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The Story of the Anti-Claus
Not far away, and not long ago, there lived a strange man who detested the snow. Yuletide festivities left him quite cold despite the fact that he wasn't that old.
Nor was he callous, or evil, or mad. Just a little bit grim, and a little bit sad. Why so depressed, in this joyous season? What caused this sadness? What was the reason?
This is what happened, as legend does tell: the story of Anti-Claus in a nutshell…
He was a young lad full of promise and hope; not one to cry, or to scream, or to mope. And when the cold came (as it did every year) he tried to work up some good Christmas cheer.
For he knew from the tales other children would tell that this was the season known as ‘Noel’. And if you were good, and if you weren’t fake some creepy old guy would give you some cake.
You could say what to bring – a car or some blocks – and he’d creep down your chimney and put them in socks. Then while you slept, all warm in your bed, he’d park on your roof (with some deer and a sled!)
And when your eyes opened, what would you see? All of your loot stashed under some tree that was gilded and lit with bright Christmas lights and strewn with tinsel – Oh, what a sight!
He thought it was rubbish, some great big lie; and the kids were all brainwashed by some stalkery guy. But he wouldn’t quite gamble, he didn’t quite dare, say this aloud and risk missing his share.
So each year he ventured, (out into the cold) to see old Saint Nick, of whom he’d been told. A weird older man, all jolly and fat, with white fur-trimmed clothes and an odd pointy hat.
“I think he’s a perv,” his friend used to say. “You must sit on his lap, for that’s how you pay!” “You give him a thrill, and he’ll give you some toys, though he ‘says’ that they’re only for good girls and boys.”
He’d visit the elf who dressed all in red to give him his list – three times proofread. He’d get on his lap, and wiggle and squirm, pretending to be a giant earthworm.
He did all he could to give Santa pleasure, but up to elf standards he couldn’t measure. So his trips never went as he hoped they would go. He never got promised a train or yo-yo.
Because every year, Santa would say, “You're not really bad… you've just gone astray." "A little disturbing, never quite nice, so maybe NO GIFTS will make you think twice."
“You’re a grim little child, no mirth and no joy I suggest that you find something fun to enjoy. And though most of the time I don’t like to complain, All your damn squirming is causing me pain!
So each year he’d leave, disheartened and down, walking towards home at the far end of town. He’d mutter all through the long dreary walk, “What’s going on with that jolly old schmuck?”
“I hate him, despise him. I loathe him you see! What right does he have to sit and judge me?” “I’ll be what I want; respectful or crass! And he can just kiss the seat of my pants!”
Each year was the same, and the older he got, The less he was worried ‘bout old Saint Nick’s rot. And finally he found, he didn't quite care. He was a practical guy (and that was quite rare!)
He'd work for his wealth, as everyone should. He'd buy what he liked, as anyone could! So he worked and he toiled, and he got far ahead And he really enjoyed the life that he led.
With his target in sight, he just wouldn’t stop, climbing on others to get to the top. He did really well, both here and abroad, quickly finding he had much more money than God.
Soon he was known, by the great and the small, as the mightiest entrepreneur of them all. The number one guy, the best of the best respected, adored, and, yes, feared by the rest
An empire he had, a great sprawling mass, of men and machines at the top of their class. But he found something lacking, just after a bit; nothing was wrong, but things just didn’t fit!
He pondered and thought, and then pondered some more, for the feeling was just much too strong to ignore. But he couldn’t quite tell, try as he might, what he needed to do to make everything right.
And then, quite by chance, on a cold winter’s day, he met a young lad all alone in the grey. Looking forlorn, staring down at the ground, trudging in silence, not looking around.
As the boy plodded by, the older man said, “What’s made you blue, my miserable friend?” The youngster looked up, a tear in his eye, “I don’t talk to strangers, you damned weirdo guy.”
“I understand,” said the man with a frown, “I was just wondering what had gotten you down.” “But since you’re so rude, and prefer not to say, I’ll leave you alone and be on my way.”
“Oh crap,” said the tot, “not another black mark! Just what I need from an off-hand remark.” “Don’t get irate, don’t go psycho,” “I’ll tell you what’s what; if you still want to know!”
The boy looked at the man with imploring eyes. The man stared right back with his solemnest guise then nodded his head for the boy to go on, so the boy took a breath and started his yarn.
“I’ve been to see Santa,” the young lad did sigh. He was acting quite brave (but seemed ready to cry). “Though I tried to be good, and tried not to sneer, the big jerk still said, ‘No toys, then, this year!’”
