Hey everyone! Happy Halloween from all of us here at the North Pole. I hope you enjoy today—the last day before Christmas season. I won’t.
Fun fact: today is my last day off for two months. Over the next eight weeks, I’ll spend every waking moment making my list and checking it twice. So I don’t get to celebrate tonight. In fact, while you’re sleeping off a sugar hangover tomorrow morning, I’ll already be busting my jolly red ass in the toy factory.
I don’t mean to complain, but you people can’t even delay your rabid Christmas yearnings for one day of November! As soon as Halloween’s over, it’s right to snowflakes and candy canes, which means it’s straight to work for ol’ Saint Nick.
I think this is why no one ever invites me to their Halloween parties. I mean, not once in over 2,000 years of pagan Celtic tradition has anyone thought to ask if I might like to come over for pumpkin carving and apple-bobbing. This, even though my whole thing is basically a costume.
No one comes trick-or-treating here, either. I know my house is remote, but I still put out decorations every year so people know we’re celebrating. Doesn’t make a difference. I always end up eating the whole bowl of peanut butter cups myself (and I don’t need the calories right before cookie season).
Sorry, do I sound cranky? Guess what—I’m allowed to be! Tomorrow, I have to start joyfully jiggling like a bowl full of jelly, 24-7. Today, I get to have a little bit of wine and be catty.
Sometimes I can’t even sleep on Halloween because I know work starts the next day. You know that feeling when vacation ends? That’s today for me, every year, forever.
You know what? Screw this. I’m going out. I’m crashing a Halloween party uninvited. I’m doing shots. I’m going as Sexy Krampus. Tomorrow-Santa can deal with the consequences. Ho ho ho, buddy!
MORE FROM CHORTLE
It's me, the Boogeyman
To Whom It May Concern and/or Frighten: After careful consideration, I must tender my formal resignation. My work has been rooted in the simple joy of trick shadows, strange bumps in the night, and the uncertainty of what might be hiding in your closet. However, in recent years, I’ve found my role increasingly redundant.
To serve you better all naughty/nice cross checking and Xmas-wish-list fulfillment have been shifted over to A.I. this year. So some of those things you thought you got away with may come back to haunt you (a little Halloween zinger there) and could lead to some unanticipated punishments. Also, our LLM will use its superior analytical skills to pick better gifts than the ones you selected — enjoy the socks! Of course the laid-off elves aren’t too happy about that. And the energy demands of our new data centers have pretty much melted what remained of the polar ice cap. Christmas just keeps getting beta and beta!
How dare you drag a gentleman like Mister Santa into your sick teenage degenerate scene!