Being Father Christmas
16/12/94-21/12/94
16 December 1994 - BEING FATHER CHRISTMAS
A kid came into my grotto last night and asked why my beard was covered in syrup.
I explained that I'd been chewing a bud, and the sap had burst out.
He began to wail, so I squirted ink at his mother. The manager, Mr Hons Pons, whacked me with a silver crow.
17 December 1994 - BEING FATHER CHRISTMAS
I was painting an elf on my grotto wall last night, when The Shamen ran in and beat me to the ground with their rifle butts.
After a minute of this treatment, I got up and thanked them.
You see - they were trying to knock a salmon off my spine before I was poisoned.
20 December 1994 - BEING FATHER CHRISTMAS
I ran out of toys to put in my sack last night, and had to wrap up warm walrus mouths instead.
The first child to receive one thought it was a hat, and pulled the lips down over his tiny skull. Another, thinking it was a xylophone, smashed the teeth with the heel of his foot.
21 December 1994 - BEING FATHER CHRISTMAS
I've had enough of this Santa lark. Last night some drunk woman came in and started screeching.
I got so scared I had to hide in the library, and nearly died when a pig leapt off the shelf and tried to ride on my hairy back like a snub-nosed jockey.
I quit on the spot.
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