Part V

(An email sent on 26 December 2010)

“Man I’m tired”, said the traveller to the road.

“I don’t give a fuck,” replied the road.

To catch up any newcomers and those of you getting too old to remember: It has become my life mission to kill the most evil person who has ever lived. A man who hides in the shadows of myths and legends as well as the based on a true-ish (mostly ‘ish’) story called the Bible. A man who makes Hitler look like that stuff that’s used to make cotton candy. A man so devious that his crimes against humanity are listed as ‘quite good stuff’ and he’s known as a ‘pretty nice old guy’. Of course a brave few of us have seen through the bullshit. A brave few of us know who he is and what he’s done. And even fewer of us (aka me) has undertaken to rid the planet of the cretin once and for all.

Santa Claus Must Die.

Last year resulted in a pretty lame counter attack by Fats Claus. He had sent me a message. Whoooo. Scary. Did the big bad man wanna hurt my poor itty bitty feewings?

“That Bastard has gotten lazy”, I thought, “Even better, maybe he’s just losing interest in me”. But me, being of a suspicious nature, found his lack of perseverance a testament to Sun Tzu’s strategy of “Get Em While They Sleep (Or While They’re on the Shitter)”. But I would not become his Pearl Harbour out of complacency. I had already learnt that lesson.

And sure enough, 2010 rolled around, I woke up feeling a bit strange but otherwise completely unhurt. So I switched on my PC (you know, once Eskom had started the power again after fuelling one light bulb in Sandton for New Year’s Eve), and I found myself eliminated off the face of the world wide web. Social networks, bank accounts, emails were non-existent. Password reminders didn't know who I was. Firefox pretended to be IE 5. All of my Facebook friends may have noticed their number of friends decrease by one. A couple of you? One of you?? Bastards.

It took me:

•  Twelve minutes to figure out how Sandra Bullock must have felt in the award winning documentary, The Net.
• Another thirty seconds to look over my shoulder (both of them).
• And then two point five seconds later, my PC red screened (just like blue screening only much, much worse).

I don’t know a lot about hacking but it must have taken a lot of effort to make my PC burst into a spontaneous rendition of Silent Night before exploding. Only it wasn't quite Silent Night. It went something like this…

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, you will die (whoooooo)

Around your throat, I will put my hands

Squeeze it tight like Son of Sam (crotch grab)

Sleep in fear of me

Sleep in fear of me...

...I’m gonna get you (moonwalk)

This, suffice it to say, wasn't a good thing. And though it didn't say who it was from, I’d bet my last singed hair it wasn't from the tooth fairy. And even if it wasn't from Santa and if it was from Mikey J, I didn't want to meet up with that paedo-zombie either (from the cradle to the grave to the cradle?).

I immediately packed an overnight bag and went on the lamb. I figured I couldn't hide but I could sure as hell try running.

So it was early in the year that I found myself atop the Burj Dubai. It’s so tall that they say that you can’t see it from space. I figured it was a good place to watch for unidentified flying reindeer. Also I figured an Arab country would put in place more anti-aircraft missiles to protect their tall buildings than say, Mesopotamia.

But I didn't stay long because:

• Dubai is a nice place to visit but I couldn't afford the suntan lotion investment I was required to make to live there.
• You get pretty bored looking at sand after a while.
• The few people who knew I was there started calling me Quasimodo.
• I began attracting pigeons who, from the bird language I understand, were either going to make me king or some weird sort of sex slave (coo is very hard to interpret accurately).

So I buggered off. The pack of pigeons (you’d call them a pack too if you saw the look in their eyes...) did let me leave in relative peace (32 pecks and 72 inappropriate tickles (aka feather gropes)); but one took an obsessive liking to me. I tried to get rid of her, but it was like a fly to honey (insect style). I’m the honey in this analogy.

She stayed close to me. Cooed lovingly from just outside my window as I slept. Texted me inappropriate messages while I was in the shower.

In my effort to leave, I did a Batman rope thingy and caught a passing jetliner. That crazy bird managed to keep up and chase the 707 all the way to my next destination.

Destination unknown? If you could go anywhere, where would you go?

After all that heat and sand, being a man who hates change, I went to the most obvious place...

Iceland.

I got off the plane and I got this feeling. The snow. The ice. The cold shoulder I was getting. It was like...something my old guru, Shaun the Monster, once told me...

I was having déjà de – the feeling of not having been here before.

