Mayans for Santa

Mayan Christmas

By Coleman Cox

Let me just start by saying, I’m very sorry that you’re all dead. It’s not that I had anything to do with it in particular, and I’m certainly not gloating, but just for the sake of preserving my reputation, allow me to express my condolences. I have to admit, I’m happy for the break. My shop is so busy this time of year, normally, so when I foresaw a pause in business, I felt like I needed to take the opportunity.

I don’t want my reputation to remain distorted and smeared when this surely barren Earth is once again populated by sentient beings. It’s so easy to judge without knowing the full story. So lets go back…




The year is 400,000,000 b.c. Thorgon has just pulled the Earth from its mold in the galactic volcano Argyr, and I, Syrgentr Kraaz, bastardized by your western tongue as “Santa Clause”, am tasked to protect the poor from the wretched.

We were so foolish then, as godly men typically are. While the gods toiled on all of the Earth’s perfections, and while I raised my humble shop, the dark king KyllylSktn formed and grew like a wretched seed from the last speck of evil, previously thought demolished by the third Omega razing.

While Thorgon set the Earth upon it’s pedestal, I was bound by blood to protect the top of the organic hierarchy, known by the moniker oomun. A balancer of forces good and evil I, alongside my counterpart Kirr Heir Krampus, inhabited the blood dome along the zenith of your Earth’s polar region.

For many millennia we toiled. I, making toys for all of the good girls and boys. Krampus, punishing the wicked with his sack of doorknobs. Little did we suspect that a small group of people residing in your South America had already charted our doom.

Hahaha. It’s funny, really. I had ignored that region of the Earth for a mere two millenia, and they devolved into barbaric practices like the hedonistic blood sacrifice. Such a terrible thing.


The fact became apparent. The world would end…


So, I swore revenge on the Mayans. That’s why they’ve vanished from the face of the Earth if you don’t know anything about ancient history or anthropology.

Ironic, isn’t it? I, a godly man trapped in a constantly renewing yet ultimately mortal body am forced to hide in a bunker while the gods who placed me in this position are allowed the most wicked pleasure of all. The decimation of mankind.

God damn it that would be one badass Santa Clause wouldn’t it? The truth is that I’m stuck one thousand feet below the Earth’s surface. Following one hell of a breaking and entering into my rich uncle’s mansion, I killed a few armed guards and locked myself in his self sustaining underground lair. I thought it would allow me to escape the Mayan apocalypse. The trick is, his basic cable package has allowed me to ascertain that the surface world is fine. However, it’s built like a time capsule. I’m locked down here for sixty nine years, which bothers me on two levels.

It’s real lonely down here.

A man can only masturbate so much to one Playboy magazine.

ONE. Can you believe it? Thousands of cans of Vienna sausages and rolls of toilet paper. One playboy magazine. There’s also a dvd player. Know what dvd’s I get to watch? He’s got two seasons of Seinfeld and they’re really badly scratched. Also, I’m not saying nothin for nothin but I could swear there’s some kind of cat deity in these vents. He left a lot of aerosol paint cans around here. Blue paint tastes like freedom.

Merry Holidays surface dwellers. Please come get me. I’ve got a problem.

And to all a good night. Merry Christmas everyone.

Written by: Coleman Cox

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s