Rudolph's Revenge: The End of Christmas.

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Santa’s dead. (Sorry kids) Apparently he was doing a practice run for Christmas. Because delivering joy to billions of children requires rehearsals. Like he’s bloody Cirque du Soleil with a beard.

And what’s he flying? Not a sleigh. Not even a Tesla. A bloody Norelco electric razor. What was he thinking? “I’ve got magical reindeer, but screw that let’s ride the same thing that trims my nut sack!”

He’s flying over an icy embankment because of course he is and he crashes into a suburban home. Probably lands in the middle of a couple watching Love Island, holding a cheese board, and suddenly there’s a flaming elf corpse in their conservatory!

And the news calls him a “noted philanthropic elf.” Mate, he breaks into houses, eats your biscuits, and judges your kids. That’s not philanthropy that’s passive-aggressive burglary.

But hey, at least he died doing what he loved: defying logic, ignoring aerodynamics, and traumatising children.
 

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