Santa Claus woke up in a cold sweat from disturbing dreams in where he was visited by the spirits of Christmas past, present and future. Each vision warned him of the perils of continuing his path of gratuitous benevolence. At first, he thought it may have been the dessicant, a hygroscopic substance used as a drying agent, he accidentally swallowed while eating packaged seaweed.
The past pointed out how Santa had been enabling people to the point where they are no longer capable of providing for themselves. The present implied severe health risks, as well as destruction from global warming, placing future generations in monumental debt, and more 24-hour news outlets, if he did not stop. The future showed a world of complete annihilation where even the cockroaches and New York City rats do not survive.
Santa sat up, trying to place meaning to all of these menacing messages. His thought process was as plain as it was simple: this is why I hate all those damn spirits. They’re all the same with their constant persistent peck-peck-peck nagging, seeing only the faults. Fuck those spirits and to all who created them. They all need to go back to their shit holes and shut the fuck up. Those animals are worthless.
It can be duly noted that Santa Claus was a forthright ‘spiritist’. With this, he went back to bed and slept through Christmas disappointing millions of children, yet at the same time, fortifying their true self worth.