It might not be exactly what he said, but he was usually sitting cross legged eye-goring the passing herds of upset looking stallions. Have you ever seen a horse limp without a broken leg?

Guru Shaun’s Definitions of Déjà
Déjà vu vu – the feeling of having had déjà vu before. 

Déjà vuvuzela – the feeling of having been annoyed before. 

Déjà moo – the feeling of not being in the right stable.

I shook off the memories and upset the pigeon who had landed on my shoulder. She seemed to like the cold too. Being short on Facebook friends, I shrugged and took her in.

I named her Cat and a Quarter.

Now, not having a virtual identity, I couldn't come up with any virtual plans. But being so close to the North Pole (no Google maps to prove me wrong) I thought, hey, what if I just took out the whole North Pole. I was aiming for one man and missing. When you can’t find the needle in the haystack, burn the whole fucking farm and go buy another damn needle. This was a good plan.

Cat ¼ thought so coo.

After drawing some designs in the snow (and spelling my name), I reached my next devious and cunning plan.

The bomb hadn't worked. This time I’d use mother-fucking-nature.

Plan E11

- Find dormant nearby volcano.
- Chuck in (do some calculations =) ten thousand litres of coke.
- Chuckle best evil chuckle.
- Toss in one mentos.
- Run.

Man.

Maybe you heard about the results but as usual CIA reclassified it and CNN totally missed my 1000 square metre sign written in the snow with (um) lots and lots of orange juice – “Jingle This Claus”.

Strangely enough, my plan didn't work. I was flabbergasted. Apparently Iceland is a few thousand kilometres from the North Pole and not quite within range of my coke spout. Dammit, it didn't even take out Iceland. 

Oh fuck, I just realised I forgot to carry the 7 after multiplying by pi. Fuck. Poor maths saved Iceland.

It was weird, but for some time, I couldn't get a flight out of Iceland after that.

So, bored in Iceland, I started training C4 (Cat and a Quarter was way too formal at meal times (think about it – pass the salt Cat and a Quarter; have you washed your wings Cat and a quarter; no it is not oh my god, the best chicken ever, Cat and a Quarter)).

C4 was being trained to be a carrier pigeon. The stupid thing was still following me everywhere I went so you'd think it was more of a homing pigeon. But my definition of carrier was slightly different than the ones outlined in the International Council of Unified Pigeons (I.C.U.P).

By about April I had managed to get out of Iceland. Apparently it had been cloudy for a couple of months and all pilots had become afraid of smoke. Pilots. Go figure.

Anyway, it had occurred to me that maybe I should ask for advice. What with Ivan the NotSoBadOnceYouGetToKnowHim and Genghis “Spotty Dick” Khan not really being available due to being dead, and the Israelis and Palestinians still in the middle of arguing over whether Santa Claus was Jesus or not, I went off to India. (I had aimed for Japan with the aims of becoming a Ninja...but that just felt like too much work).

So overcoming many hardships, I decided to climb the Himalayas in the search of a wise Guru. Arriving at the bottom of Everest, it wasn't the slightly big hill I had thought it to be (Sir Edmund Hilary had a tendency to exaggerate (his quote of ‘My God Norgay, you wouldn't believe it, but the hooker gave the money back!’ didn't quite make the history books)).

C4 thought so too, who had by now, set up roost in my hair and had quit flying so was of no use to me as a scout.

Actual Conversation Between Myself and C4 in Iceland

Coo! 

What do you mean you’re afraid of heights???

Coo!!...Coo....COO!!!

Man, you’re a stupid fucking bird!

Coo... 

Well, I guess you’re right...cats can't fly. 

<awkward silence> 

Coo? 

I already told you no! It’s biologically impossible. Love WILL NOT FIND A WAY FOR THAT.

A lot was discussed in Iceland.

Anyway, finding a smaller hill, I came across a guru. He said he was a shepherd but it was an obvious test. Why would a shepherd be atop a small hill surrounded by horses (as was always the case with my old guru, Shaun the Monster)?

Guru Shaun’s Ponderous Ponderings # 32 

What’s the difference between a horse limp and a limp horse? Think about it my son...

The guru’s name was Ramindeepa N Sukharda. He was definitely a guru because he kept telling me to fuck off and leave him alone. Gurus don’t just give away knowledge you know. You have to prove that you are worthy of the knowledge.

