The Christmas Story – Part 1

All was not well at the Heaven Complex, North Pole. Last Christmas was God’s last hurrah; it was time to hang up his big red coat and, maybe, trim the beard. For months the Elves wondered who would take over the family business, but try as they might, no one was able to both fill his boots and fly the Sleigh at the same time.

Christmas drew ever closer, but still there was no one to deliver the presents. But little did the Elves know that God had planned for this very eventuality many years previously. In his early 30s God had frozen a sample of his sperm at the High Security North Pole Sperm Bank. Later, as retirement drew closer, he employed the services of a surrogate whom he know only by the name “Mary”. Nine months later, Jesus Nicholas Christ was born in The Manger, a pub in Suffolk, England.

God was waiting for Jesus at the North Pole International Airport, where they would catch a Dog back to the Heaven Complex. Jesus had been studying abroad, and was looking forward to showing his dad his excellent woodwork skills. North Pole Flight-1 was delayed due to what the Information Assistant described as an ‘act of God’, which God was none to pleased about, as he hadn’t ordered any plagues for years, but he let it slide as it was Christmas after all. God sat, bored, in the arrivals lounge waiting for Jesus to arrive, entertaining himself by creating tiny universes in the little circular drilled holes in the chairs. Three hours later, Jesus finally arrived.

“Jesus!” God cried, opening his arms to receive him.

“God-all-mighty!” Jesus replied, pointing both fingers like the Fonz.

“It’s so good to see you, Jesus” said God, hugging him tightly.

“It’s good to see you too, dad.” Jesus replied, “but ‘Jesus’ is so passé, my friends call me St. Nick, or just Nick.”

 

Back at the Heaven Complex, God was showing Nick around the Elves’ workshop, when suddenly the Foreman came storming out of the office and started to hurrumph his way towards them.

“Oh great” God said under his breath, “I regretted hiring this guy from day one.”

“He can’t be that bad” said Nick, “look at the size of him, if he waddles any quicker he’ll set his Long Johns on fire.”

“Yeah, that’s happened a couple of times” said God. “Hello, Ebenezer, what is it this time?”

“Don’t patronise me” said the Foreman “I do more work than all of you! And what do I get? Nuffin’!”

“You get quite a lot” God interrupts, “but you spend it all on Hookers and Blackjack. Now what’s the problem?”

“It’s the bloody Inspectors again. All three of them are on there way right now. Bloody Wise Men” moaned Ebenezer.

“Three wise men?” Nick asked, “I met them in Birminghem, great bunch of lads, always bring me gifts. There was this one time, right, Jim bought me a voucher for a massage, only when I turned up it turned out to be a Thai . . . err. . .”

“. . .right” said God, worriedly, “yes, well, not those three wise men, it’s the three ghosts of Christmas; Past, Present and Future, you know. Anyway, it’s not a big deal, Ebenezer, they come every year, and we always pass.”

“Yeah, but this year we don’t have anyone to deliver the presents, so we’re not gunna pass. If we don’t pass we don’t get our rebate, or any VAT back, and if they start lookin’ at the books they’ll find our offshore accounts” warned Ebenezer.

“It’s a good job I’m not an inspector” said Nick.

“True-dat” God said.

Ebenezer glared at Nick with an investigative eye, “yeah, who are you?” he growled.

“This, Ebenezer, is my Son, Jesus.” God declared proudly.

“but you can call me Nick, everyone does” Nick said.

“He is here to take over the family business” gleams God.

“Him?” Ebenezer asked sarcastically.

“What of it?” asked God.

“Well look at him, there’s nuffin’ of him! He’s never gunna get round the whole world in one night!” Ebenezer jeered “and I doubt he’ll even get through Bootcamp!” And with that, Ebenezer sulked off back to the office from whence he came.

“I never should have hired him” God sighed.

“What’s this about Bootcamp, dad?” asked Nick, changing the subject.

“Well, if you’re going to be Santa, you’re going to need the right Boots.” said God “lets go and see the Quartermaster.”

 

To be continued. . .

 

Headline Image Credit: Alan Cleaver

Author: Dan

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