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🎅🏽 I MET SANTA… AND HE WAS A BIT OF A PERV (A festive poem for the spiritually exhausted)

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I met Santa, but he was a bit of a perv. Called me “Ho Ho Ho”? Man’s got some nerve.

Told him I was a fan, he called me a nerd. Didn’t even blink -- I was visibly perturbed.

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His breath smelled like cookies and probable cause. He winked and said, > “You’ve been bad… and that deserves applause.”

Said the sleigh’s fueled by "elf-made tears." I asked, "You okay?" He said, > “Not since ‘96 when the reindeer went gay.”

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I said, “Santa, you need therapy and maybe some prayer.” He said, > “Shut up and sit -- you’ve got lap potential to spare.”

He offered eggnog from a thermos with tape. Label said: “Mrs. Claus’s emotional escape.”

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He kept calling me “naughty,” kept jingling his bells. Then pulled out a scroll and whispered, > “This one’s for the private shelves.”

Rudolph walked by smoking a menthol stick. Said “Don’t ask. Don’t judge. I just need this gig.”

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The elves were twitchy, union signs in hand. Santa shouted, > “Back to work! You’re magical, not man!”

I asked him, “Bro, when did it all go wrong?” He said, > “When parents stopped spanking. That ruined the whole song.”

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I said, “I think you need rest, and probably jail.” He said, > “I am rest. I am myth. I am seasonal male.”

I backed away slowly, called an Uber reindeer. Prancer said, > “You’re lucky. He once tried to lick my ear.”

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Now every Christmas, I sleep with the lights on. A candy cane in hand, and pepper spray drawn.

Because Santa’s out there… judging, watching, cursed. And no one warns you what’s in that “North Pole thirst.”

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So if you meet him, and he grins ear to ear… Just remember:

🎄 The real reason he says “Ho”… is not holiday cheer.

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