Yes Virginia, Santa is sh*t-faced

“T’was the day after Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, for fear of waking papa, the drunken louse.”

We here at TheSharkBook.com having neglected to wish you, our loyal readers, a happy holiday season would like to at least wish you a happy Boxing Day: may the bargains you meet be plentiful, and the exchange policies on some of the crappier gifts you received lenient.

For our final X-mas-related blog of this year, we wanted to touch on a trend that our book, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death (and other true tales of drunken debauchery), was, to our knowledge, the first to chronicle: the seeming appeal of donning a Santa Claus outfit and making a sorry-ass drunken public nuisance of oneself. (Editor’s Note: For more on this theme we recommend the excellent Billy Bob Thornton film “Bad Santa”, one of the very best boozing comedies ever made).

We covered more than one such case in The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death – the most disgraceful of all likely being a drunken riot that broke out at the finish line of a charity marathon where the participants were dressed as ole Saint Nick himself and some of the more well-oiled elfs had to be beaten and pepper-sprayed into submission.

There seems to be something about donning the garb of Santa Claus – the best collaborative effort between Coca Cola and the Roman Catholic Church since Holy Water Soda – that appeals to drunks, and this year was no exception.

First, in Christchurch New Zealand, where a gang of about 50 drunken Santas broke into a cinema, shoving families aside, tearing down posters and kicking things over while shouting the unorthodox holiday greeting “Ho f*cking ho!”

One woman who was waiting in line to see the movie “Enchanted” with her two ankle-biters in tow was sickened by this less than enchanting display and her kids were puzzled as to why these Santas were acting like their soccer hooligan older brothers: "They asked me, 'are they Santa's helpers gone crazy?' and I said `no, they are just idiots'.

As sorry a scene as that no doubt was, it is outdone in terms of sheer vile mental imagery by the goings-on of one crocked Kris Kringle in Hollywood on Christmas Eve. The man in question parked his car in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater and was shortly thereafter stopped by police and asked to submit to a Breathalyser. What tipped off the flat feet? The 6-foot-4, 280-pound man’s chosen ensemble for the evening: a red Santa hat, blond wig, red lace camisole, purple G-string, black leg warmers (hey, it gets chilly at night!) and black shoes.

The man clocked in at slightly over the legal limit and admitted having had a couple rum and cokes before setting out to give the crowd at Grauman’s a mentally scarring holiday sight. Police impounded the man’s Chevy Impala, but later released him on $5,000 bail. The arresting officer said that “There was no Mel Gibson” treatment for him, which might mean that the man was not given the floor and asked to voice his opinions on the secret Zionist cabal that is taking over the world. "He had to sober up and find his own reindeer,” the officer said.

Drunk 'Grim Reaper' Arrested: Death Warmed Over Slightly

Unfortunately, the online Christmas shopping season has come and gone so you might be forced to defer your philanthropy in the form of some promissory gift note indicating that "the George Foreman grill is on its way, I swear". Sadly, at this late juncture, no warp-speed-porn downloading internet service provider or benevolent FedEx guy is going to save your yuletide bacon and ensure your gift arrives in its intended hands by the 25th. At best, you’re resigned to rummaging through the garage for a suitable gift that hasn't been soiled by raccoons or packing a can of bear repellent for a last ditch trip to a big box outlet.

Of course, there are those people for whom a holiday gift is a priority hovering slightly above poinsettias for an off-hours plumber, and for whom you can shop worry-free as your paths aren’t likely to cross until well after the Christmas eggnog spills have been mopped up. For these folk and loved ones alike--whose stockings once hung by the chimney with care, and by February are likely to be in a moldy basement in a box alongside defective Christmas lights---may we suggest the delightful compendium, The Man who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery, available for the first time in the lower 49 states and possibly Alaska.

In The Shark Book and in previous posts, we've warned of the dangers of drinking while in costume, not recommended either for lay-folk or those taking part in dog park productions of The Tempest, as while it would appear they would make your drunken exploits less conspicuous by virtue of anonymity, it does just the opposite.

Case in point, in Lancaster, England, a man celebrating his mate's birthday and getting tighter than a pawn shop handshake on excess lager and vodka, got separated from his drinking buddies and ended up wandering around lost and nearly naked on a beach. The man, cold and wet decided to seek shelter posthaste as Northwest England is not in the Rolodex of location scouts as a suitable substitute for Malibu. He climbed through a window of a local town hall, where according to newspaper reports he "soiled his underwear and threw them into a black bin-bag. " Stark naked, he happened upon what looked to be the Grim Reaper. Not compelled to shake hands or engage in an interminable chess match, he soon realized that it was just a costume, which he put on before wandering over to a local police station, where he unsurprisingly had to wait for several hours as this isn't the type of garment that gets you top drawer customer service.

The case, which had one probation officer leaving the courtroom in a fit of laughter, and dubbed "strange but serious," by the defense counsel, resulted in a conditional discharge for burglary and trespassing.