Monday, December 20, 2004

as told to The League

You may know the tale of Santa Claus (aka Saint Nick, St. Nicholas, The Jolly Old Elf, Kris Kringle, Creepy Guy at Mall). But do you know the tale of Santor? And how he came to be? Do you know it at all... ?

'Twas long, long ago, on a day not too much different from today (imagine if you can), in a place not so very different from the very one you're in, that the tale of Santor began.

He was a kindly person, a merry person, the kind of fellow who would spread joy and cheer... not just on Christmas Day, but all throughout the year.

So Merry was our fellow, that folks called him "The Christmas Elf."
He so liked the name, and he adopted it himself.

Now this Christmas Elf, it can be said he lived alone
In a two bedroom condo with a facade of faux stone.
Though alone he would sit as Christmas rolled around,
he'd cross his fingers, for an invitation to Christmas dinner might yet be found.

But despite the Elf's boyish charm, the bells upon his toes, and the sweaters of green and red,
Each Christmas Eve he would find himself alone, and wishing he were dead.

And then one year as Christmas came rolling 'round once more,
the Christmas Elf's coworkers knew not what was in store.

"'Tis Christmas," cried the Elf, "And each year I make the season merry for you folks.
I light up my cube, sing you all carols, and make egg nog with no yolks."

"I dress up in the right colors, I made my Windstar into a sleigh.
I make cookies with Splenda, and give a few dollars to The United Way."

"I've never asked for anything, despite the personalized cards and the presents I sent.
Even for Ol' Johnny in receiving, who tells me to 'get bent.'"

"You each know my folks won't talk to me, and I've got not a friend in this bunch.
But this year for Christmas, can I please come to dinner? Or to breakfast or to lunch?"

"I don't take up much space, I eat light, and I'll pack my own food.
I'll clean up the dishes. I'll take out the trash and I just won't be rude."

His officemates stared and then turned their eyes in deep thought.
Their sympathy was clear, and he knew he'd done as he 'ought.

They looked to him together. With the invitation coming, he now felt quite dizzy.
"Christmas Elf, Ol' Chum" they said. "It's not that we don't what you there. It's simply, we're too busy."

So The Elf slunk home, just the thought of Christmas made him dejected and forlorn.
Nothing could console him, not even his mountainous stack of Christmas-themed porn.

And the doorbell rang, it rang out quite clear. He rushed to the door to see who it could be.
'Twas the mailman, with a box! "Is it," said the elf, unbelieving, "is it a present for me?"

The mailman handed over the package, his eyes tired and weary.
"Sign here," said the Mailman. But he was not at all cheery.

The return address was from the office. Reconciliation for leaving him in the cold!
No matter the trifle, he said aloud to himself, I'll treat this as gold!

As he opened the package, and finding bright paper beneath, he felt rejuvenated, his spirits were lifted!
But then, below, he saw it was the coffee package he'd sent them all last year which the sender had merely re-gifted.

"Screw it!" cried the Elf! "I foresake this day! I try and try, and they don't care!
I think I know what I'll do! I'll be their Christmas nightmare!"

"Each year with each gift, I'll keep it around!
Shrink wrap unbroken and bindings still bound!"

"I'll send the gift to someone else or resend to the sender!
Be it summer sausage, a playstation, a stapler or blender!"

"I'll be their St. Nick, and their annoying gift granter!
But I shall not be Santa! I shall become Santor!"

And they found his condo empty, the coffee package spilled to the floor.
The tree was tipped over, and the lights blinked no more.

And when the cops looked around (for the elf had disappeared)
they saw in red and green a message was smeared:

"Merry Christmas, you bastards! Hope you like re-gifted junk!
I'm your new gift giver, free of this Holiday Bunk!"

"I've had it with you people, and that's not just the booze speaking!
I've devised a plan to give Christmas a tweaking!"

"So on Christmas morning, when you're seeking presents under the tree,
you may get something oddly familiar or pre-opened, and you'll know it's from me!"

"Instead of new gifts, expect junk someone doesn't want any more!
Know that your gift came from Good Ol' Santor!"

And so it befalls us each time and each year
that we find a present we might think is queer.

It might be last year's coasters, or that beer drinking cap.
But be rest assured it's someone's old crap.

So look for the regifted, or the present which bores,
and know that it was sent from your good friend Santor.


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