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“So…what do you want, kiddo?” It’s impressive that it’s his real, actual beard. Moustache and all. Most Mall Santas, they have to get a fake one. But no, no, no. His hair’s really that white. He’s truly that fat. He really let himself go. Perhaps he should get himself a present. A Stairmaster, maybe. “I’m not a kid. I’m Jessie. I’d like a bow and arrow like that really cool girl from the Hunger Games movies!” “What do YOU want, my boy?” “I’d like…the new Mortal Kombat. Yeah, with…” “A shaving kit?” “What?” “You’re old.” “Am NOT…” “Santa? Santa, are you asleep? Cuz your coffee smells like “adult lemonade”…” One of the kids asks. Indeed, poor Santa’s coffee accidentally had the opposite effect. He’s conked out, and he’s not hearing her. He’s hearing…yelling. Screaming. Oh my God, they’re EVERYWHERE, they’re EVERYWHERE, they’re- “AH! Al’s got us surrounded! EVAC! EVAC NOW!” THWUMPH. The poor girl flopped off him and onto the ground as her mom helped pick the gal up. “What is