Guru Shaun’s Ponderous Ponderings # 14 

Neigh means neigh, my son. Horses don’t have a word for no.

Anyway, to prove my worthiness, I left. Nothing like proving you don’t need something to justify you getting it.

I went back home. On the principle that it would be the last place that Santa would look for me. Also, I had tickets to the soccer world cup.

I realised that this was dangerous. Easy enough for the Claws to blow up a stadium and blame it on the terrorists. But he had a far more evil plan. He invented the vuvuzela.

Now, I know what you’re saying. The zuvuzela has been around for years. Well so has Santa. It’s kind of like pay it forward, where you start an evil snowball at the top of hill and you get a mudslide in Mexico 50 years later. You definitely don’t want to know what happens if a butterfly faps its wings (insect style).

Anyway his plan was brilliant, the world cup was plagued by the incessant noise of the bubuzela. I didn't really see a problem with it. But it distracted England quite a bit. Too many of their players kept thinking about sticking something into their mouths and blowing instead of kicking around a ball. Luis Suarez was also stoned to death because when I asked who thought Santa was evil, he was the only one who raised his hand.

Also I think Santa realised that 60000 people in an internationally televised stadium was an ideal soapbox for me and my conspiracy theories. I did manage to convince Sepp Blatter that I should be given two minutes to air grievances before the final, but then some guy tried to steal the world cup and I was accused of being a decoy. I started complaining, but then Julius Malemazela started saying something about hammers and nails and everyone went off to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

Disappointed, I flew off to Germany. I went to see a talking octopus who apparently saw the future. Alone, in a dark aquarium, I asked the squishy floating thing how to kill Santa. He gave me eight middle fingers. Obviously an evil minion of Santa, I ate him. Evil sushi has a distinctly lemony flavour.

I cut a brownish packet to have eight legs and drew on two eyes with permanent marker and smiley face and threw that into the aquarium. No one noticed the difference. Everyone knew Spain was going to win anyway.

The world cup fanfare was over. I still had no plans with half the year (and like 5 pages) mostly wasted.

I took inspiration from the World Cup. What I needed was a team. A super team. I already had C4 as a Zakumi (FIFA had turned down my suggestion to name him MasCat).

Unfortunately the only people who really believed me and knew of the evils of Herr Klaus had decided to pretend to be miners and hide in a hole in Chile. This, I’ll admit, was a good idea. It took Santa’s minions ages to get them out. I hope they’re ok.

Then, of course, as you know, I send out my Santa Claus Must Die (anti) parables, to as many people as I can. This is my way of trying to spread the word. But my bravery only extends as far as my mailing list. 

Luckily my mailing list does have a few (one) person braver than I and my (suggested) friend Julian decided to leak the story on the Internet. He started off first with less important stories to create a following so as to expose the story to as large an audience as possible. Unfortunately Santa headed him off at the pass and I think it’s lucky that he is still alive (for the moment). I’m sorry Julian, but you knew the risks going in.

So I still didn't have a team. I remembered a bumper sticker saying there was no I in team. But I realised that there was no I in superman either and that didn't stop him. There was no Santa in Evil either and I concluded that basing our lives on words within words was stupid. So I decided that I needed one last cunning plan. Well at least one more plan.

I went back to Shaun the Monster who was hiding from the SPCA for some reason.

Open Book With Guru Shaun the Monster 

Me: Guru Shaun, I need help. 

GSTM: Seek an answer, you must. 

Me: Yes, that’s why I’m here.
GSTM: To the right place, you have come. 

Me: Yes, that’s right...um...are you trying to be Yoda? 

GSTM: Silly questions, you must not ask. 

Me: Um. 

GSTM: No, she will say. 

Me: Wait? What? Who? 

GSTM: Use the force, you must. 

Me: Um...I’m just trying to kill Santa. 

GSTM: Your daddy, I am. 

Me: That’s Darth Vader’s line. 

GSTM: My name, you must say. 

Me: You obviously can’t help me. Dammit. 

GSTM: One there is, who can help you. 

Me: What? Seriously? Who? 

GSTM: Is name his… 

Me: (What the fuck???) Yes? 

GSTM: His name is... 

Me: If you say Voldemort or He Who Must Not Be Named, I’m going to kick you in your marigolds. 

GSTM: Crocodile Hasen.

Have you ever felt the entire earth shiver?

