“I ate the reindeer,” I told the children. “And Santa’s in Abu Ghraib with a hood over his head and a dog in his ass.”
After a while, I had to shout to make myself heard over the noise.
“What did you expect? Guy with a big beard breaks into your house at night to leave suspicious packages. Only a matter of time before he crashed that sleigh into an office block. Think about it. Man in a red suit who knows if you’ve been naughty or nice? He’s Satan. Santa, Satan. Anagram, see? And reindeer tastes good. I’ve saved you from Santa bin Laden, you little bastards.”
I leered at the squalling infants. “You know, I think there might have been a little glowing red nose on top of the pot of reindeer I had last night. We’ll have the rest of his terrorist cell at the North Pole in no time. Lots of people with beards and funny hats. You know what that means. And they’re all real short. Boys with false beards, I bet you. Terrorist paedophile cell.”
A man with a audio bud in his ear came up to where I was sitting.
“I think it’s time to leave now, Mr President,” he whispered.