Ho Ho Ho Santa Quotes

The door opens with a rusted jingle, and an animatronic Santa insults my moral virtue three times. Ho, ho, ho.

Well, well, well,” Santa said once the elf had retreated. “Come and sit on my lap, little boy.” This Santa’s beard was real, and so was his hair. He wasn’t fucking around. “I’m not really a little boy,” I pointed out. “Get on my lap, then, big boy.” I walked up to him. There wasn’t much lap under his belly. And even though he tried to disguise it, as I went up there, I swear he adjusted his crotch. “Ho ho ho!” he chortled. I sat gingerly on his knee, like it was a subway seat with gum on it. “Have you been a good little boy this year?” he asked. I didn’t feel that I was the right person to determine my own goodness or badness, but in the interest of speeding along this encounter, I said yes. He actually wobbled with joy. “Good! Good! Then what can I bring you this Christmas?” I thought it was obvious. “A message from Lily,” I said. “That’s what I want for Christmas. But I want it right now.” “So impatient!” Santa lowered his voice and whispered in my ear. “But Santa does have a little something for you”—he shifted a little in his seat—“right under his coat. If you want to have your present, you’ll have to rub Santa’s belly.” “What?” I asked. He gestured with his eyes down to his stomach. “Go ahead.” I looked closely and saw the faint outline of an envelope beneath his red velvet coat. “You know you want it,” he whispered. The only way I could survive this was to think of it as the dare it was. Fuck off, Lily. You can’t intimidate me. I reached right under Santa’s coat. To my horror, I found he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It was hot, sweaty, Geshy, hairy … and his belly was this massive obstacle, blocking me from the envelope. I had to lean over to angle my arm in order to reach it, the whole time having Santa laugh, “Oh ho ho, ho ho oh ho!” in my ear. I heard the elf scream, “What the hell!” and various parents start to shriek. Yes, I was feeling up Santa. And now the corner of the envelope was in my hand. He tried to jiggle it away from me, but I held tight and yanked it out, pulling some of his white belly hair with me. “OW ho ho!” he cried. I jumped o1 his lap. “Security’s here!” the elf proclaimed. The letter was in my hand, damp but intact. “He touched Santa!” a young child squealed.

Santa did me a solid this Christmas. Ho, ho, fucking, ho.

For months I yearned to see Santa again, mooning for him like a lost love. Then, on Christmas Eve, I was awakened by someone shaking me in my bed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” a voice said out of the darkness. I felt the giggles rising up in my throat. But that's another story...

The door opens with a rusted jingle, and an animatronic Santa insults my moral virtue three times. Ho, ho, ho.

Do you need help with anything?" he asked with a wicked arched brow. "Maybe with cookies for Santa." Scowling because no one was here but us, I said, "You're a bit late for that. Santa already came." He hadn't moved, but I knew better than to think he would. Flynn was a pro at filling the bubble air space that was meant to be private and personal. "And were you a good girl?" he asked. Awkwardly folding my arms over my chest, I said, "Not sure, I haven't checked. But you needn't look. We all know you are all bad." Laughing, he said, "Yeah, well, there are other things worth unwrapping." Grinding my teeth, I asked, "What, you didn't get your Ho, Ho, Ho, last night?" Tossing back another full belly laugh, he said, "You know you're kind of funny when you want to be.

La vita sognata Chi mi parla non sa che io ho vissuto un’altra vita – come chi dica una fiaba o una parabola santa. Perché tu eri la purità mia, tu cui un’onda bianca di tristezza cadeva sul volto se ti chiamavo con labbra impure, tu cui lacrime dolci correvano nel profondo degli occhi se guardavamo in alto – e così ti parevo più bella. O velo tu – della mia giovinezza, mia veste chiara, verità svanita – o nodo lucente – di tutta una vita che fu sognata – forse – oh, per averti sognata, mia vita cara, benedico i giorni che restano – il ramo morto di tutti i giorni che restano, che servono per piangere te.

Io soffro molto, perché ho perduto ciò ch'era la sola voluttà della mia vita, la santa forza animatrice con cui cercavo mondi intorno a me. Essa non è più.

Santa’s a girl!” Zoe shrieks. “I knew it! I knew a man couldn’t do all that Santa does!” Four years old, and she has the world figured out. I love that kid.

