Rated "M" for "Mature," or "Condemned by the Moral Majority"

The Surgeon General has deemed that what I am doing for New Year's Eve may be hazardous to your health (and definitely to mine.)

Tonight, I am off to imbibe fermented substances, engage in morally reprehensible anti-social behavior, and associate with pernicious individuals of highly dubious moral character.

(It sounded better than "drinking and partying with my friends.")

See you next year, folks. Enjoy yourselves, have fun, and above all, stay safe.

Santa Claus, master of the Sudden Gift style of ninjitsu

Have you ever laughed so hard that you feared for your physical well-being?

I was at the mall today, trying to scare up a few last-minute presents for my parents and a cousin I found out was going to be in town. The mall, naturally, was packed to overflowing, filled with last-minute holiday shoppers, all sweating and pushing and trying to accomplish conflicting, small-mined goals. It was like a riot with a capitalistic bent.

I was walking by the line to see Santa, mostly for nostalgic reasons, but also because one of Santa's elves was freakin' HOT. I was looking at the kids, marveling that I was ever that small, when I heard two little boys talking to their father. One was a tiny little blond bundle of energy, the other was older, brunette, and seemed very laid-back and laconic for a young boy. The conversation went as follows:

"All in one night?" asked Blondie.

"Uh-huh," answered Dad.

"All over the world, to EVERYONE?" Blondie seemed dubious.

"To all the good little boys and girls, yeah," Dad replied. I got the sense Dad had been over this a few times.

Blondie wasn't buying it. "How could he visit everyone? It takes us eleventh years to visit Grandma!" I like the number 'eleventh.' I have no idea how much it is, but I like it.

"It takes us an hour and a half in the car. And Santa can fly," Dad reminded Blondie. Blondie considered that for a while.

"He's awful fat, Daddy. Will he be able to get into the house?" This appeared to worry Blondie immensely.

Dad nodded. "Don't worry, he uses the chimney, remember?"

At this point I couldn't POSSIBLY leave. Blondie's abilities as an interrogator were a mix of a great white shark and Johnny Cochran. They should replace whoever's debriefing Saddam with this kid; we'll have a signed confession in ten minutes.

Blondie's eyes grew wide as he grabbed his father's pant leg. "Daddy! We're staying at Grandma's! She doesn't have a chimney!"

Daddy's expression was an interesting mix of panic, exasperation, and confusion. "He'll find a way, I promise."

"But HOW, Daddy? Grandma has a burglar alarm! I don't want the police to arrest Santa!"

I started to chuckle at this point.

Dad shot me a glare. "Santa will make it. It's his job, OK?"

Blondie was nearly in tears. "But HOW, Daddy?"

"I know how," the Brunette spoke for the first time.

Daddy looked relieved. Blondie looked to his older brother as if he was the eternal font of all wisdom.

"How?" Blondie asked in a near whisper.

The Brunette's face shone with supreme confidence as he replied.

"Santa's a NINJA."

Maybe it was how he said it, maybe it was his certainty, or maybe it was just simply the idea of Ninja Claus. I started laughing, and was only able to stop when I was unable to breathe, and watching spots swim in my vision. Dad chose to remove his children from the scene...can't imagine why.

I guess this brings all new meaning to "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake!" (or you will receive a poisoned needle in the night!)

I'm off to bed. You all be good (or else!)