“And so once again there’s no seasonal haul! Not even some coal! No! Nothing at all!” And that, so it seemed, was all he would say. Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he went on his way.
The gent, he just stood there, lost in deep thought, Recalling a time when he also got naught. And then an idea, so simple and right, crept into his brain and lit up like a light.
The light grew and grew, it got brighter than bright The thought that he’d thought, well, it just seemed so right! It fixed everything and made it first-rate From his shoulder it lifted an incredible weight!
A small gleeful grin crept over his face. “I’ll put that ass Santa right in his place!” “There’s lots of these people, all over the town, on whom Santa put the Yuletide smack-down!”
“Those poor sorry slobs, with nothing to show, They’re not even bad, they’re just Average Joes!” “Not mean, and not evil, nor wicked or rude, There’s really no reason for them to get screwed!”
“I can help out!” he thought to himself. “I’ll buy them some gifts, right off the shelf!” The more that he thought, the wider the smile, until it seemed that it stretched for a mile.
He muttered and squeaked and gnashed all his teeth; strange ideas encircled his head like a wreath. “But not toys and not junk, and not any old fluff, I’ll give them all practical, useable stuff!
“Underwear! Socks! Warm mittens and gloves! Sensible things that everyone loves!” “New clothes and new shoes! A scarf and a hat! Let that obese elf even try to beat that!”
“And I’ll only reward those that St. Nick passed by! The average woman! The typical guy! ” He started to plot as he let his mind roam, ’Till the sun lost itself in the deepening gloam.
‘It’ll be great! It’ll be fun! I’ll do more for them than anyone’s done!’ He ran home straight away, and he started to plot, And he thought and he thought and he thought, thought, Thought, THOUGHT!
“I’ll need a good costume, a snazzy wardrobe, so people will know me all over the globe!” “Not like that fat-boy’s; something quite nice. Something quite tailored so chicks will look twice.”
“Something in black, with a trimming of grey, so people know that I’m not here to play.” “A suit I will wear, and maybe a tie; but I still like his hat. I don’t really know why…”
“And I’ll need a name, something classy and chic, so people will know that I’m not that fat geek!” "That I'm totally contrary, firmly opposed to those goody-good tenets that Fat Boy proposed!"
The smile faded a bit and he tapped on his chin, “A really good name, like that sorry has-been…” “But that sets me apart from his jolly, fat self… “No, I don’t want people to think I’m an elf!”
“But it can’t be that different, that far away, or people won’t get what I’m trying to say!” He muttered and paced, then muttered some more; It seemed he would wear a groove in the floor!
Then he stopped in his tracks, and the smile grew anew. “It’s so amazingly obvious what I must do!” “Totally different, opposed to his cause… I KNOW WHO I’LL BE – THE ANTI-CLAUS!”
“That’s what I’ll do! That’s who I’ll be! The great anti-Kringle for everyone to see!” “It’ll be great! It’ll be wild! People will be all completely beguiled!”
“But now on to HOW to make this thing work. But I have the resources,” he thought with a smirk. So he called R&D, and got them to start figuring out the really hard part.
Then he called on a friend with a shadier past, to find the right way to open locks fast. He called on his tailor to make up the suit; he had a van made to haul all the loot.
He hired three guys to help with the plan. They had funny names: Fubsy, Lunkwill and Stan. And also he hired a hacker named Fraught, to download the list of those who got squat.
“Why duplicate effort, why waste extra time? When dear old St. Nick has it listed online?” “Just hack his mainframe, his great database, And soon you will know all of those in disgrace!”
“Before he can wink, or his head give a twist, I’ll have a new copy of his mighty list!” “How easy to get this thing up and running! The idea’s so simple, so easy, so cunning!”
“And before he can say, ‘To all a good night,’ I’ll be giving my gifts to those less polite!” “And the stuff that they get will be better by far! Not some junk toy, or a candy cigar!”
“No ‘Made in Taiwan’, on that you can bet, The best ‘Made in China’ is what they will get!” “They’ll all dance with joy! So happy they’ll be! They’ll all love my gifts! Just you wait and see!”
So he made all his plans, got his ducks in a row, And got everything set and ready to go. And then while the fat-boy was making his round, The Anti-Claus also was out on the town.
Delivering gifts in his black unmarked van, Along with his cohorts Fubsy, Lunkwill and Stan. Each little package and each little bag was quite clearly marked with a tiny black tag.
That plainly told all who the gift giver was, that the present had come from the Anti-Claus! They worked all night long, leaving gifts here and there, working with competence beyond all compare.