Ho ho ho, tell me why you are not at home' is something Santa Claus could ask you if you stayed in a hotel over Christmas. It is most certainly not the reason why it is called 'hotel', but it will hopefully help you remember that the stress is actually on the second syllable.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the base Only sentries were stirring--they guarded the place. At the foot of each bunk sat a helmet and boot For the Santa of Soldiers to fill up with loot. The soldiers were sleeping and snoring away As they dreamed of “back home” on good Christmas Day. One snoozed with his rifle--he seemed so content. I slept with the letters my family had sent. When outside the tent there arose such a clatter. I sprang from my rack to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Poked out my head, and yelled, “What was that crash?” When what to my thrill and relief should appear, But one of our Blackhawks to give the all clear. More rattles and rumbles! I heard a deep whine! Then up drove eight Humvees, a jeep close behind… Each vehicle painted a bright Christmas green. With more lights and gold tinsel than I’d ever seen. The convoy commander leaped down and he paused. I knew then and there it was Sergeant McClaus! More rapid than rockets, his drivers they came When he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Cohen! Mendoza! Woslowski! McCord! Now, Li! Watts! Donetti! And Specialist Ford!” “Go fill up my sea bags with gifts large and small! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!” In the blink of an eye, to their trucks the troops darted. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Through the tent flap the sergeant came in with a bound. He was dressed all in camo and looked quite a sight With a Santa had added for this special night. His eyes--sharp as lasers! He stood six feet six. His nose was quite crooked, his jaw hard as bricks! A stub of cigar he held clamped in his teeth. And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. A young driver walked in with a seabag in tow. McClaus took the bag, told the driver to go. Then the sarge went to work. And his mission today? Bring Christmas from home to the troops far away! Tasty gifts from old friends in the helmets he laid. There were candies, and cookies, and cakes, all homemade. Many parents sent phone cards so soldiers could hear Treasured voices and laughter of those they held dear. Loving husbands and wives had mailed photos galore Of weddings and birthdays and first steps and more. And for each soldier’s boot, like a warm, happy hug, There was art from the children at home sweet and snug. As he finished the job--did I see a twinkle? Was that a small smile or instead just a wrinkle? To the top of his brow he raised up his hand And gave a salute that made me feel grand. I gasped in surprise when, his face all aglow, He gave a huge grin and a big HO! HO! HO! HO! HO! HO! from the barracks and then from the base. HO! HO! HO! as the convoy sped up into space. As the camp radar lost him, I heard this faint call: “HAPPY CHRISTMAS, BRAVE SOLDIERS! MAY PEACE COME TO ALL!

_To Santa Claus_ Most tangible of all the gods that be, O Santa Claus-- our own since Infancy! As first we scampered to thee-- now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again. Be wholly good to us, just as of old: As a pleased father, let thine arms infold Us, homed within the haven of thy love, And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof. Thou lone reality, when O so long Life's unrealities have wrought us wrong: Ambition hath allured us--, fame likewise, And all that promised honor in men's eyes. Throughout the world's evasions, wiles, and shifts, Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts--: A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap, Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap: A mighty general-- a nation's pride-- Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, And wildly glad he groweth as the grim Old jurist with the drum thou givest him: The sculptor's chisel, at thy mirth's command, Is as a whistle in his boyish hand; The painters model fadeth utterly, And there thou standest--, and he painteth thee--: Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in. Ho! Santa Claus-- our own since Infancy-- Most tangible of all the gods that be--! As first we scampered to thee-- now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again.

