“Why it’s cocoa?” Santa inquires. “Why didn’t you paint it green?”
“It isn’t painted,” the child says. “That is blood from when I cut my hand while I was making it for you.”
Santa is a discouraged, alcoholic safecracker. The child is not one of your charming motion picture kids, but rather an exceptional and poor stalker; consider Thomas the Tank Engine as an individual from the Addams Family. Gracious, and there’s a mythical being, as well, named Marcus. The mythical being is a furious diminutive person who has been working with Santa for a long time, splitting the safe in an alternate retail chain each Christmas. The mythical being is nourished up. Santa lands intoxicated on the position, he’s boinking clients in the Plus Sizes changing area, and whether the kids hurl on Santa or he hurls on them is a hurl up, no play on words proposed.