We are both not feeling too well tonight. Just thought I would let you all know in advance why this is going to be a different type of LNT. I don't know if is the cold or the Hamburger Helper or just a long day, but writing tonight was kind of on the bottom of the "list of things to do tonight".

Usually it takes a while to come up with a topic and then that topic needs to be defined into what we really want to write about. When we are both on, we can really nail something down to a specific area where we want to go and then just go. When we are both feeling "blah," we just say a word and go with it. Sometimes it works sometimes it doesn't. This is one of those "blah" nights.

So, she said "Santa."

Ok. Let's see where we can go.

Turtle might have the flu.

First of all, me having the flu has nothing to do with the topic tonight. It's just something I needed to say. I don't know why, but it feels good to say you have the flu. Kind of like a day off. See the thing with me is I don't get sick. That's just the way it is. I like to let other people guess when I am sick. If they call it, I take it. "You look sick" translates to me as "go back to bed". Pretty win-win situation if you ask me. All I have to do is groan a little bit and I gots me the night off. And the remote. I have a pretty good system working here and I would appreciate it if none of you fucked it up by telling Michele.

Anyways. Back to the topic of Santa. Do you think he ever has sex? Just let your mind wander. Think about a big naked fat guy screwing an old lady so hard the back of her eyes are rolling back. You know Santa has all the cool sex toys, too. If the elves can make Ipods they sure as shit can make dildos and jackhammer pussy pounders.

And you know if Santa has been around so long, he prolly has gotten into some kinks along the way. Santa probably is into weird bondage. Maybe branding. I'll bet Mrs. Claus has a tattoo of a pentagram on her ass with "Santa's Bitch" written underneath.

Think about all the poor little elves who have to try the batteries for all the new vibrators going out. Cause, as I am sure you all know, there are no refunds of sexual products once they leave Santa's store. So any wand, vibrator, or "massager" you get this Christmas has already been tried and tested by an elf. I know it's pretty sick to think about but it is better than them trying them out on the damn reindeer. Which is illegal in the North Pole. You have to go down to the South Pole to see those kind of acts. Ask for a guy named "Manuel" if you get down there. He will take you to a little out of the way bar that has reindeer acts.

Which also makes me wonder about the sex trade in the North Pole. I mean, they have to have a red light district. Don't tell me that those elves don't get horny. If I look at a porn site too long, I need to go "fix my wagon" and they work in a porn shop all day. Sure, it is a Santa driven porn shop, but a porn shop none the less. And drugs. I'll bet the place is littered in empty packets of Santa speed. Gotta keep those little fuckers cranking out the toys 24 hours a day? Then you gotta keep them high.

So in the end, who is Santa? From my point of view he is a fat leather man with an army of doped up sex fiends pining for a drink and midget elf pussy to take their minds off the next day of work shoving dildos up their asses to make sure your wife or girlfriend has the power in her love box to get her gears roaring while you sleep off last nights drunken Christmas party.

Santa's got a good gig too. So don't fuck things up by telling your kids he is fake.

Cause Santa's got hit elves, too. And I have heard they know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried. - T

Michele might have the flu or might just have to fart:

One of the great traditions of Christmas is to fuck with kids' heads. Really. What do you think Santa is, anyhow? One big mindfuck. Aimed at gullible, innocent children.

At some point in history, Santa Claus went from some guy who helped poor women get dowries to a fat man with a voyeur fetish. Perhaps to children, Santa is still a jolly old man who dumps gifts under their tree (hey mom, I didn't know Nintendo had a factory on the North Pole!) them and performs magic that can make reindeer fly. But to parents, Santa is nothing more than a convenient scapegoat.

I'm convinced that the modern version of Santa was put out there by an underground cabal of irresponsible parents. If they could blame this Claus guy for the shitty presents under the tree, there would be no need to tell their kids that daddy spent all the Christmas money on hookers and blow. Instead of waiting on line five hours at PlayWorld for Betsy Wetsy, mothers could just blame the absence of the doll on the fat man. Who cares if little Suzie harbors a resentment towards Santa for the rest of her life? At least she isn't all up in mom's face about it.

However, by using Santa as a scapegoat, parents do run the risk of setting themselves up for disaster. Eventually, moms and dads get to explain the standard parent lies of Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Jesus. So by blaming every bad or missing present on Santa, you just exacerbate the situation. Because one day in the future, at a drunken family gathering, someone will be telling the story about the time you got plastered at your office Christmas party and called your boss an ugly coont, and you got fired on the spot. A light bulb will flash in your son's head, at which point he'll stand up and shout "You god damn liars! You told me I didn't get the Ewok Village that year because Santa was disappointed in my report card!" Estrangement ensues.

This is what happens when you use a gentle little fib, one designed to make children happy, and turn it into a full scale lie, complete with intricate webs of deceit. I've seen many a parent go down that road when their kids asks for the unattainable. Can I get a pony for Christmas? Instead of just saying No and that's the stupidest thing you ever asked for, the parents says We'll have to ask Santa. We'll see. To a child, the words we'll see mean the opposite of yes. He didn't say no! He said we'll see! So that kid spends weeks and weeks keeping her fingers crossed for a pony from Santa and when Christmas morning comes and all she gets is a few dresses and My Little Pony coloring book, she pitches a fit. But the parents absolve themselves of any blame. Eh, Santa fucked you but good, Sally!

One Christmas we were performing our tradition of putting out some salt for the reindeer and some Jack Daniels for "Santa". My daughter seemed extra anxious that year and I asked her why. Apparently, she had written a letter to Santa asking him to put a baby sister in my belly for Christmas.

I was a single mother. I hadn't had sex in over a year. Cobwebs were forming. I though to myself, "if Santa comes down that chimney and say let's make a baby, I'm going for it." I spent that whole night waiting for the sound of sleigh bells on the roof. Sure, I stopped believing in Santa when I was seven, but sometimes, when you are in the throes of desperation, your mind plays tricks on you.

Which is probably why my daughter, 16 years old and desperate for a $700 digital camera, has taken to writing letters to Santa again. Which she delivers to me. And I promptly destroy her Nikon dreams.

"Santa sucks," she says. I know she means me. In fact, she tells me that she always knew I was the one who bought the presents. She never fell for that elves in the workshop crap because she always managed to find the "Made in China" stamp on her presents. She did believe in Santa, but she thought he was just some overlord who bossed his workers around and shopped at flea markets for her gifts. My son corrects her. The elves, he says, are really zombies and Santa is an alien who controls them some with kind of radar machine.

Go figure. All those years, they never once believed in Santa as the jolly, old man. Which explains why in every single picture I have of them sitting on Santa's lap they are screaming in terror.

I'm convinced that many years from now at a drunken family gathering, they will only laugh when my sister tells them the story of that Christmas Eve when I mistook a friend's jingling car keys for sleigh bells. Whatever. At least the cobwebs were gone. Some of us get our Christmas wishes, even if by accident.

Ho, ho, ho indeed.

(pssst....it was the hamburger helper) -M

So that is what we got when we thought of Santa. As I said, sometimes this doesn't work. Now is it up to you.

What do you think of when you hear "Santa"?

Michele and Turtle like to play "Mr. and Mrs. Claus" on Friday nights

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