Well, along comes the news today that, in addition to many other shortages in the world, it turns out that there is also a shortage of Santa Clauses in Germany.
Now, I’m not asking that we send Dubya to another continent for employment, though the idea does have its merits. I’m merely suggesting that we send some of our more-qualified Santas abroad, assuming they have language skills (voluntarily, of course, offering a nice payday; oh, but that’s just a joke, kids – Santa doesn’t really get paid…silly me) and Dubya would move from one short-term contract job (the presidency of the United States) to another (Kris Kringle).
Why, I can picture the results as being something like this (complete with quotes from here)…
Dubya/Santa: “Ho, ho, ho, little girl. Hope yer’ ass on up here.”On second thought, maybe Dubya should stay where he is for now. This would probably be just another job he would screw up, and he's done enough damage already.
Girl: “Hi, Santa.”
D/S: “Now, let’s see here. What do you want for Christmas?”
Girl: “Um…I thought you knew already, Santa. Didn’t you get the letter I sent?”
D/S: "I wish you'd have given me this written question ahead of time so I could plan for it...I'm sure something will pop into my head here…with all the pressure of trying to come up with answer, but it hadn't yet...I don't want to sound like I have made no mistakes. I'm confident I have. I just haven't -- you just put me under the spot here, and maybe I'm not as quick on my feet as I should be in coming up with one."
Girl: “Daddy, something’s wrong with Santa. He’s acting like an idiot.”
D/S: “Ho, ho, ho and all like that. Whaddaya want?”
Boy: “I want Balls Of Fury for my Wii.”
D/S: “What the hell is that? Reminds me o’ the time I fell cycling in Scotland. Almost busted my nuts.”
Boy: “What are you talking about?”
D/S: “An’ why the hell is it always about what YOU want? How about what I want? If this were a dictatorship, it'd be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator.”
Girl: (whispering to her brother) “I think Santa has nodded off.”
Boy: (whispering also) “Yeah, judging from that half-empty bottle of Jim Beam, I’d say you’re right. Smells a bit too. Check his pockets for change.”
Girl: (looks in pockets, and D/S wakes up)…
D/S: “Hey, what the hell are you up to, little Bar’?”
Girl: (stepping back in surprise) “Uh, what did you call me?”
D/S: “N-N-nevermind” (holding head, bending over slightly). “Ho ho an’ all – you know the rest.”
Girl: Santa – Santa, are you listening to me?
D/S: "I promise you I will listen to what has been said here, even though I wasn't here."
Boy: “What a moron.”
Girl: “Sshh! Santa, you act like you’re sick.”
D/S: “So what?”
Girl: “How do you explain this?
D/S: (sitting up in a hurry) “I’m Santa -- see, I don't need to explain -- I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being Santa."
Boy: (rolls his eyes) “I’ll get security. I think Santa is flagged.”
Girl: “Santa, I think you’re too sick to hear my wishes for Christmas. Maybe you should withdraw.”
D/S: “"I will not withdraw, even if Laura and Barney are the only ones supporting me."
Girl: Um…OK, Santa, whatever you say (as boy returns with security guard).
Guard: OK, Santa, come with me. I know where you can get three “hots” and a cot (taking D/S by the arm).
D/S: (stumbling away) “There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee -- that says, fool me once, shame on --shame on you. Fool me -- you can't get fooled again."
(And by the way, it looks like Bollywood knows the profit-making potential of lampooning Dubya based on this.)