it is the 3rd of april, Santa distinctly remembers that he is supposed to, well, remember something on this important day (well, the second most important day of april) and all that comes to his mind is “…”
Suddenly, Mrs. Claus comes into the room and asks a question that not only jogs Santa’s memory, but incites him to an anger that would shock those who only know him as a jolly old elf.
She quickly runs to the box on the wall marked “In Emergency Only”, opened it and pulled the lever, initiating a status of Defcon 5. The North Pole was in lockdown.
“Honey” purrs Mrs. Claus…“isn’t this the anniversary of that day, long ago, when Rudolph miscarried?”
Santa whirls on her, screaming, “It wasn’t a miscarriage! It was an ABORTION! AN ABORTION, DO YOU HEAR ME?!? Because he couldn’t bear the thought of bringing another of YOUR CHILDREN into the world!!!” Mrs. Claus, furious, cuffs him across the face to shut him up. She then grabs him by the wrists, restraining him.
The situation was now looking desperate. Only a code blue authorisation would relieve the lockdown and let anyone out of the North Pole. For code blue to be recognised by the Grotto computer system, Santa, Mrs Claus and Rudolph needed to enter their passwords and turn their keys simultaneously. But Rudolph was at the vets recovering from a nasty STI.
“I have Rudolph’s Key!” shouted a nattily-attired elf, reeking of sawdust and Drakkar Noir. “Sometimes, it’s good to develop relationships and be close to your co-workers.” As he came to a running stop, bowed at the waist in exhaustion, he held out the key in his tiny hand.
“Christ” muttered Santa, sneezing violently as the three keys turned. Had he seen that Elf before, with the oversized 70’s sunglasses, turban and badly trimmed mustache?
Man, this thing is falling apart at the seams due either to the slow page loads or to people replying before refreshing.
Also, who switched us from past to present tense? 
Meanwhile, the Elf wriggled down the chimney of a nearby house, in search of his lady love…
Who was in the arms of a goblin. The sight of a spotty green bum going up and down was the first thing to greet the Elf as he shimmied down the chimney. The Elf reached for the axe that always rested by the fireplace…
But I digress. Let me get back to the first person. My name is Al Gore. I wear a sombrero, and I was on my way to my friend Santa to warn him the Pole was about to melt.
And was startled to see the axe being held by the straw-strewn arms of a sinister scarecrow (left-handed, naturally), poised to deliver a goblin-cleaving chop!
“Stop!” said Alice, as she held something disturbingly organic on her hands, "I’ve found your …
…religion. It expressly prohibits violence, so put the axe down now or I’ll shoot you with this glock .45!"
The scarecrow opened the tear in his facial bandana and let out a dry, wheezy chuckle…“You cannot killlll meeee…I ammm onlyyyy strawwww… The goblinnn mussst dieee…the elf maiden is miiiiinnnne…”
“YOURS?!?!” bellowed an incredulous voice. “Yours?” The voice, rich with Bronx inflection, boomed up from the staircase, followed almost immediately by the elf maiden. “I ain’t been yours fa SIX FUCKIN’ MONTHS, ya dumb baaaastad! We broke up, remembah?!” Upon entering the room, the elf paused. “Who da hell are all these people?”
I cowered in the corner, deftly slipping my sack of doorknobs from my satchel. I swung it slowly, in anticipation of Fiorella LaGuardia’s descent down the staircase.
“And you thought I died in 1947, huh? Remind me to tell you about the Dead Guy Re-Elfifcation Program…after I kick your ass from here to 57th Street. Ain’t no friggin’ way a stuffed scarecrow and a loser with a sack of doorknobs are taking me down!”
Outraged at being ignored by Fiorella LeGuardia Alice opened fire with her Glock icing everyone in the room. Except the scarecrow who mentioned that he was immune to fire. “Oooopsie” said Alice as she tossed a lit match in the scarecrow’s direction before leaving the hut whistling merrily.