What Really Happens at the North Pole? – Quality Writing

Before things get rolling, let me clarify – this is a story I wrote back in 2009, when I was in 11th grade. I don’t know why I wrote it, or what was possibly going on in my head to produce this, but oh well. I apologize for nothing. Enjoy?

What Really Happens at the North Pole?
Unfortunately written by me (kyoycz) 
(A Completely Non-Fiction and Accurate Story about Weihnachtsmann)

“Santa, Santa! Are you ready to go?”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s the middle of the afternoon, I need my nap,” he replied from the floor he had passed out on the night before.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Santa! You need to go and get ready to deliver the presents!” Papa Elf answered enthusiastically.

Santa got up and rubbed his eyes. “Oh crap, I forgot about that. God, I have the worst headache ever…”

A group of five other elves walked in and shook their heads at Papa Elf while passing by him on their way to Santa. The shortest of them, a female, said, “Uh, sir, could we ask you some stuff?”

He shook his head and asked “Aww, what the hell for now? The other time you said this to me and I started drinking. What could possibly be so important that you have to keep me from getting ready for the night?”

“It’s about your plans for the brewery and distillery, sir. And some other minor things,” the other female elf responded.

Santa sighed and said, “Of course, I want something around here for me and you people go and complain about it. What’s your problem with it being installed in the factory?”

“Well, sir,” another started as he stepped in front of the others, “we think that the brewery and distillery should be added on to the factory instead of taking up space in it that we need to make toys…which brings me to our next point. I’ll ignore the point we tried to get across last time, but here’s a new issue; the conditions in that factory are beyond tolerable and quite unhealthy, so us five are coming to you as potential union leaders for different factory areas; woodwork, metalwork, baking, shoemaking, and reindeer-raising. We need change in that factory for the good of all of us, sir.”

“You’re complaining about the factory?” Santa said with a confused look on his face.

The five elves, not including Papa Elf, all nodded and the leader said, “Yes sir. We are.”

Santa stood up and started screaming at the elves that were about a tenth of his size. “You unappreciative little bastards! I use my limited magic to get you an efficient factory when the concept of factories isn’t even anywhere near being developed in the rest of the world, and you come and complain to me about it?”

One of the other males said in a somewhat sarcastic tone, “Well, when you put it that way-”

Santa didn’t let him finish though, as he jumped at him and tried to start wringing his neck. The others began to run away while Santa dropped the small body and ran over to a nearby cupboard, where he pulled out an automatic-firing crossbow. He took his time walking outside and went to the factory, where all of the elves’ quarters were, where the five that had questioned him had most likely come to hide and where the rest would be preparing for the busy night. He kicked open the door and looked at them, all of them being wide-eyed and confused.

Santa pulled up the crossbow and, with a crazed look on his face, screamed, “Merry Christmas to all, now you’re all gonna die!”

…Over 1000 Years Later…


“What the hell d’ya want? I’m here busy getting ready!”

He slowly got up off of his recliner after an afternoon nap and stumbled over to the kitchen, where his wife was deep-frying Big Macs. “Whaddya want?” he asked in a slurred voice.

“You need to get off of your lazy ass and help me with dinner,” she said calmly as she poured a bottle of scotch into the fryer. “And you need to spend a lot more time with me and a lot less with those stupid midgets.”

“They ain’t midgets, honey!” he yelled from right next to her. “They’s elves. Dwarves to be politically correct for real. And you’re preventin’ me from doin’ my job.”

She looked shocked and responded, “Your job?! Your job consists of breaking into people’s tightly locked homes on Christmas Eve and leaving them things that we pay for those stupid midgets to make all year long. My hard-earned money from knitting and cooking is put to waste on goods comparable to things at Wal-Mart.”

“I don’t pay ‘em nothing,” he said while licking out the last drips in his bottle of non-alcoholic vodka. “I even made ‘em build ther’ own huts out on the glacier.”

“I don’t care that you don’t pay them, my point is…do you even want me to bring up all those times that I had to bail you out of jail for breaking and entering?” she said, trying to counter his reasonable answer. “They’ve accused you of over one hundred million every year.”

“To be fair, honey, I think it was plenty more than that say,” he answered. “I thinks there are more houses with kids out there. If that damn Jackson dude was…was still alive, we coulda probably checked with him ‘cause he knew that figure like the…the…I forgot the word.”

She immediately began to grow red with anger and, trying to remain calm, asked, “Do I need to bring up the rape charges again?”

He immediately stopped what he was doing, sighed, and went to work helping her prepare dinner as she continued to glare at him.

“Hey boss, what do we got to do now?”

Papa Elf looked up at the door of the factory and answered, “Well, we have to wait for Santa to come in, and then we can start getting the sleigh ready.”

The factory itself reeked of body odour and beer and was an oppressive 313 Kelvin because of the massive furnaces at the centre of the room. The building was enormous, but not large enough to fit all of the worker elves, plethora of long-outdated equipment, and brewery/distillery. Santa had the brewery/distillery installed long ago, but he didn’t consider having it added on to the factory rather than taking up necessary space.

