And to All a Good Fucing Night

Seymour Klazowski opened one eye while his hand searched for the bottle lying on the pavement next to him. He lifted the bottle and stared. "Fuck!" he growled before throwing the empty Night Train Express bottle away. Seymour pulled his coat up around his throat against the cold and snuggled further against the dumpster in the alley behind the Woolworth Store on North Wood Avenue in Linden, New Jersey.

What a night it had been for Seymour. He had started out in a nice little club on South Main where he met Sonia. She was a lovely little thing and very pliable. Besides, she had a thing for big, fat guys. One look at her over sized knockers and Seymour was hooked. He easily struck up a conversation with Sonia. He bought her a drink or three then found a table in the back in the dark for a little stink finger in the corner. Naturally one thing led to another and they ended up in a room at the Motel 6 on route 18 in New Brunswick. How he ended up in Linden was a mystery.

Now, how was Seymour to know sweet little Sonia was a hooker? Maybe his judgment was somewhat impaired by half a bottle of Wild Turkey followed by two or ten Black Russians and the fortified wine he had been drinking. Next thing he knew he was outside in the cold, his wallet missing and a horrible headache. Worst of all he could not remember even getting laid.

Just as he got settled in for a nice nap someone kicked his foot. "Hey. Get up and get the fuck outta here," came a rather unfriendly voice of a local policeman. Again, Seymour opened one eye.

"Wazza matta, officer? Can't a guy take a little snooze in this berg without some asshole messing wid him?"

"Get outta here or spend the night in the drunk tank."

Seymour struggled to his feet and glared at the cop. Weaving on his feet Seymour replied, "So you think I'm drunk? Well, I ain't. I mighta had a drop or two but thaz all."

"Look, asshole, if it wasn't Christmas Eve I'd run you drunken ass in right now. Get moving."

Seymour staggered down the alley, looking over his shoulder at the cop. "Merry Fucking Christmas to you too, asswipe," he called to the policeman.

At the corner, Seymour turned right. There he saw a really stupid looking sleigh and eight dumb ass reindeer.

"Hey, Dasher, here he is. Drunk as usual," Prancer yelled.

"Yeah, we see old fatso, Prancer," Dasher replied. "Load his sorry ass into the sleigh and let's get moving."

"Shit. There's only about two hours to sober his ass up before we have to ride," growled Donner.

"Yeah. And his bitchy wife is really going to be pissed as hell when she sees him," mused Comet with a grin. "Someone better call ahead and tell the old bitch to get the coffee on."

"Does the sorry fuck still have his cell phone?" asked Dancer.

Cupid checked Seymour's pockets. "Nope. He's lost that too. I'll run over to Walnut Street and use the pay phone." Cupid took off at a fast gallop, returning three minutes later, laughing. "I'm glad I'm not in his shoes. That old bitch is fit to be tied."

"Alright. Get the old fat fuck loaded up and let's get going," Dance told the others. Unceremoniously, Seymour was dumped in the sleigh and in a flash they were streaking north across the sky.

At the North Pole, Mable Klazowski was fuming. "Four fucking hundred years of this bullshit. Every night it's the same thing. Fat our Seymour out getting drunk and whoring. I'm sick of this shit. If it wasn't for the kids..." Mable did not finish before the sleigh screeched to a halt in front of the house.

"Get him inside," directed Prancer. "Throw him on the couch. Hide the liquor and get the coffee."

"Hey, fug you guys," slobbered Seymour.

Mable stood with her hands on her hips watching the reindeer muscle old fat ass into the house and dump him on the couch. "Alright, guys. I'll take it from here."

Walking over to the couch, Mable leaned over her husband then slapped him hard across the face. "This is the last time, you son of a bitch."

Seymour opened his eyes and saw his wife standing over him. He reached up and grabbed her right tit. Mable doubled her fist and slugged him in the nuts.

"God damn, woman. Whad ya go and do that for," Seymour groaned as he doubled over in pain.

'My mother warned me about marrying a fat Pollock like you, but no. I was too smart and fell for your line of bullshit. Oh yeah. Make a wonderful Christmas for all the little kiddies. Little did I know...?"

"Coffee," exclaimed Cupid returning from the kitchen and handing Mable a very large steaming cup.

Mable took the cup and looked at it with an evil grin, then dumped it on Seymour's crotch.

"MUTHER FUCKER!" he screamed.

"You sober yet?" Mable asked sweetly.

"Damn it, woman. You fried my nuts. I'll never be able to use them again."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Seymour. It was an accident," she said with a mock look of pity.

"Get some more coffee so she can do it again," laughed Prancer. Cupid ran back to the kitchen and quickly retuned with another steaming cup.

"Here you go, Mrs. K. But wait. The others are going to want to see old fatso scream and howl."

Seymour grabbed the cup from Cupid's hooves out of self preservation. He began to drink as fast as possible.

Mable tuned to Comet. "Go get his red suit and boots while we finish up getting him sober." Comet pranced up the stairs to the bedroom, his hooves clattering on the wooden treads.

"Maybe we can dump the whole pot of coffee on him," suggested Donner.

"That won't be fucking necessary, you prick," Seymour shouted.

Comet retuned carrying Seymour's Santa Claus suit. "Here you go. You think it'll still fit his fat ass?"

Seymour stood unsteadily on his feet. "Gimme that." He grabbed the suit away from the reindeer and laid it across the arm of the couch then dropped his pants and kicked them across the room. He pulled on the trousers on and tried to button the fly. The waistband lacked an inch of being able to close.

"Oh shit. What're we gonna do now?" asked Blitzen.

"I'll get a stapler and tack them in place to his fat ass," suggested Dasher.

"Fuck you, ya four footed bastard," shouted Seymour. "I'll just cinch it up with the belt." Next Seymour pulled on the coat. It did cover his fat belly but the buttons looked dangerously ready to tear loose and possibly kill someone as they flew off the coat at nearly the speed of light.

Mable stood back and looked at her husband. "Well, it'll have to do. Just try not to breath, Seymour."

Seymour glared at his wife as he lifted his right foot. "Boots," he ordered.

Cupid winked at the other reindeer as he stuffed the right boot onto Seymour's foot. As his foot struck bottom there was a squish.

"God damn it! Which one of you fuckers shit in my boot?" Seymour growled. All the reindeer looked around the room and at the floor innocently. Seymour peered into the left boot to see if it too had been sabotaged. It was not. Cupid stuffed the boot on Seymour's left foot.

Seymour waddled to the door. "Have those damn elves got the sleigh packed up yet?"

"Just finishing up, boss," responded Donner. "We are back on the time line. Just five minute to take off."

"Okay everyone. Get out there and get into harness. We don't want to be late like last year," Blitzen exclaimed. The reindeer galloped out to the sleigh and wriggled into their harnesses.

Seymour stepped out onto the snow on the front porch and looked up at the sky. For a moment he was frozen as if turned to stone. Then the change took place just as it had for over four hundred years. Seymour Klozowski began to glow and in a flash of light became Santa Claus. The elves standing around the sleigh applauded. The reindeer smiled. Mable grinned from ear to ear.

Seymour, now Santa Claus, turned to his wife. "Mable, I have loved you from the first time I met you." He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips as her arms went around his neck.

"I love you too, my husband, even though you are a bastard sometimes," she said with a teary smile and let him go. "Now it's time for you to go."

Santa hopped nimbly into his sleigh and called out to everyone, " Ho ho fucking Ho." And with that he was off to bring joy to all the children of the world just as he had all the years before and will again for all the years yet to come.

And to you, dear reader, a very Merry fucking Christmas to all of you too.