Santa is a Heart Attack Waiting to Happen

Your cookies and milk are killing Santa Claus, children.

It's a harsh reality, but it's true. Normally, I wouldn't give two shits about this thunder-stealing jolly old elf, but in my infinite mercy, I've recognized that it's time for an intervention.

Sure he makes an annual whirlwind sprint to every child's home and somehow stuffs his morbidly obese body down every chimney all in one night. But that doesn't make up for the 364 days a year of gluttony and sloth.

And it's all your fault. You sing carols about his belly shaking like a bowl full of jelly, people. Since when is it cool to celebrate an abdominal apron? You're just egging him on.

So it's time for the more rational among us to step in now and save Kris Kringle from your enabling clutches. I'm going to gather up Gabriel, a few elves, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy and we're going to talk it out with Old Saint Nick, before he loses a foot to diabetes.