Santa's Grotto

[BadBeast]

Xmas is like a Boil that slowly builds up starting about the end of October, getting imperceptibly more and more full of stinky pus every day, and then, sometime about. . . . well now, it bursts, and that toxic build-up of cultural abuse, Voodoo TV Advertising, the subconscious fear of some overly jolly, fat, vagrantly bearded bastard making you sit on his "knee", while he gropes around in his "sack", on the premise of having a "Gift" for you!

"Ho, Ho, Ho, you're a fine looking young fella-me-lad, jump up here on your Uncle Santa's knee for a minute, and I'll see if I can find something in my sack for you"  So, curiously, almost reluctantly, I step into his Grotto, where two surly looking midget "Elves", dressed in green tights, and Pixie boots and hats skulk in respective corners of the gloomy, faux-rock, fairy lit facade of the Grotto. I can smell cheap sherry on Santa's breath, as he takes my hand, and leads me towards a curtain in the back of his grotto.

"This is where I keep all the best presents, for the boys and girls who've been really really good all year" he says. The cunt.  I know he's full of shit now, because I had been particularly badly behaved all year. I catch a glint in his eye, and I can almost see his face, under the cheap, cotton wool beard grinning, like a fox eating shit out of a wire brush.

"Do you like X-Box games"? he asks, conversationally.
"Yes" I reply, "But I haven't got an X-Box".
"Haven't got an X-Box"?  He says, his "Jolly Santa" voice, full of mock surprise. Drunken Prick. How fucking easy does he think I am for fuck's sake?
"Well, Santa has a little game, specially for people with no X-Boxes, but I don't expect you've got ten minutes to waste, on silly old Santa, have you?"
Devious old cunt. 
I think I'm going to enjoy this more than he thinks he's going to enjoy it.
He goes to a bag, and pulls out a Boxed X-BOX 360. I make my eyes light up in faked surprise.
"Right" he says. "This will be yours soon, all you have to do, is play a guessing game with your Uncle Santa, OK"?
I nod.
He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a blindfold, the type you get on Air Flights.
"Right, put this on, and then all you have to guess what it is that Santa is going to put in your hand"
He passes me the blindfold.
I'm pretty sure I've guessed already what the mystery item is going to be, but I put the blindfold on anyway.
"Hold out your hand, and NO peeping" says Santa, barely able to keep the lust out of his voice. I oblige.
I feel something warm and meaty being put into my hand.  No surprise there then.

"Have a good feel" the voice says.
Filthy old Wrongcock. I don't need a good feel, but I take a firm grip on it anyway.
Then with my other hand, I reach up to my eyes, and remove the blindfold, leaning back a little as I do. Santa looks up, in brief surprise, then I crash my forehead as hard as I can right on the bridge of his nose. There is a satisfying crumple as his nose splats across his face, and as he sinks to his knees in shock and pain, I see gouts of dark blood coming from between his fingers, his hand pressed to his face.
He glances up at me in fear now, just in time for the sole of my boot to connect with his face, sending him sprawling across the floor. His cheap red cotton Santa pants are down around his knees still. (Although his greasy little cock doesn't seem quite so eager to make my accquaintence now)

YOU *kick*  FILTHY OLD *kick* CUNT! *kick*  Once, twice, three times I kick the fucker, right square in the bollocks. he makes small gasping, yelpy sounds like a little dog. One more kick, and he passes out from the pain. What a seedy motherfucker. He's had this all planned out, I realise, looking around the place. The bag in the corner he took the X-Box from, has another 8 Brand new ones, ready for his victims. Fucking Beetlefucker!  Hes' been busy, I think.

I mean, I expect most of his victims are only seven or eight, and quite trusting, easily lured into this cock-knockers game of "Wank the Nonce off".
What the fuck he ever thought he was doing, by trying it on with a grown up 44 year old Bloke, is beyond me. I shake my head in disgust, kick him once more, half heartedly this time, pick up my new X-Box 360, (Well? I did guess what it was!)
and walk out, humming "We Three Kings" to myself. Maybe this Xmas won't be so predictably Shite after all.