Bad Mall Santa Da-da. Sounds like a cross between a drunken R&B tune and a Grand Mal seizure. A bit o'both, Santa Da-da expects, but since Da-da's a few fries short of salvation, he's forced to go for laughs. (And ok, Da-da's been singing, "Bad Mall Santa Da-da" for a week, now. Sorry for the whammy.)
Anyway, just to prove to Da-da's mother-in-law that Da-da's not just any bum but an ENLIGHTENED BUM (in the American and British senses), this week Da-da's reporting live from the field, having reached a new
As of this writing, Santa Da-da's already been to, "Santa Kinetics re-Patterning" class, where he was taught how to put on and wear the costume, keep his hands in plain sight, move around like an enormous obese elf, insert a twinkle into his eye (ow), not make any sudden violent movements, laugh like he means it (that was tough), drink Blind Dog bourbon when no one's looking, be brand appropriate to various youth demographics, clandestinely record all shoppers and report nefarious behavior to Mall Security, clean and remove the Dupont Child Excretion Lap-Shield 3000, shake like a bowl full of.. well, you get the idea. And for whatever reason, the
Da-da's first Yuletime greed victim looked like a miniature Harry Potter, and was equally serious. A little too serious.
"I want Rhodesia," little Harry said.
"What?" Da-da inquired. "You want what?" Santa Da-da looked at the mom in attendance and she just shrugged.
"Rhodesia. I want it."
"Hmm, Rhodesia. Santa's pretty sure it's called, "Zimbabwe" now, which sounds better and is equally unstable..."
"I want it."
"And you shall have it, my little Idi Amin Da-da reincarnation! Merry Chris-Kwanza-ka!"
Da-da gave the tyke a sugar-free, low-residue, high protein kelp "kandy kane" and reached for the bourbon. It's gonna be a long holiday season here in the illusion.
|Ok, who lit Santa on fire again?|
[Read Bad Mall Santa Da-da, Part 2.]