Monday, December 17, 2012


This past Saturday was SantaCon, a yearly bacchanal that involves several thousand individuals dressing up as Santa or one of his elves, or even as festive moose, reindeer, and rabbits with red caps, and getting riotously stinko. It was all rather distressingly Belgian.
I participated, but only vicariously.
By avoiding the crowds.

Some people got a head-start on Friday night. The majority did not begin drinking till breakfast time on Saturday, which showed remarkable restraint. A few hardy souls continued untill Sunday afternoon, finally falling asleep in alleyways and behind comfortable garbage cans.

I woke up Saturday morning to the sounds of early boister from Polk Street, as well as a constant rise and fall of police sirens and emergency vehicles in the background, which maintained throughout the day.
For your information, I live on the slope, Polk Street is downhill. The noise of mass revelry travelled.
Including the dulcet tone of somebody retching.
Which was probably Santa.
Or an elf.

If you saw the event, you will have finally realized that Santa is a horrid degenerate who should not be allowed anywhere near your kids. Ever, even sober. After seeing him throw-up on a policeman, the little dears are traumatized, probably for life.
Two Santas attempting procreativity in a convenient doorway may have given your children the wrong idea about Christmas. You have some explaining to do.
Good luck claryfing the role of the third participant.

And no, please do not teach them all the words to that disgusting song 'Clam Chowder'. There are just some things no one needs to know. The repulsive lyrics are still echoing in my head as I type this. Quite catchy, good rhymes.
Your young ones will likely learn it in school anyway.

I'm sure some of the elves sincerely regret their behaviour.
Or at least, I hope they do.

Disrobing and inviting over a dozen strapping Santas to "get jiggy" in the bus shelter showed an unhealthy enthusiasm for naturalism. Especially in the rain. Vodka (or was it gin?) does indeed lower your body temperature, and makes the cold far more bearable. But it WAS cold, dearie, and you risked hypothermia and possibly pneumonia.
Although the fat may have provided some insulation.
Good thing the bus driver did not allow you on in your state of undress. And inebriation. Those Chinatown grannies were desperate to keep you at arms length.
At all times. A very long arm.

On second thought, I wish the bus driver HAD let you on. The vehicle would have promptly emptied out, and there would have been seats for some of the old people.

I think I might have heard the Clam Chowder song three more times that day.
But maybe that was just the wind.

As I returned home last night, a discarded Santa brassiere was being tossed about by the breeze at Hyde Street. I thought of picking it up, but then I realized that I did not know where it had been.
And a man carrying a fur-trimmed naughty garment looks suspect.
Not just at midnight, but at any time of day.
Somewhere an elf is bare.
Cold, too.

I feel for her.

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e-kvetcher said...

I live in the wrong city. I wouldn't mind seeing a few naughty elves.

The back of the hill said...

After the first two or three hundred they all start looking alike.

yule-tidely amphibious said...

SantaCon always reminds me of this:

Anonymous said...


A dancing sugar plum fairy said...

The great blue salmon of justice!

NO epic naughty in Santa threads!

Fur-trimmed red robes are a fashion accessory of EVIL!

Anonymous said...

I'm about to vomit.

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