(no subject)
Mr. Claus sat at his desk, milling over his usual stacks of papers and forms as he always does this time of year. The desk was gigantic, a gift from the Winter Warlock who lived in the Winter Mountains. Made of a mysterious wood, it was twisted and curled and polisehd to a sheen, with magical comparments that would spring open when need be, or flip up, or slide down, or do whatever they may need to do.
One of the doors of his chamber crept slowly open, and a robot with a jaunty santa hat perched crookedly upon its head entered. It quietly rolled upon its single wheel up to and around the desk, where it approached the usually-jovial Christmas time icon. It stood still for a moment, and the only sound was the scribbling of Mr. Claus' feather pen on parchment. Quickly removing it's holiday hat, as if it had suddenly realized it was not appropriate, the metal messenger cleared it's vocal tube and announced the reason of it's presence.
"Sir, you have a guest."
Steam ejected from the nostrils of the great man, and his cheeks turned cherry red. He looked up from his work, and shot such a furious glance at the robot that it fell over.
"I-I'm sorry Sir!" it said, standing upright again, "I know you are busy, Sir, but the man said it was very important, and, if I may so so myself, Sir, he certainly convinced me so! Sir!" stammered the 'bot.
"By Jingle, this had better be important," he grumbled, standing and removing his glasses. With a stroke, he smoothed out his beard, and then pressed a knob on the desk, which opened the two grand double doors through which the robot had come.
God entered the room.
He had a beard not unlike Mr. Claus', though it was much longer, and scraggily, as though he never shampooed it. Shimmering silk sheets robed him up, and he wore sandals, sunglasses, and held an umbrella in his right hand.
"Holy Moses and a burnin' bush it's cold out there!" proclaimed the holy figure, his teeth chattering and icicles hanging on his eyebrows. He towered in the room, a good 10 feet tall or more, and patted his sides to warm himself up, which shook snow off of him and lightly dusted the floor.
"Jehova, you old codger!" smiled Santa, eyes twinkling as he approached the being, "What brings you to these parts?"
Bending over to engage in a hearty hand-shake, God replied with a clever punchline. The two fellows had a good laugh.
***
After a few mugs of straight eggnog, the duo of bearded friends talked business, politics, and the state of the world while settled into big plush red chairs in front of a cackling fireplace. God lost his temper more than a few times, and luckily Santa owned a stuffed Abominable Snowman He was able to take his rage out on.
"It all comes down to this, my good friend," announced God, one eye more closed than the other, "I am retiring, and I need someone to take over my duties."
Santa's gaze drifted, and then focused on nothing, as he took in what He had just said.
"AND I DO BELIVE," burped God, waggling his finger in the air, "That YOU are the prime canadite to take over my position."
Unable to speak, Santa looked up at Him, only to find that His arm, hand, and finger were not pointed at the kringlest of kris', but in another direction. His head slowly turned, and found the finger poined at the server robot. God burst into a fit of hissing laughter, and Santa fell down, eyes crossed and a sweat drop on his brow.
One of the doors of his chamber crept slowly open, and a robot with a jaunty santa hat perched crookedly upon its head entered. It quietly rolled upon its single wheel up to and around the desk, where it approached the usually-jovial Christmas time icon. It stood still for a moment, and the only sound was the scribbling of Mr. Claus' feather pen on parchment. Quickly removing it's holiday hat, as if it had suddenly realized it was not appropriate, the metal messenger cleared it's vocal tube and announced the reason of it's presence.
"Sir, you have a guest."
Steam ejected from the nostrils of the great man, and his cheeks turned cherry red. He looked up from his work, and shot such a furious glance at the robot that it fell over.
"I-I'm sorry Sir!" it said, standing upright again, "I know you are busy, Sir, but the man said it was very important, and, if I may so so myself, Sir, he certainly convinced me so! Sir!" stammered the 'bot.
"By Jingle, this had better be important," he grumbled, standing and removing his glasses. With a stroke, he smoothed out his beard, and then pressed a knob on the desk, which opened the two grand double doors through which the robot had come.
God entered the room.
He had a beard not unlike Mr. Claus', though it was much longer, and scraggily, as though he never shampooed it. Shimmering silk sheets robed him up, and he wore sandals, sunglasses, and held an umbrella in his right hand.
"Holy Moses and a burnin' bush it's cold out there!" proclaimed the holy figure, his teeth chattering and icicles hanging on his eyebrows. He towered in the room, a good 10 feet tall or more, and patted his sides to warm himself up, which shook snow off of him and lightly dusted the floor.
"Jehova, you old codger!" smiled Santa, eyes twinkling as he approached the being, "What brings you to these parts?"
Bending over to engage in a hearty hand-shake, God replied with a clever punchline. The two fellows had a good laugh.
***
After a few mugs of straight eggnog, the duo of bearded friends talked business, politics, and the state of the world while settled into big plush red chairs in front of a cackling fireplace. God lost his temper more than a few times, and luckily Santa owned a stuffed Abominable Snowman He was able to take his rage out on.
"It all comes down to this, my good friend," announced God, one eye more closed than the other, "I am retiring, and I need someone to take over my duties."
Santa's gaze drifted, and then focused on nothing, as he took in what He had just said.
"AND I DO BELIVE," burped God, waggling his finger in the air, "That YOU are the prime canadite to take over my position."
Unable to speak, Santa looked up at Him, only to find that His arm, hand, and finger were not pointed at the kringlest of kris', but in another direction. His head slowly turned, and found the finger poined at the server robot. God burst into a fit of hissing laughter, and Santa fell down, eyes crossed and a sweat drop on his brow.