But the search for the CrocH would have to wait. Because the end of the year was drawing near and it was a time that Santa would be at his most vulnerable. What with his diabolical scheme being at a yearlong high, having to keep those lists of the kids and having to keep those prostitutes praying.

Did You Know 

St Nick is the patron saint of prostitutes.

Seriously? Seriously. Really?? Really, really.

So, I took the last few months to come up with a devious plan. I invented a machine that took my DNA and some of the DNA I had stored from one of the elves when I had infiltrated their workshop a couple years ago and used some outrageous science that millions of people will just accept without questioning and made a biological elf that I then air dropped into the North Pole. I then used more amazing technology I don’t need to explain and went to sleep and woke up in the body of the elf. But I hadn't gotten the batter quite right and it had ended up blue. Oh well, worse things have made more money.

This was perfect. There was no risk to myself, being ten thousand miles away with C4 manning the controls by sitting on my lap (um – I just realised this may not have been a good idea).

Now all I needed to do was meet a sexy native, become one of the people, and stop the invaders from killing all the locals for their land, (sorry, wrong story – that’s Pocahontas isn't it? I wouldn’t plagiarise a story that blatantly).

So controlling my mini elf and feeling like a smurf, I found myself on familiar territory. I immediately went to Mama C’s Bar and had three straight Blitzens. Feeling more like an elf, I rushed off to the workshop where I decided to steal the reindeer. An elf who apparently was a girl pitched up and said that I had to choose a reindeer but it also had to choose me. She then started going on about the spirit of the forest and how it was all one big cycle of life. Annoyed, I threw her down a well. The world had enough tree hugging liberals and I don’t think they shower very often... because using water is a crime against mother earth. Idiots.

Anyway, I found myself in the stables and walking into the dark, crap smelling structure, I had a feeling I was being watched. I began to feel nervous. Santa was obviously into S&M and even more terrifyingly, S&P – sello tape and plastic. I had heard about these fetishes from a colleague of mine. Apparently the next step was bubble wrap.

The problem, I realised, was the silence. It was too quiet. If you’re going to have faith in anything, have faith in clichés. A cliché is like a tradition without a god.

Darkness.

Silence.

And then ahead...a red glow.

Rudolph, obviously.

I approached with caution.

But no, it wasn't. 
It was a top. 
Spinning without stopping. 
So fast that it was glowing red in the ground.

What the fuck?

And then I heard the laughter.

The Ho Ho Ho.

No.

It was echoing. But it seemed to be echoing inside my head.

The world began spinning.

Wait, I was just an elf.

I realised what was happening.

I was in a movie reference within a movie reference (double movie reference - whoa…it is so beautiful).

I needed to wake up and wake up fast or I would be stuck here forever. In the North Pole. In Limbo.

And then the voice.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I needed to kill myself. But was this real? Was I still an elf. Oh right I was. All I had to do was fall asleep. To wake up. Yes, that makes sense.

I thought about Babel and fell asleep immediately.

*

I woke up.

I was in the Cat Cave.

What just happened???

I am so confused.

It’s the 26^th. 2010.

I’m writing all this down to try and make sense of it. Did the last year happen? Was I in some state of suspended animation? Am I even awake?? Did I seriously just miss Xmas? I guess that in a Christopher Nolan sort of way, it makes sense. A bit too neat though. Because it felt so real. Like I was living it in HD3D (patent pending).

I logged onto my PC. All my accounts were fine. So ok, it was an insane year. That happened in my head?

I created a Facebook account and deleted it just to be sure.

While doing that I caught a passing viral thread that a video had had 10 million views in one day. Probably some cat sneezing jingle bells. I opened it. It was a video of a bird. A pigeon. It was hilarious. The bird was afraid of flying and pretending to be a cat. It was being made to walk the plank by some unseen hand into the open jaws of a panther. Man, it was funny.

Coo!!!!! Coo coooooooo!

Hang on, I recognise that coo. Apparently I can understand pigeon?

“Tell him...I love...him?”

C4?

IfYouCanReadThisNameTagYou'reAlreadyDead????

Cooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo <Splat>

Nom nom nom.

Ho ho hoooo.

That bastard.

Here we go again...

Kamal

PS: that super team I dreamt up was a good idea. If you wanna help out in my crusade, send CVs to me.

PPS: To those of you still having the faith, happy xmas, and to the rest of you pagans, make the new year better than this one.

PPPS: double PS…whoa…what does it mean???