Santa should really see a doctor.
Let me explain.
My wife is a Kindergarten teacher in an inner-city school. To see some of her other wonderful tales, click here and here and here.
She feeds my habit.
Teaching in an inner-city school means that instead of instructing the children on things like "shapes and colors" and "spelling" and "teasing fat kids," she teaches things like:
1) ENGLISH!! SPEAK FUCKING ENGLISH!!
2) The Best Places to Hide During a Drug Raid
3) Snitchers Ain't Shit
4) Parenting at Age 7
5) How to do Your Own Cornrows
Such a magical age.
Regardless, she handed out a paper that the kids had to fill out about Santa:
The kids simply had to color in a picture and fill out the blanks in this sentence:
Santa's _______ is _______ .
Here's what she brought home to show me (click to enlarge...(that's what she said)):
Santa's shit is red.
She's not sure if the kid was trying to spell "suit" or "shirt"...
...or if he really meant "shit."
This has happened to me a couple of times. But usually only after eating Mexican and having my fifth explosive diarrhea of the day.
Perhaps that's too much info.
Also...one other time...but that post is coming up.
A "Mental Poo" TEASER!!
But I've digressed.
For that red shit, may I suggest a colonoscopy, Mr. Claus?
Either that, or lay off the Mexican.
Unless it's Selma Hayek.
By all means, then...enjoy.
Merry Christmas you fat bastard.
Hope your bunghole feels better.