The thing about snorting reindeer dust is that you get so high that it takes you almost a full year to come down. So you can imagine how bad off old Kris Kringle was after having spent the last six months on an extravagant freebasing bender in Tangiers.
Now he sat in a puddle of filth (really a god-knows-what dirty little soaker), twitching involuntarily in a textbook bowery back alley. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but passersby were speaking English. He also knew with the holidays fast approaching thanks to the simulacrum charity Santa in a raggedy red suit ringing his bell on the corner.
The siren call of Christmas goodwill. Why, that bastard was mocking him. This would not stand. Continue reading Santa Will Kick Tomorrow