The elves quickly protested this decision, but had quickly been repressed by their Communist leader. Santa reacted to them hundreds of years earlier in a hangover rage and accidentally shot Blitzen, one of his lead reindeer, who had to be replaced by the teterrimous and fascist Blitzkrieg, who had to do everything twice as fast as the others and hit airplanes at least twice when flying because of it. The elves realized after this replacement that the fat man meant business and chose to lay back more on their protests; however, they unknowingly spiked all of his drinks that came from the brewery/distillery with Ambien so that he would fall asleep all of the time and not be able to shoot anyone anymore.

Papa Elf was the only elf that had not been an advocate for unionism or against Santa-ist Communism in the North Pole, so he was the only elf Santa trusted. He had just stood by and watched, albeit horrified, as Santa attempted wiping out all of them before collapsing because of alcohol withdrawal. Papa Elf had convinced the other elves to let him live, that better things would come their way. To put it simply, he was wrong.

The five union-leader elves had been banished to the South Pole on top of a slowly melting glacier. All of the injured elves had been buried alive in the heaps of snow around the factory. The factory had remained the same since Santa’s personal brewery was put in, and the elves needed to make exponentially more toys in less space every year because the children in Asia were multiplying like rabbits and wanted more and more things every year.

Papa Elf looked up at the door again and took in a quick breath as he saw Santa lumbering in. He ran up to him quickly, and said, “How are you doing today, sir? I have the cart coming right now.”

“I’m pretty spiffy. Got any new flavours ready in here?” he asked while distracted by the paint on the wall.

“Yes, we improved the pinecone and poinsettia flavour if you’d like to try any, sir.”

He thought to himself for a moment and then answered, “Maybe later, right now I’ll have some of that ‘Rotten Pumkin’ you guys concocted. And do you have the dodrantal bottles yet?”

Papa Elf didn’t answer because the golf cart pulled up in front of them to bring them to the reindeer stables as ten elves carried over Santa’s magic bag with it fully loaded and stained. They dropped the bag onto the cart and Santa and Papa Elf got on the back and began to go towards the stables. Santa hiccupped and asked, “Do you have the stuff in the basement ready?”

Papa Elf sheepishly answered, “Well, yes. I still recommend that you don’t do this, sir. Too many people…”

“Oh, suck it up you stupid wazzock. To quote some famous guy, ‘My opinion justifies the means.’ Or something like that.”

“Okay, sir. The control equipment is ready, and it should be loaded onto your new sleigh by now,” he replied to his drunken statement. They quickly came up to the reindeer stables. “Ah, here we are. If you need any help getting ready, I’ll be here hooking up the reindeer.”

Santa walked off into a side room and Papa Elf went into the stables and began to lead the caribou into the room with the brand-new, EBay-purchased sleigh: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzkrieg, the enigmatic, wretched and overwhelming self-appointed leader. Blitzen had flown alongside Donner in the front (whose son Rudolph was originally supposed to take the position left open after Blitzen’s injury), but Blitzkrieg refused to fly anywhere but straight at the front, as they had quickly learned on that hurried flight the night Santa let loose.

Papa Elf took his time hooking all of them up and being sure to do them in order so he wouldn’t be criticized by a drunk or subordinate. He then proceeded to check the equipment that Santa wanted to utilize for the first time that night along with the things that had been created in the basement. Although he thought it was a terrible idea, he was a pushover and wouldn’t risk anything to counter Santa’s established idea for world peace. December 24, 2009 was there, but he couldn’t believe how different the world would be after it. Santa had finally reached the brink of insanity, and not the brink into it, but beyond it. He had gone insane thousands of years earlier when he got married.

Santa walked into the room and said, “You know this is for the good of everyone, right?”

Papa Elf sighed and answered, “Not immediately, but I understand the long-term effects of it. I guess you’re right as much as I really hate the idea.”

“Of course I’m right; I’m jolly old St. Nick! Bringing joy to children throughout the world, just in a different way this time.”

People throughout the world were captivated by what was on their televisions on Christmas Eve. Alien aircrafts had been spotted flying down quickly from around the North Pole towards all the corners of the world, some of them even attacking various cities. Santa had been spotted spreading pesticide over Beijing, China while screaming, “You’re all going to die!” as he hit a button in his sleigh at the exact moment the Pentagon was notified of the aliens. Santa’s plan had been put into action, and his planning would keep him alive until another day when he could bring peace and happiness back to children everywhere. Unfortunately for him though, all of the nuclear-equipped countries of the world reacted quicker than he had expected to the attacks and blasted each other, the aliens, and Santa himself into oblivion.

Though nobody would know of the actual cause, the plan had been enacted, while backfiring on the creator. All humans were killed throughout the world because of his stupidity.

Or was it?

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