Toys, toys, toys, up to our ears.
All the children
demand toys,
elves slave 363 days a year--
if you figure New Years and Easter off--
to make your trifles.
Everyone praises the big man
with speedy delivery,
but consider seriously.
He can't do it by himself!
Grandpa Fatso isn't God.
No, he covers all of one little town
in upper state New York,
and performs as Santa at Macy's.
My fellows and I are the ones,
the ones who make sure you get your toys
on time.
It's hard work, making and delivering.
We can't build gifts for all of the children, though,
just the rich ones.
We receive funding from their parents,
who are too busy to do it themselves.
Don't give me that frowny face!
Do you think the materials for these toys
pop out of the North Pole Blizzards
or that we magically conjure them
in our cauldrons of candy cane syrup
and sugar plum powder?
Ha! Not a chance. No,
if your parents are poor,
and obviously don't care enough to buy you all the things your heart could ever desire--
which is worthless anyways--,
then Santa brings you squat.
In legend, he spirited gifts to poor young girls on Christmas Day
out of the highly overrated good-will fad movement of the day
that still pollutes society,
but that Santa died ages ago. In fact,
Santa isn't Saint Nick any more.
He is the CEO of Elf Management CO,.
Money grasping lazy pain in the feet.
He doesn't invent toys, and he can't make them.
Sorry to dash your "hopes and dreams" against the Peppermint Mountain,
but there is the truth.
Oh great, go ahead and start crying,
Just what I needed:
One more wailing kid complaining that life isn't fair.
No one ever said that life would be fair,
they just said it would be.
Think you have it rough?
Try making trillions of toys in one year.
After all, you never get just one present do you?
Take the population of the world and multiply it by five.
Ah, what am I saying? you can't multiply yet.
What are you, five? Yeah, thought as much.
You know what kid, forget it.
Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas and a happy freaking New Year.
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