Santa Claus peers through his state-of-the-art binoculars, staring intently at me as I pretend to be deep in peaceful slumber.  “I see you when you’re sleeping,” he mutters, lowering the binos and narrowing his eyes.  “I know when you’re awake.  You think you can fuck my hot-ass wife and get away with it?  Fucking piece of shit Man Whore.”

As you can tell, I’m not really sleeping.  How do I know he’s spying on me?  I bribed his elves, who accommodated by planting hidden cameras on his reindeer and sleigh.  It didn’t take much—given their hours, their wages amount to a sweatshop pittance.  This greedy mouth-breather should’ve known that underpaying your staff is a goddamn security risk.  Intelligence tradecraft 101, asshole. 

As he lands on the roof, I try not to smile.  Dude’s stealthy, I’ll give him that.  Nevertheless, the ceiling creaks softly under his weight.  Once he’s waist deep in chimney, I open my eyes and say, “Activate.”  Its retracting aperture constricts around him, snaring him within the booby-trapped opening. 

“What???”  His voices rises with panic as he realizes his folly.  “I can’t—NO!” 

Time for phase 2.  I throw on a coat, run outside, and scramble up a ladder.  Santa sees me coming and draws a pistol.  Before he can fire, I sprint up to him, kick it out of his hand, then rock him with a pair of full-bodyweight slaps. 

“FUCKER!”  He lunges to grab me, but my chimney-snare holds him tightly in place.  “HRRNNGHH!”  He braces against the lip and tries to push himself out.  No dice.  “I’ll KILL YOU!” he roars.  “I’ll gut everyone you love and MAKE YOU WATCH!”

“Santa shows his true fucking colors.”  I tsk-tsk and examine my nails.  “Not only did your wife seek me out, I had no idea who she was at the time.  Got the receipts, if you wanna—”

“I DON’T CARE!” he shouts.  “You think I got to where I am because I caved to pieces of shit like you???  Ask the Easter Bunny how I fucked him up after he tried to compete with me!  Ask the Grinch about his change of heart; it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t held a knife against his balls!  And yeah, Dr. Seuss knew—I told him I’d open his belly if he spilled the beans!  I have a network of spies and informants that rivals the C I fucking A!  You have NO IDEA who you’re fucking with!”

I scoff in disgust.  “You used to be a paragon of justice, rewarding those who were good of heart.  Now look at you:  a power-mad despot who delights in oppression.”  I shake my head.  “Time for a little karmic retribution.

I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers.  Magic flash. 

Mrs. Claus steps out from an interdimensional portal, wearing knee-high boots and an easy-access skirt.  She looks hot as fuck (I guess that’s a side benefit of hitting the gym and laying off the murder).  “Plan still the same?”  She raises an eyebrow.  “Cum on his sleigh and shit on his reins?”

“Let’s do it.”  I respond with a nod.

As we saunter over to his sleigh, Santa reaches out and shrieks.  “No!  Honeybun, NO!!!”

She sticks out her booty and grabs the rails.  I pull down my pants, giving him an eyeful of my bare hairy ass, and gradually build up to a hip-slapping shlorp.  Once I’m at a full-speed jackhammer, I throw him a shit-eating grin over my shoulder, along with a one-handed hang-loose shaka (I’d give him a two-hander, but I gotta grip Mrs. Claus with my other hand so I can maintain my rhythm). 

Santa’s howl is music to my ears.  HEH heh heh! 

Kent Wayne wins again!

😀

Have you run afoul of a power-corrupted, evil-ass Santa?  Never fear!  Buy my books, summon Mrs. Claus, and enact your soul-eviscerating revenge!

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