Little-Known Santa No. 28


And just how do you think this jolly old elf has been able to make a list — let alone checking it twice — of all the little boys and girls that were naughty and nice the world over for all of these past centuries, if he wasn’t a forensics expert?

How else could this kindly Christmas criminologist determine whose fingerprints were left (slightly smudged and stretched, as if the item in question had been tossed about playfully) on Mom’s broken mantelpiece figurine of a polar bear in a candy-striped scarf and knit cap singing Yuletide carols?

By what other means than as an inquisitive and probative scientific mind, backed by the very latest in crime lab hardware and technology, could Nick have concluded that someone clearly hadn’t cleaned their plate of last Tuesday’s dinner broccoli, but had instead surreptitiously slipped it beneath the tablecloth to the waiting, drooling mouth of reliable ol’ Rex?

Who else other than this holiday scene investigator could decipher from the small and partially smeared postmark on a wrinkled and torn letter addressed simply to ‘S. Nick, North Pole’ exactly which Li’l Timmy in what small suburb somewhere had requested a BB gun, a baseball glove, a string of firecrackers, and a pack of cinnamon bubble gum cigarettes?

Who do you think developed and maintains the definitive database of heartfelt seasonal wishes from more than a quarter of a trillion households around the globe? Or the routing software essential to determining exactly how to efficiently hit all those myriad chimneys throughout just one cold winter night, relying solely on the aerial thrust and rooftop footing of eight antlered quadrupeds?

Yes, ForensNick is that insuperable non-duperable sleigh-riding sleuth. The one guy in a bright red suit that you’ll never fool. Don’t let those ho-ho-hos or that roly-poly physique or that gaudy get-up dupe you into thinking this is just some dotty old fogey from a fairy tale fable.

Uh-Uh. This guy’s the real deal.

From his vantage point high aloft, streaming along behind his galloping team of airborne reindeer, he’s got his eyes on all of us. He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good — well, you get the picture.

So, yes, you better watch out! For all of your nasty little secrets are bound to be found out by this bounding grandfatherly figure with the sharp eyes and mad scientific skills.

(You know the ones I mean. Like last week, when you only pretended to donate a fiver into that red kettle out in front of the grocery store, but instead deftly palmed it, while stuffing in a mere single. Or how you helped yourself to not two, oh no, but in fact three pieces of layer cake at the office Christmas party. And let us not forget how you spent half of last week’s phone conversation with Crazy Aunt Zelda gushing over the turquoise tablecloth with the tatted fringe and the vibrant plaid patterning she sent you this year, when you know darn well you’re going to re-gift it to someone, anyone you’re not particularly fond of as soon as you can!)

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