La testardaggine delle vecchie istituzioni a perpetuarsi somiglia all'ostinazione di un profumo rancido che reclamasse la nostra capigliatura, alla pretesa del pesce marcio di essere mangiato, alla persecuzione di un vestito da fanciullo che volesse vestire l'uomo, alla tenerezza dei cadaveri che ritornassero ad abbracciare i vivi. «Ingrati!», dice l'abito. «Vi ho protetto nei tempi cattivi. Perché ora non mi volete?» «Vengo dall'alto mare», dice il pesce. «Sono stato una rosa», dice il profumo. «Vi ho amato», dice il cadavere. «Vi ho civilizzati», dice il convento. A ciò una sola risposta; un tempo. Sognare di prolungare all'infinito cose defunte e governare gli uomini per imbalsamazione, ristabilire i dogmi in cattivo stato, tornare a indorare le arche, rafforzare i chiostri, ribenedire le reliquie, mobilitare di nuovo le superstizioni, rialimentare i fanatismi, dare un nuovo manico agli aspersori e alle sciabole, ricostruire il monachesimo e il militarismo, credere alla salute della società moltiplicando i parassiti, imporre il passato al presente sembra strano. Eppure vi sono teorici anche per queste teorie. Questi teorici, gente di spirito del resto, procedono per semplicemente; applicano al passato un intonaco che chiamano ordine sociale, diritto divino, morale, famiglia, rispetto degli avi, autorità antica, tradizione santa, legittimità, religione; e vanno gridando: «Vedere! Ecco! Prendete questo, brava gente!» Tale logica era conosciuta agli antichi Gli aruspici la praticavano. Davano una mano di gesso a una giovenca nera, e dicevano: «È bianca. Bos Cretatus». Quanto a noi rispettiamo qualcosa e risparmiamo tutto il passato, purché accetti di essere morto. Se vuol essere vivo, l'attacchiamo e cerchiamo di ucciderlo. Superstizioni, bigottismo, bacchettonismi, pregiudizi, queste larve, quantunque non siano che larve, si aggrappano alla vita; hanno denti e unghie nel loro fumo, bisogna spegnerle corpo a corpo, far loro guerra, e fargliela senza tregua, perché è una fatalità dell'uomo essere condannato all'eterno combattimento con i fantasmi. È difficile prendere l'ombra per la gola e atterrarla.

Dear Santa.... "Are you going to be banned too, for saying HO HO HO and will they say you are a pedophile for breaking into houses and enticing kids with toy's. "If they do. "I will still believe in you.

Se saremo fortunati rideremo delle litigate dei vicini, marito e moglie che se le contano di santa ragione per ogni minuscolo fraintendimento. Altrimenti rideremo di qualcos'altro, perché tanto c'è sempre qualcosa per cui valga la pena ridere insieme.

Diventi la mia bambina, madre, quando da vecchia ricordi con precisione d’orologiaia. Tu parli, io ti ricevo. Tu parli, io ti porto nella mia testa. Sì, per te, il mio ventre ha un calore di vulcano. Parli, taccio. Sono nata portatrice della tua sventura, come ci sono donne che nascono portatrici d’offerte. Per vivere, tu sai vivere nel passato. Ma certe volte il passato m’affatica da morire; quando, per esempio, verso mezzanotte, io sdraiata, tu seduta in una poltrona, mi dici: «Non ho amato che lui, ho amato una volta sola, dammi una caramellina», io divento lira e vibrafono per la tua criniera di polvere. Sei vecchia, ti abbandoni, io apro la bomboniera. Tu mi dici: «Hai sonno? Ti si chiudono gli occhi». Non ho sonno. Ho voglia di togliermi di dosso la tua vecchiaia. Mi arrotolo i capelli nei bigodini, le mie dita cantano i tuoi venticinque anni, i tuoi occhi azzurri, i tuoi capelli neri, la tua frangetta scolpita, la tua camicetta alta e ricamata, il tulle, il tuo cappello grande, e le mie sofferenze di quando avevo cinque anni. Mia elegante, mia ingualcibile, mia coraggiosa, mia vinta, mia rimbambita, mia gomma per cancellarmi, mia gelosa, mia giusta, mia ingiusta, mia comandina, mia timorosa. Cosa dirà la gente? Cosa penserà la gente? Cosa direbbe la gente? Le nostre litanie, le nostre trasfusioni. Quando torniamo dalla spiaggia, la sera, quando entri nelle botteghe, e col tuo sapiente battibecco incanti le massaie, io t’aspetto fuori, non voglio accompagnarti. Mi rodo nell’ombra, ti detesto, eppure si vede che ti amo, dato che mi sopprimo per lasciar posto ai clienti, ai fattorini, ai vicini. Tu ritorni, io ti dico: «Lo hai amato. E pensare che era un miserabile». Tu te ne hai a male. Ma no, non voglio demolire te, demolendo lui. «Un principe. Un vero principe». Così tu lo chiamavi. E io, ascoltando, schiumavo di rabbia; ora non schiumo più. Il giorno dopo, dal pizzicagnolo, tu dici: «Voglio della bella frutta. È per questa signorinella. Sennò, mi toccano i rimbrotti». M’offendi. Non ti toccherà nessun rimbrotto. Che ragazza tetra sei stata. La sbroda degli orfanotrofi t’aveva tagliato le gambe. Sempre stanca, sempre troppo stanca. Niente balli, niente passeggiate, niente amiche. Sdegnosa, chiusa, estenuata. La domenica sempre a letto. La campagna ti stancava, la città ti rimaneva ostile benché tu comprassi colletti, polsini alla moda del 1905, e soccorressi, come la santa, protestanti bisognosi.

