Trouble at the North Pole

         “Jesus-fucking-Christ!  It’s the same thing with YOU every day:  You need to lose weight, you don’t pay enough attention to me, all you do is sit around on your lazy ass all year except for ONE day!  Fuck, woman, don’t you know how much pressure I’m constantly under?”

         Mrs. Claus gave Santa that look.

         “I’m constantly getting letters from kids all over the world asking for shit all the goddamn time!  I want a new doll, I want a new sled, I want a PS4, I want a PONY!  It never ends with those little fuckers!”

         “Save me the ‘woe-is-me’ bullshit!  You only have to work one fucking day a year!” exclaimed Mrs. Claus.  “While you have your slave-laboring elves working 365 days a year!  You’re just a glorified FedEx delivery guy that works one fucking night!  You could spend the rest of the year getting your lazy, fat-ass into shape and showing me some goddamn attention every now and then, but NO, you’re too self-absorbed to even think about me!”

         “Fuck this shit,” replied Santa.  “I’m going to go check on today’s production.”

         “Fine, leave!  That’s what you always do!  Every time I need you, you just walk out on me!  Go have fun, fucking your elves and reindeer, you fat fuck!”

         Santa rolled his eyes, grabbed his coat and walked out the door.  The skies were dark with clouds, and snow was lightly falling, which made Santa’s walk from his house to the workshop even more somber.  He kept his eyes down while he walked, thinking about his relationship with Mrs. Claus.  Where did it all go wrong?  We never used to talk to each other this way.

         “Hey, Santa!”

         “Oh, hey Frosty,” replied Santa solemnly.

         “Damn Santa, you look beat the fuck up.  Is Mrs. Claus riding your ass again?”

         “Yeah, around this time every year it gets worse.  She’s constantly giving me the third degree.  Why can’t she see how stressed out I am?  I just wish she could understand me, hold me in her arms and let me know that everything is going to be ok; that even though I only work one day a year, I still work really hard, and everyone is depending on me.”

         “Bitches, man, bitches,” replied Frosty.  “Don’t worry Santa, you know she loves you, and you love her.  And when it’s all said and done, that’s all that really matters, right?  Love?”

         Santa looked into Frosty’s eyes.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Santa replied.

        “Look, if you want my advice…”

        Santa tried to cut Frosty off. “No, I don’t want your advice…” but Frosty kept talking, “You just need to give her a good old-fashioned dick down.” 

        “That’s your answer to everything Frosty, that’s why I never want your advice.  Now, why don’t you go stand on the corner and wait for the snow-blower to come by?” said Santa as he turned and headed towards the workshop.

        Santa finally arrived at the workshop.  He opened the door and walked in expecting to see the elves hard at work.

        What the fuck!

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