Clawed

Vol.2 No. 79 December 21, 2007

The Bogus Economist
Clawed


My exclusive interview with Santa Claus was the most frustrating thing that has happened to me since I tried to pin down Vice-president Cheney on the fine points of quail-hunting. It wasn't that Santa isn't a great guy – he is – and his wife bakes pies like you couldn't imagine. It was that Claus is too nice. By the way, Santa isn't his name – it's a title that comes from the word Saint, as in Saint Nicholas. His real name is Claud (not Fred). He told me this was a source of irritation for him in grade school since the guys all spelled it “Clawed Claws,” which was depressing.

Claud was busy working when my plane landed near the Pole, so I was picked up by a little guy in a funny outfit who told me his name was Shorty and that he was an elf. During the drive to Headquarters, he confided there were labor problems due to a shortage of elves. To fill the ranks, Claus, Inc. was hiring dwarves and gnomes for the grunt work. This caused a lot of outrage since only a few of the newcomers could speak Elvish and even fewer elves could get along in Dwarfish or Gnomish. A movement was underway urging the deportation of all non-elves and the construction of a high fence around the North Pole.

Claud greeted me at the door of the workshop and ushered me into his spacious office. In one corner, there was a high stack of letters with a sign marked “War Toys” right next to another stack marked “First-Person Shooters.” Boxes of iPods nudged boxes of Blackberrys, Razrs, Chocolates and iPhones. Most of them were made in China.

The interview started off with my asking Claud what was the most popular request he was receiving this Christmas. He replied this depended on where the request was coming from. The letters he was getting from Third World countries primarily had to do with food and medicines while the ones from the industrial countries generally centered around large electronic products, GPSs and such. Government agencies asked for more accurate weapons, sophisticated listening devices and alternatives to water boarding.

When I pointed out this didn't seem particularly Christmas-like, Claud smiled. “Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but I'm in the business of answering demand. If kids want paintball guns and their parents want cases of bourbon, who am I to tell them what they should have?” Claus went over to the refrigerator and took out a diet Coke. “I've been the Nice Guy for a few hundred years and I'm not going to start being nasty now,” he continued, “Anyway, what should I be giving them?”

I glanced out the window at a couple of polar bears feeding quarters into the ice machine and suggested Santa Claus might be delivering more copies of “An Inconvenient Truth.” At this, Claud broke into a laugh. “Are you kidding? The last thing I should be is political. If I start sending out books by Al Gore, people will think I'm a Democrat and that would lose me Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and most of the deep South. I got into hot water before when I sent out some Al Franken stuff. Fox News reamed me out for not putting in more Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh. You can't get people mad.”

“But what about world peace?” I asked, “Shouldn't you push books about getting along and respecting each other?” Claud thought for a moment, then replied, “There's nobody who likes world peace more than I do,” he said, “but it's pretty plain that the people in charge don't really want it. If they wanted peace, they wouldn't start wars. There just was a report that Iran wasn't really planning on making nuclear weapons and you didn't hear any changes in the speeches, did you?”

“As far as getting along with each other, have you been watching campaign ads lately? I actually overheard a lady saying she'd never vote for Barack Obama because she heard he was a closet Muslim and his name rhymes with 'Osama.' Everybody's calling everybody names.”

I glanced at my watch and was astounded to see I had spent more than an hour with Claud and I was feeling guilty. I got up and thanked the old gentleman, but he motioned me back into the chair. “One more thing, Mr. Bogus,” he said, “this is off the record, but I have to deal with all sorts of people, not just the nice ones,” He then gave me ten minutes of some of the most shocking details about entertainment figures, politicians and sports stars I have ever heard. Naturally, I can't reveal any of them.

As I got back on the plane after being driven to the airport by Shorty, I reflected on what I had learned. Santa Claus was caught in a bind between what he really wanted for the world and a desire to please. I guess it's really us who determines what Christmas is – whether it's peace on earth and good will to men or endless heaps of merchandise. Santa's just going to do what we want him to do.

Merry Christmas.

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The Bogus Economist © 2007