They all were quite weary, all very tired. But they all felt great too because they’d been inspired! By the time that dawn broke the gifts were all gone Delivered by sweat, and by strain, and by brawn.
So then they all waited for the folks to awake, to look under the tree and find all their take. And slowly they did, one after another, The first to arise started waking the others.
And what jubilation did the Anti-Clause hear? Loud happy laughter or a great roaring cheer? NO, all he heard were sounds of dismay! Whining about all the socks and berets!
“Practical things?” they all cried as one, “Stockings and hats? But those are no fun!” Where are the yo-yos, the candy canes? Where are the dolls and the bikes and the trains?
“Where are the toys? Where is the candy? Where are the things that make this day dandy?” “Who wants new clothes? Who wants new shoes? Who wants a cleaner that set stains removes?”
“There’s not even that much! Just a wee little stash! We want some more! A huge honking cache!” We hate to complain and don’t like to sob, But this Santi-Claus just ain’t doin’ his job!”
The children all cried! The adults, they all swore! They didn’t like gifts that were straight from a store! They liked the cheap gifts! Those shoddy old toys! They liked being thought of as good girls and boys!
He couldn’t believe it! They had some gall! They didn’t like practical gifts – not at all! Plus they all thought he and the Claus were the same, despite his signing each gift with his name!
Then something happened, a hideous thing! Something inside him started to ping! From deep in his chest came a great groaning sound! It rattled the windows! It shook up the ground!
“And what,” you may ask, “caused all the racket?” “Was there a bomb left inside of his jacket?” Everyone has an idea or two; but no one quite knows what’s really true.
Some say his tummy ruptured that day from way too much acid caused by dismay. Others believe his brain turned to muck ran down his neck and somewhere got stuck.
Some believe that a buildup of bodily gas, ruptured his spleen when he allowed it to pass; or maybe his jaw clenched down way too tight breaking his teeth on that fateful night.
The theories are many, as you can tell but the best answer comes from those he knew well. And most of the people with whom he was close tend to believe the following answer the most:
They think that the groans and the cries and the jeers, caused a great meltdown as they reached his ears. This meltdown was started deep down inside Where kindness and giving are thought to abide.
See, his heart, well, it shriveled up like a prune and turned cold like a rock from the far distant moon. The horrible sound of that loud thankless drivel. Is what caused his heart to dry up and to shrivel.
And that childish meanness sealed his fate by turning his joy into dead weight. And the kindness he felt was left by the way And munificence also died on that day
With a snarl and a sneer the Anti-Clause said, “If THAT’S what they want, I wish they were dead!” “These ungrateful louts! The rudest of rude! I worked my ass off so they wouldn’t be screwed!”
“And what thanks do I get? A cheer and some kisses? Hell no! All I get are some boos and some hisses!” He ranted and raved and he snarled and growled; He yelled and he swore and he gibbered and scowled.
He raged on and on while everyone hid, but finally it ended (these things always did). He paced and he stomped all ‘round the room But then a small miracle started to bloom.
A brand NEW idea curled his lips, and put fire in his eyes as he let out a ‘Yip!’. And the smile that he smiled was so totally mad that everyone knew this idea was quite BAD.
“Rather that give up, rather that quit, I’ll just change the purpose! The better to fit!” Since they’re ungrateful and so very mean, I’ll use this occasion to vent my own spleen!
I’ll remind them they’re bad! I’ll remind them they’re crass! I’ll bring up the sad things in their sordid past! I’ll remind them that everyone, once in a while, has a bad mood or acts a bit vile!
Each year I’ll come with my practical gifts, And make sure the naughties all get my drift! So, when you see socks or a big stripey hat, It wasn’t dear Santa who chose to leave that.
It was his Arch Rival the Anti-Claus fiend, And you got it because you’ve been a bit mean. And Santa decided to pass you right by, a sentence the Anti-Claus wished to defy.
You’ll get a nice gift (as everyone should), but it comes with a message that isn’t so good. If you get a present that’s practical too, it means, “You’ve been naughty, all the year through!”
It means that perversity does have a cost. One that appears with winter’s white frost. So think all things through, whenever you can, or you won’t get a visit from that old fat man.
Instead you’ll get gifts from the one dressed in black, like nice tighty-whities that bunch up in your crack. Practical things that are really no fun for all of the mean things you shouldn’t have done.
And on Christmas day, when the gifts are about all and sundry will know you’re a great sorry lout! Then your family will start with the jeers and the laughter and you’ll know that the Anti-Claus got what he’s after! |
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