The white crew socks she had on featured the infamous Elf on the Shelf, grinding on a candy cane like a stripper pole. Santa’s little ho, ho, ho, they read.

Ho, ho, ho". Santa boomed in a deep voice. "Merry Christmas, young lady." "Merry Christmas." I frowned. "I don't think I've been good this year, Santa." "No, ho, ho?" I scuffed my shoe along the pavement and ducked my head to avoid this gaze. "I was a jerk to my boyfriend. Maybe I'm still just as insecure and controlling as ever." Santa scratched at his beard and studied me with his dark brown eyes. "Maybe being willing to admit you were wrong and apologizing means you've grown more than you think." He paused, then added, "Ho ho ho." "Do you think he'll forgive me me?" I asked. Zac pulled the white beard and Santa hat off. "It is Christmas Eve. Miracles do happen.

Santa Singh sent his bio data to America to apply for a post in Microsoft. A few days later he got this reply:- Dear Mr. Singh, You do not meet our requirements. Please do not send any further correspondence. No phone call shall be entertained. Thanks Santa singh jumped with joy on receiving this reply. He arranged a party and when all the guests had come, he said Bhaiyon aur Behno,aap ko jaan kar khushi hogee ki mujhay america mein naukri mil gayee hai." Everyone was delighted. Santa singh continued Ab main aap sab ko apnaa appointment letter padkar sunaongaa par letter english main hai isliyen saath-saath hindi main translate bhee kartaa jaongaa. Dear Mr. Singh-----pyare singh sahab You do not meet----aap to miltay hee naheen ho our requirement----humko to zaroorat hai Please do not send any furthur correspondance----ab letter vetter bhejnay kee zaroorat nahee hai. No phone call ----phone vone kee bhee zaroorat nahee hai shall be entertained----bahut khaatir kee jayegi. Thanks----aapkaa bahut bahut shukriya

The crucified figure had not been idle. A series of elaborate twists activated a cunning mechanism; the base of the cross blew apart, revealing a winding metal spring at the base. At the same time, there was a whir of machinery, a grinding sound of metal against metal, and a series of spindly steel tubes emerged from the head and arms of the cross; and as the jolly old elf grunted and arched his back, the giant laser-mounted pogo stick heaved into the air, leaving in its wake waves of devastation, and a merry, menacing cry of “Ho-ho-ho!

Yo momma's so fat, when Santa saw her, he said, "ho ho holy shit! That's an ugly bitch!" Yo

The hood had a clear see-through sheet that allowed you to see (like a mask) and allowed the person to breathe and talk on ascent due to the air released from the expanding jacket. To make sure the trainees did not hold their breath (one could not be sure if the bubbles where from the jacket or trainees breathing) they had to sing (normally go ho ho ho) on the way up. Early Santa Clause practice. The Steinke hood replaced the Momsen lung and was later replaced by escape suits, called Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment.

For Margaret Some people laugh ha-ha-ha. Other people put their hands on their mouths he-he-he. In the department stores Santa laughs ho-ho-ho. But this girl I know− okay, this girl I'm crazy for laughs like an envelope tearing open and good stuff spilling out.

