Good Santa, Bad Santa

Good Santa, Bad Santa

A Christmas Tale

The bedside phone rang.

"What the fuck!" said the President, lifting the receiver.

"Apologies, Mr. President," a voice said. "Calling as requested. We have a sighting!"

"A sighting?" The President struggled to extricate his brain from vivid, technicolour dreams of a ceremony in Oslo where he was about to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.

"Yes, Mr. President. A figure in a red coat driving an airborne sleigh pulled by reindeer has just entered US airspace over Alaska."

"You mean Santa! You've picked up Santa?"

"Yes, Mr. President, it would appear so."

"You have radio contact?"

"We do, Mr. President."

"You asked him where's he heading?"

"Yes, Mr. President. He says initially down the West Coast."

"The West Coast! Fuck the West Coast! They're all Democrat slimeballs! Listen, can you put him through to me?"

"Yes, Mr. President... trying to connect you now."

After some beeps and squeaks a gruff voice came on the line.

"Greetings, Mr. President, and Merry..."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Klaus. Listen, I'd like to invite you to Washington DC... pronto!"

"Be delighted to, Mr. President," the gruff voice said. "As soon as I'm done with the West Coast and the Midwest, I can be with you immediately."

The President stared at the phone disbelievingly.

"Look, Mr. Klaus. That's not what I meant. You understand I'm giving you a personal invitation to come to Washington DC, to the White House, to meet with me now."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. President. Any other time I'd be more than happy to accept. Tonight, though, is all about the children... worldwide!"

The word 'worldwide' felt like a dagger to the heart of the President.

"Mr. Klaus, Mr. Klaus," he began, his face growing redder and redder, "there's something here you're not quite getting. You hear me? You realise, you're not the one holding the cards?"

"A pleasure to speak to you, Mr. President, but must get on!" was the only reply. With some further beeps and squeaks the gruff voice was gone.

"Airspace Security, are you there?" the President barked.

"Yes, Mr. President," the operative answered.

"Listen, I want you to take that guy out. Do you understand me? He's a menace, a danger to our security, a foreign national illegally violating our airspace; no idea what he might be carrying: drugs, weapons; a threat to our children. The guy's a terrorist. Take him out! Immediately!"

"Yes, Mr. President. Right away!"

With that he slammed down the phone. The noise awoke his wife.

"Something wrong, Mr. President?" she asked sleepily.

"Just some foreign national causing trouble, violating our airspace," he told her. "It's all taken care of now."

"Oh, that's good," she said and went back to sleep.

He lay down next to her, muttering to himself, "Bad Santa... I don't believe it... such a bad Santa..."