed at his bushy sideburns.

"Okay," said the puzzled Bonnie, "Did you bring us any presents?"

"PRESENTS?" said Santa Sideburns, "Are you freakin' kidding me? I'm not GIVING you two a THING. Giving is for socialists. I'm here to TAKE stuff!"

He shoved aside the two children and swept in to the house with an empty sack. We walked in to the dining room and swept all the silverware in to the sack. Then he went in to the living room and took the TV and radio. He moved on to every other room in the house, until he had emptied the house apart from a few tables, and other things that were too large to fit in to the sack.

"Merry Christmas," bellowed the New Santa over his shoulder, "Be sure to buy lots of new furniture, so I'll be able to TAKE it all next year!!!"

THE JNEJD>!