Santa Goes Postal
*From the 2006 blog December archives*
The stress. The pressure. The deadlines and schedules. The last-minute changes. Elf and reindeer grievances. The public appearances and ill-behaving, finicky children. Demands big and small, from kids to bureaucrats, atheists to ACLUers.
Santa needs a vacation. And Valium.
A poopload of both.
Witness Santa's replies to the last three email scammers (at least one of which was NOT allegedly from Nigeria) and you tell me if The Fat 'n Jolly One isn't about to go North Postal:
-- from one Rose Sohal (firstname.lastname@example.org) , "from Philipine", comes this in part: I am Mrs Rose Sohal from Philipine and i\'m married to Dr Patrick Sohalfrom kuwait who died in crashed plane the coming December 26, 2003 with Beirut-bound charteret. We weremarried for eleven years without child.Since his death Idecided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimoneyal home wichthe Bible says is against. My husband leave to me a sum of $8 Million US and I am need of you help to recover this funds as Im destituted here in Philipine.
I have no doubt that she decomposed the above with the theme music from Young Frankenstein playing in the background (along with no spellcheck program); while Santa, in his ill-grace, had Dead Skunk In The Middle of the Road playing whilst he replied:
And a heart-felt and ironic cyber Ho Ho Ho to you, which I'm sure in your faux grief that you don't get whatsoever, but Santa digresses.
Rose...Rose...Rose. That's a great name. Pity it's wasted on you. Santa says, bad Rose...very bad Rose. Married for eleven years, and no child? So what are you doing? You're trying to make up for lost time by trying to indiscriminately screwing* everyone and anyone you can online.
Bad Rose...very bad Rose.
Santa is most disappointed; Rudolph, on the other hoof, is just pointing and laughing at you, having etched your name and number with a "For A Good Time Call Rose" on the elves rest room wall. Your phone's gonna get mighty busy after December 26. I'm just sayin'...
But despite your obvious fall from grace, even if it wasn't but a micromillimeter, Santa remembers all children this holiday season. And Santa will remember you, bad Rose.
Check your stocking Christmas morning for a spell check program and an online contraceptive device, you wenchly trollope.
Don't bother thanking me, Rose; or leaving out any 'nog of dubious antecedence and urine content. Yours will be a fly-by delivery only; wouldn't want to have my wallet lifted.
Next up is 20 year old Flora Abed (email@example.com) and her "yunger brothur Tony", who are childless and parentless in Sierra Leone, where "we leave alone becaus we dont want the people who killed my late father, to kill us too" (a practical notion; she goes on). My late father deposited one trunk of box with a security company here before his dead and because of situation of political criss here that led to war here we need some body that I trust (??!!) to come and help claim the trunk for me and my brothur. You are the only person I send this message to so I need much your help and that you keep this secreted until it is done.
"You are the only person I send this message to". Righhhhhht. Another snot of Schopps and a Prozac chaser, and Santa's everruddy with his reploo:
Ah, Santa loves getting letters from the children. Especially 20 year, well-developed female children. Santa loves bouncing them on his ample lap and having them answer all those holiday questions like "who's yo' daddy?".
Lil' Flora Inbed, having read your effort to give ol' Santa here the business and a woody, I am determined not to bypass your Christmas thong..er...stocking this year. Nope...you have been added to the "special list". For you, there will be (a) a spell check program, 'cuz your email sucked, (b) a carton of Handi-wipes to use on your head when you finally extract it from your ass, and (c) a sh**load of contraceptives, because as much as you're trying to screw* people over online, you shouldn't be allowed to procreate thus.
Of course, that last is just Santa's humble opinion; Rudolph's is obviously worse, as he has added your name and number to the rest room walls of the Sierre Leone Soldiers 'n Sailors Recruitment Barracks. Rudolph -- for a reindeer -- is a rather opinionated, presumptive critter, eh?
Personally, I'd consider capping your chimney. And other parts, too. But then, it is the season of giving, and much as you'd love others to give to you, I don't see why they shouldn't give it to you just the way you deserve it.
Let them use some of your Handi-wipes, too: a carton goes a long way.
There is the possibility that Santa -- or at least this blog -- is going to lose it's PG rating if this keeps up.
Last but not least, there is Femi Raymond Chambers (firstname.lastname@example.org) and his odious secretary (email@example.com). Femi has apparently picked up this email address from one of my scam replies some time back; this one came addressed to none other than Jacques Ewehoff!!!
Dear Friend Jacques Ewehoff,
I'm happy to inform you about my success in gettng the fund transferred to a Swiss Account with the cooperation of a new partner from paraguay who is an international business man. I did not forget your past efforts to assist me in transferring those funds despite that it failed somehow (shore did; 'twasn't Jacques/me he dealt with...the bonehead). Now contact my secretary (email referenced above) and ask her to send you the total $450,000 which I kept for your compensation for the all the past efforts you make on my behalf. Waste no time and get in touched with (that HAD to be a Freudian slip) Godswil Uzoma and instruct her where to send the amount to you.
Another snot of schopps and Lrozac pater, and Santa is rarin' to det gown:
Ho Ho Ho, Femoral:
You are a funny, funny mans, Femoral! Jacques Ewehoff! Mwhaha..er..HO HO HO! I haven't heard that one since it went over the paging system at the Mall! HO HO HO! That's as good as calling a mortuary and asking to speak to Myra Mains!
Otherwise, your email -- in the words of my good and animated friend Eric Cartman -- "sucks ass". Rudolph and the other reindeer took turns at dragging their poo-dripping bums across it, after the elves had their go.
But Santa is gifted (see what I just did there?) with a great sense of humor after enough booze and pills this holiday season; it's better this year, since I rotated out of the mall circuit, where getting peed on by screaming brats who try to give my beard a swingset ride, is SOf***ingP. Thus, I am happy to share with you this momentus news for you and you alone: on the morning of December 25, you can officially and care-freely remove your head from your ass! Why? Because I'll have delivered to you a whole gross of Handi-wipes! You won't have to use your shirt tail or living room curtains any more to clean up with!
Besides, it would be best for me as well, if you would clean up some, before I plant my size 18 fur-lined boot up your ass, you goat-smelling egg sucking out-house breathed scamster! Hooha!
And worry not: I haven't forgotten your turdball wench of a secretary, either, you token wad. HO HO HO (maybe she's yo' ho, but that's for another time).
Uh...yep: Santa's over the edge.
* er....not the words I used in the actual replies...told ya Santa was going "postal"...