North Pole labor laws
Let me tell you a naughty little secret. Santa’s Workshop wasn’t always in the North Pole. Way back when, the magic happened in the South Pole. Then the elves unionized, the cost of toy manufacturing skyrocketed, and I was forced to outsource production. We tried keeping a home office in the SoPo, but it was simply too complicated. So we moved to the tropical North. Some days I get a little nostalgic for the South — and its windswept vistas, cute, cuddly penguins and miles and miles of isolation — but then I count my trillions and all’s well with the world.
Listen, Santa might have magic powers (e.g. flight, squeezing into small chimneys and time travel), but he’s still a human being. And human beings have certain needs — no, requirements. Like when a person absolutely, positively, has to go No. 2. I’m sorry to sound so uncivilized, but there it is. A bottle of Poo-Pourri, though, that stuff truly is magical.
Liberty Medical Diabetes Testing Supplies
My job requires me to eat a lot of Christmas cookies. Apparently kids won’t believe in me if they wake up and find their stale cookies still sitting there. My annual consumption of enough sugar to kill a reindeer has resulted in a case of full-blown diabetes. And when I need to get testing supplies, Liberty Medical is the only one I use. I haven’t had much luck with the Obamacare site yet, but they let me use Medicare and deliver right to my door without any charge. That’s huge. Plus, I trust spokesman Wilford Brimley. Would a man with snowy white facial hair lie?
The Patriot Act
I know if you’ve been sleeping and I know if you’re awake, but that doesn’t mean I actually want to keep an eye on you all the damn time — particularly when you’re parked on the couch binge-watching “House Hunters” (am I right, Maureen [last name redacted]?). Fortunately, with help from a little-known “clause” in the Patriot Act legislation, I can now keep track of your naughty/nice status without missing a beat. Bonus points for the NSA hooking me up with a fast-forward feature, because I do not want to spend my afternoon watching you do that.
“Die Hard” (the first one)
After a year’s worth of spying on naughty kids, and the subsequent dissatisfaction with their poor behavior, Mrs. Claus and I like to unwind with the only Christmas movie in our library —“Die Hard.” The explosions and violence help me escape my world of fuzzy polar bears and cutesy elves and live vicariously through my personal hero, Bruce Willis. Though the parade of awful Die Hard sequels almost landed Bruce on the naughty list, the majesty of the original “Die Hard” completely redeems any and all of Willis’ missteps. I even gave him a free pass on “Look Who’s Talking Too.”
Cookies: Metrocreative photo
Poo-Pourri: Courtesy of Poo-Pourri
Labor Laws/Penguins: Reuters photo
Die Hard: Courtesy of Amazon.com