[...]De Sica fece appello a tutto il suo mestiere di attore brillante e patetico per mostrarsi disinvolto. Ancora qualche convenevole e sarebbe scattato in piedi chiedendo al generale di dirgli che cosa volesse da lui. Finalmente Maltzer gli porse una lettera senza aggiungere nulla. De Sica riuscì soltanto a leggere la firma di Goebbels, il ministro della propaganda del Terzo Reich. Sorridendo come se quella lettera fosse un indovinello difficile chiese al generale di illustrargliene il contenuto, dal momento che egli, purtroppo, e lo disse assai bene quel "purtroppo", non conosceva la meravigliosa lingua di Goethe. Disse la battuta così bene che si sentì su un palcoscenico, di fronte al pubblico. Bastò ad animarlo e a sentirsi addirittura fuori pericolo. Maltzer con il suo italiano inamidato gli spiegò che Goebbels in persona gli chiedeva di trasferirsi a Venezia per partecipare alla rinascita del cinema italiano e fascista. "Ma che cosa gliene frega, poi, ai tedeschi del cinema italiano?" avrebbe voluto rispondere, ma era una battuta che avrebbe rovinato il crescente drammatico della scena. "Conoscendo i suoi sentimenti patriottici e il suo prestigio di artista, il ministro è sicuro di poter contare ciecamente su di lei... Quando intende partire, herr De Sica?" concluse Maltzer. De Sica assunse un'espressione addolorata, allargò le braccia in un gesto di disappunto, come a dire che il destino era crudele con lui e con il cinema fascista. "Non posso... e sono mortificato di non poter accettare questa straordinaria offerta che mi viene da un uomo di riconosciuta cultura" e si interruppe per un attimo, come a chiedere perdono agli amici per quel riconoscimento servile "ma purtroppo ho firmato proprio la settimana scorsa un contratto con il Vaticano per dirigere un film di argomento religioso... Comincio a girare a giorni...". "Il Vaticano?!... Il Vaticano produce film?!" Maltzer era rosso di indignazione, ma l'espressione esprimeva anche la sua impotenza. "Proprio così... Sa... è uno stato estero... e ha la sua cinematografia nazionale..." Ora De Sica gli dava dentro, come se avvertisse che il pubblico invisibile fosse già pronto all'applauso. "Ma voi non siete un prete!" ribatté Maltzer "Anzi... un adultero... un peccatore!" "E chi non pecca?... Del resto né voi, né noi siamo in guerra con la Santa Sede...." "E la pellicola?... Chi vi darà la pellicola?... Tutta la pellicola esistente a Roma è stata sequestrata... Ha una fabbrica di pellicola il Vaticano?" "No... ma ha la pellicola!" "Chi gliel'ha data?" il tono di voce del generale saliva parola per parola eppure faceva sempre meno paura. "Non saprei... dovete chiederlo al cardinal segretario di Stato... o addirittura al Santo Padre..." "Non vi chiedete chi dovrà rilasciare i permessi per le riprese? Io!" "Gireremo nei territori vaticani" rispose De Sica con un sorriso che voleva essere di scusa, ma che gli riuscì male: troppo evidente era l'ironia trionfante che lasciò trapelare. Maltzer tacque. Fra tutte le possibili scuse, pretesti che si aspettava di sentire, non aveva pensato di trovarsi di fronte a uno scritturato dalla cinematografia vaticana. Tambureggiava le dita sul tavolo. "Se ne vada, commediante!" disse fra i denti il generale. "Penserò io a spedirla in Germania appena sarà finito questo film del papa!" De Sica raccolse il cappello, si alzò, ebbe la forza di dire: "Non sono un commediante... sono un artista... un uomo...". Indietreggiò verso la porta. Era felice, ma non poteva mostrarlo, scese le scale una a una, lentamente, gustando il suo trionfo a ogni gradino. Appena all'aperto, avviandosi verso il Bristol, canticchiò la canzone che aveva contribuito alla sua celebrità, quell'indimenticabile Parlami d'amore Mariù.

Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa chuckled as his belly bounced up and down like a bowl full of jelly.

For all my Ho Ho Ho’s who made the naughty list and wished that Hallmark movies came with spice. XO, Santa

What is red, white and black all over and says “Ho! Ho!”? Santa Claus after he has came down the chimney.

Yo momma's so fat, when Santa saw her, he said, "ho ho holy shit! That's an ugly bitch!

A beautiful young woman wants to meet Santa Claus, so she puts on a robe and stays up late on Christmas Eve. Santa arrives, climbs down the chimney, and begins filling the stockings. He is about to move on to the next house when the gorgeous redhead says in a sexy voice, “Oh, Santa, please stay. Keep the chill away.” Santa replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl drops her robe to reveal a sexy bra and panties, and says in her most flirtatious tone, “Oh, Santa, don’t run a mile; just stay for a while...” Santa begins to sweat but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl takes off her bra and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay.” Santa wipes his brow but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” She loses the panties and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay....” Santa, trembling, says, “HEY HEY HEY, gotta stay, gotta stay! Can’t get up the chimney with my pecker this way!!!

and the bellowing, disembodied “Ho, ho, ho” of the store Santa, still unseen from their vantage point, which never failed to startle the Fangs. Caleb found himself uttering sounds in groups of three, “Har, har, har,” and “Hee, hee, hee,” and “Hey, hey, hey,” and “How, how, how,” until Camille shushed him.

