Dead Santa by JL Denman December 6^{, 2005}

Like an over-ripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the hotel floor.

"I’m glad he’s dead."

"How could you say that, after all Santa has done for you?"

"For me? For me!"

"Yes, for you. Don’t you remember? All the good times. The times over the North pole, the time with the misfit toys?"

"What I remember dear, is years of torment and haranguing. Years when this fat tub came strolling through the yards and over looked me every single time! For me, what did he ever ever do for me?"

Now, I know things growing up were hard. But he was a jolly fellah."

"I supposed if you are hyped up on elf dust and magic cocktails sauces, you’d be jolly, too!"

"Ohh you are so ... so.. Difficult."

"Oh come off it Clarisse! That fat, dust sniffing, drunk right there is better off dead. Whoever killed him... I tip my antlers to him."

"Well, I never...."

"Never what, Clarisse, never got to fly in Santa’s chariot, never got to win back dear old dad’s love once you started hanging with me? What?"

"Well, if you must know, I never liked the old coot either. And I surely don’t appreciate that every time something BIG gets done around here, immediately a guy gets credit for it!"

"What are your rambling about?"

"Well if you must know.. The "he" is "she". Bumping off Santa was easy." She sniffed and turned to cop out of the hotel room.

"Rudolph smiled and his nose glowed bright crimson. He nudged his nose against Clarisse’s’. "I’m shocked and surprisingly turned on."

Clarisse’s battered her doe eyes. "Of course you are. I can tell by your nose."

"Why Clarisse. Why did you bump off ole Saint Nick?" He shivered with delight.

"Well, he wouldn’t let my try out for the team. You bucks aren’t the only flyers around here. The fat, jolly bastard laughed at me and told me to go make babies and make you, dear Rudolph a happy pappa!" Clarisse stomped her hoofs on dead Santa’s leg.

"You are delightfully surprising, sweet doe." He licked her blushing cheek. "But won’t Mrs. Clause be devastated to find her life long partner dead, splattered like an over ripe tomato?"

CLarisse giggled, "Of course not. He would have been dead within the next year anyway. She’d been feeding him ground glass in his sugar cookies." They both laughed as they backed up towards the hotel door, ran, and charged through the window. Flying high in the sky, two love sick, punch drunk, murderous reindeer.

"Up, up, up and a way! Ho ho ho. Merry Christmas" Rudolph mocked.

"Oh, you are so bad!"

Only the sound of laughter and a crimson glow lingered in the crisp night air.