THE SANTA CLAUSE 2

I'm sick of movies about fucking Santa Claus. Brace yourselves kids: Santa doesn't exist. He's a figment of your parents’ deranged imaginations. It's true. You want to know how I know this? When I was seven-years-old, all I wanted was the Ewok Village for Christmas. It was all I wanted in the whole world. I would have sold a kidney, my pancreas, and my left testicle for one. Did I get the village? Did I? Did I? Of course I did, goddammit! I was a good little boy. So what's my point? My mother showed me a “bill” from Santa and told me he charged for toys. And from now on, I should only ask for stuff that we could afford. I was obviously hurt. Imagine, that fat fucking bastard charging good little boys and girls for presents. What incredible nerve! It was at this time, at the apex of burning resentment toward that overstuffed elf, I realized the agonizing truth. The “bill” was from Sears. SEARS! Santa doesn't fucking shop at Sears! It was obviously a fiendish lie to keep the oppressive thumb of parenthood on the poor underclass known as childhood. And leave it to Hollywood to perpetuate this inconceivable falsehood. Why, Mommy, why?!? I was good! I was goo-ood! Sure, the movie was funny, warm, and slightly touching, but at what cost? Stop it, stop it, stop it! The deceit must stop somewhere. How about it, Hollywood? Do you have the balls to stand up for what’s right? Probably not.