baloney!” I’ve been doing that since I was little. It’s funny. Buddy hates it. “Suzi?” Mommy was at the top of the stairs. “It’s Christmas!” I shouted. “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” a loud voice boomed. At first I thought it was Santa — like, maybe he slept over. But it was Franklin. He walked up next to Mommy in his pajamas. Franklin wears red pajamas

Santa Got Drunk Drinking My Eggnog (Verse 1) Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, He stumbled and fumbled, tripped over the dog. His cheeks were all rosy, his nose like a log, Oh, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog. (Chorus) Ho ho ho, what a sight to see, Santa Claus tipsy as can be. Ho ho ho, what a holiday spree, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, whee! (Verse 2) He tried to climb the chimney, but got stuck halfway, With a hiccup and a giggle, he called it a day. The reindeer were laughing, the elves in dismay, Oh, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, hooray! (Chorus) Ho ho ho, what a sight to see, Santa Claus tipsy as can be. Ho ho ho, what a holiday spree, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, whee! (Bridge) He danced with the snowman, sang carols off-key, Knocked over the presents, oh what a spree! But we all had a laugh, it was jolly and free, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, yippee! (Chorus) Ho ho ho, what a sight to see, Santa Claus tipsy as can be. Ho ho ho, what a holiday spree, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, whee! (Outro) So next year I'll hide it, keep it out of sight, But for now, let's toast to a funny Christmas night. With Santa all rosy, and the stars shining bright, Santa got drunk drinking my eggnog, goodnight!

(Verse 1) Well, I woke up late on Christmas Eve, Heard a ruckus, couldn't believe. Tiptoed down, what did I see? Santa Claus dancin' 'round my Christmas tree. (Chorus) Oh, Santa's got the moves, he's got the groove, Shakin' his belly like a bowl full of jelly. Boots a-tappin', reindeer nappin', Santa Claus dancin' 'round my Christmas tree. (Verse 2) He had his hat tilted, boots all shined, Twistin' and turnin', havin' a good time. Rudolph's nose was blinkin' in sync, While Santa did the two-step, I couldn't even blink. (Chorus) Oh, Santa's got the moves, he's got the groove, Shakin' his belly like a bowl full of jelly. Boots a-tappin', reindeer nappin', Santa Claus dancin' 'round my Christmas tree. (Bridge) He did the ho-ho-hoedown, the jingle bell jive, I laughed so hard, I felt alive. He winked at me, said, "Join the fun," So I grabbed my hat, and we danced as one. (Chorus) Oh, Santa's got the moves, he's got the groove, Shakin' his belly like a bowl full of jelly. Boots a-tappin', reindeer nappin', Santa Claus dancin' 'round my Christmas tree. (Outro) Now every year, I wait and see, If Santa will come back to dance with me. It's a Christmas tradition, just him and me, Santa Claus dancin' 'round my Christmas tree.

Cobi: 1:09: Ho, ho, ho. This is Santa Claus. Just sending you this message saying that if you’ve really been nice this Christmas, you’ll respond to my friend Jacobi. And you better not be talking to any other nig.—I mean young men out there. Because I’m watching to see if you’re being naughty. And that’s a very naughty thing to do. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Erotica, Sylas. That’s my fucking problem. Salacious smut is the latest craze, and it’s affecting the numbers on The Lists.” Santa’s eyes darken as he looks over the horizon. “There won’t be as many stops this year, and it’s all because readers today prefer to dive into a book about ho ho ho’s rather than enjoy a good, old-fashioned novel.

I don’t even mind wearing matching pyjamas and shit. I’ll do it for her…as long as she lets me take ’em off later. I’ll be her Santa, and she can be my ho-ho-

The trouble was their grandfather. Patriarch of the house. Respected senior in the town. Sweaty brown Santa at the Rotary Club Christ-mas party in a red jumpsuit and a cotton- wool beard and a ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ I was sometimes sent to their home for weekends (presumably so that the children could get used to their soon- to- be- permanent sister and vice versa). There, when he caught me alone, which wasn’t hard because I was a reading child, the ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ turned into a snufing and a groping between my legs and a rolling-down of my underwear. I could tell that what he was doing was wrong and I sensed that it had something to do MOTHER MARY COMES TO ME with having babies. And that I must escape. He was a lumbering, ungainly man and I always managed to get away. But still, it was a hunt, and I was his prey. While everybody else saw the kindly Kottayam Santa  –  loving, bumbling grandpa  –  I saw a human- size pig with glasses, a snorting wild boar sitting across the table from me at mealtimes.

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