So we just baked a bunch of cookies for Santa. And it occured to me that it’s not really fair. Sure he enjoys the cookies, but somehow as a result I’m the one who needs extra time on a treadmill. Santa’s a jerk.
Of course he is. You’re just finding this out now?
There’s a line in the poem, “Twas The Night Before Christmas,”
Of course that actually implies he isn’t a jerk but only similar to one
Well, if you’d quit EATING the cookies that are meant for Santa, you wouldn’t have to get on that dreadmill (yes, that’s intentional) now would you? Let him eat his own cookies!
Hey. Santa ate his own cookies. 'Course I did wake up with crumbs on my lips, but that’s probably just a coincidence. I just have a problem with him eating, and my gaining the weight.