The night was cold; the stars glistened in the heavens. The brightly polished runners of the sleigh touched down, silently, on the snow-covered roof. Father Christmas heaved his bulk out of the sleigh and plodded across the roof to the chimney. A solid steel grate blocked the top.
' Bloody gas fires,' he muttered.
'I tell yer, no-one respects the elderly now-a-days how the hell am I going to fit through a friggin' grate!'
Muttering to himself he slouched across the roof, stopping occasionally stopping to stamp loudly on the tiles. He stopped for a second at the edge of the roof and took a deep breath. There was a splat ashe hit the snow.
Inside the house he put his huge sack on the floor and began unloading. He shoved them underneath the decorated tree stopping occasionally to stamp on the fragile-looking ones. After devouring the mince pie he went to leave before a glimpse of inspiration flickered across his squashy mind. Never before had a more evil thought ever been thought by the jolly man in red. The truth was, well, what was the point? No one believed in him now a days, the young kids were to busy trying to be as hard as possible. I mean you couldn't admit believing in Santa in front of your mates could you? No, and the teenagers upwards had stopped long ago. The little flicker of thought thumped him hard. No one would know would they? He smiled, his beady, piggy eyes twinkling.
On his way out he slowly and deliberately turned the switch on the living room fire to 'ON'.
Outside, after a long climb up the drainpipe he finally got back in his sleigh and took off. The reindeer rocketed off. He turned them around to pass over the roof. Over the chimney he clicked the dial on his cigarette lighter. The flame burst into life dancing on the lighter. He dropped it down the chimney. The explosion scorched his beard.
It was dawn. Lazily the sun rose in the sky casting a golden glow on the little village. In its small square the Vicar, Mayor, Postman and a few shopkeepers gathered around the centre. It was Easter Sunday. A few blackbirds flew over. They were waiting for the Easter Bunny. Every Easter morning he would come bearing a wicker basket of small Easter eggs that he would pass to the villagers, who, in turn would hide them around the village in the little gardens. This time he was late. The Church Clock showed 'five to six' he should of been here five minutes ago. This wasn't usual. They decided to wait for another five minutes.
Over the hill in the horizon a figure could be made out. It slumped down the narrow, windy path to the town. As he came into proper view the villagers realised it was, in fact, the Easter Bunny. In his paw he held, surely it wasn't, it was. He was holding a joint. And was taking big drags from it as he reached the village gates. He flicked the stub-end to the floor and stamped it out. He reached the villagers.
' Lovely morning!' ventured the Mayor.
'No it's not',
'Right, O.K. well, do you have the eggs?'
The Mayor looked around for assistance desperately. The other villagers shrugged, and smiled apologetically. He took a deep breath.
'Well, what are we going to do? The children expect their eggs, its tradition.'
' Look, the kids, you know the kids. Look what's wrong.' He asked getting more desperate by the minute.
' Do you really want to know?'
' Good, well I'll tell you what's wrong.'
The clock struck six.
'Well, first, I was out all b-Bing! (The first strike)-y night and then I was inviting to this club and I had a huge, strong, f-Bong! drink that almost blew my f- Bing !-ing head off and then I was sick all over this chick I had been chatting up all f- Bong! -ing night, and she was obviously not pleased, so you can shove these Easter eggs up you a- Bing! so I'll be off now and, ohh yeah, f-Bong off all of yers.'
He disappeared from view. The Mayor turned to his friends.
'He's never said that before!'