Santa's Big Surprise

    Snow never fell on sunny Californian rooftops for Christmas and was always to warm for Santa.  Even during cool nights, Santa melted Frosty under his garments, supersaturating his boxers in a rain forest sweat. Santa is a bit fat, plump, and jolly. He always has been and will always be or else everyone would say he’s imaginary; so Santa works hard on his image like an anorexic star, it costs him no more than a gym membership, but it’s just as exhausting with constant napping and eating. 
    The red jacket kept is too warm except in cold Siberian where murders and killers are always happy for naughty coal. The red jacket fabricated from sheep’s wool stuffed with mammoth hair and the sleekish synthetic gore-tex, was fashioned for style and not for animal extinction or the warm California sky.
Santa's wet boxers were caused from his fat jacket image and the real problem came when they became frozen, on his way home. Truthfully, a minor discomfort for Santa himself his wet boxers Jack Frost “A Holy Night”, body-odor brine with old diabetic flab, a hellish smell for the laundry elves to have. Each and every year newbie elves would suffer, covering the laundry room floor with bile until their dry heaving brought them to the floor, all from the Californian re-frozen stench Santa’s boxers unlocked when thawed.
    Until this Christmas Eve, the laundry elves made a holy call.
Santa sweated under his homemade red jacket, one quick swig from a COLD metal thermos jingling iced chocolate rum. Santa continued down a Californian chimney with much Christmas cheer. Clearing black soot from his eyes, the room came in vision, a den with an over-sized bar, which wasn’t that strange. Then Jesus Christ bearded behind the bar, was filling water for Muhammad, while three bearded Jews waited to give an order. Everything stopped to completely silence and all heads turned to the fat bearded Santa, that quietly thought strange hallucinogen, he was just dreaming from a reindeer game.
    “Merry Christmas everyone…?”
    Santa fell unconscious to the floor.
Oddly waking in the chimney, eyes full of black soot, scared and disheveled, he decided to finish Christmas. Upon the sled, Santa felt safer but noticed his stomach felt achy. From house to house, the pressure built and burned, speeding his pace, and on his return home, it rumbled louder than morning church bells for the earliest Christmas risers.
    Burping, hoping, almost sprinting, he crashed into the front door. Then tore off all his cloths and closed the bathroom door, to sit and releasing the tension on his over sized toilet. Martha expected her husband running for the bathroom; she didn’t expect a three day event spewing the most putrid gut retching smells, semi-digested coconut cookies congealed in clumps of rum lacquered lightly in lemon disinfected. 
    Skinny weak Santa wept like a runway model in front of ice cream; cursing the devilish holy men for his big Christmas surprise called by his own elfin men. 

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