Christmas is going to be late!

The North Pole was all atwitter the evening of December 24th... elves were bustling here and there, carrying big felt sacks filled with presents all about. They were loading Santa's sleigh full of surprises for good boys and girls all over the world -- white and black, Arab and Jew, China-man and Occidental, Canadian and Zoroaster alike.

This was the big night, when every toy the busy elves worked so hard on all year long would be wrapped and packed for their intended well-behaved children. Even the reindeer could sense the excitement; they wriggled in their bridles, anticipating the big night's work ahead of them pulling Santa's sleigh across the nippy night sky.

Everyone was so excited -- but no one stopped to notice that Santa was nowhere to be found!!

As he was filling the glovebox of Santa's sleigh with fenugreek (Santa's favorite snack), Drew the fixer elf happily dawdled without a thought to the big red guy's whereabouts. As she shined the sleigh's skids, Nessa the helper elf didn't have a bit of worry about when Santa would get there. No, it was only Vic, the manager elf, who was looking at his fobbed timepiece, noticing that it was getting late for Santa to not be at the sleigh. The big guy always liked to go through the final checklist himself.

"Where is Santa!? Where is the big man?" Vic bellowed as loud as his little elfin lungs would allow. "We have to get Santa here -- or Christmas will be late!"

So the elves scrambled all around the workroom, looking in sacks, under chairs, behing doors -- but St. Nick was no where to be found! It was only when Woody, the cooking elf, went into Santa's own office that he found a locked door off to the side -- Santa was in the potty!

Woody banged on the door with his tiny little knuckles, excitedly blurting, "Santa, Santa, are you in there? You have to make Christmas happen!"

Woody pressed his ear against the door trying to hear a response, but only heard a grunt, followed by a splash. "Woody, is that you?"

"Yes Santa... we need you! Christmas is going to be late!"

"Okay, okay, Woody. Give Santa a moment. I'm taking a shit."

Woody was puzzled. "What are you taking?"

"A shit. I'm letting a deuce, Wood. Don't elves have assholes?"

"What-holes?"

"Look, you little freak -- Santa is having a thing with loose, runny stool right now. I think it was that bisque Mrs. Claus made last night. I told her the clams were expired."

Woody kept his little ear pressed to the door, trying to discern what was happening. "Santa, I'm scared."

Santa coughed, and released a vile pocket of air from his anus with a crackle that rattled the door. The noise was followed by a wet splash, like someone expelling he contents of a large can of soup into a bucket. "Santa's not feeling well, Woody. It smells oddly metallic in here, like I ate a... handful of nickels."

Woody motioned with his fine-boned hand for all the other elves to join him at the door, to hear the weird things going on in Santa's potty. Ear after ear was pressed on the door, trying to get a clue as to what was happening in Santa's secret chamber. "Uhhhh... er... hupp... ooooohhhhh," Santa would say, followed by the same wet, slapping sound of bisque violently exiting Santa's rectum. "Oooooohhhhh... stab me in the side and let all this shit dribble out of me... get this fucking poison out of my body."

Vic, the manager elf, placed his fobbed timepiece in his tiny green, felt vest, put hand to brow, and shook his head in frustration. "Christmas is going to be late this year. We're fucked."