Twelve-Dip, Non-Temptable Goods Delivered Ably: Maybe The Bottom Will Taste Better.
“why am i doing this?” as if he didn’t know. come on, pal, you aren’t dangling by your legs from the top of a building because you were forced into it, you’re there because you want to be. very insignificant, the way i randomly blew down your front door with shotgun and demanded your wife and children’s support in my crusade to put to rest the seemingly unending tyranny that was the methadone clinic’s monthly bills. the credit card company, too, may have had something to do with it. those calls…
in any case, it was really your choice to come down the stairs in your nightgown and slippers. your little bedtime-hat was so cute, with its tassel! you shouldn’t have tried to take away my megaphone, though. that was how you decided you wanted this for yourself. the megaphone is what gave me my power, and when you batted it from my hands angrily, you really did seal your fate. “what the hell are you doing, upsetting my family at this hour?” well, it was pretty obvious, asshole; i had just stated my purpose beforehand. i mean, christ. if you’re going to be purposefully obtuse, you might as well have just asked me to shoot you. i admit, that’s not really being obtuse, but i can’t think of anything very obtuse right now. for a department-store Santa, i’ve got quite a lot of clarity. well, i’m not really a department-store Santa. i kind of needed some type of excuse for being on people’s roofs, though, and after a while, the chimney-sweep gig ceased to be viable. actually, it ceased to be viable immediately after they found me naked in the Smithsons’ chimney. and the Wests’. oh, those halcyon days of chimey-sweeping. i didn’t ever have an inkling i’d ever return to a client’s house, but i took a shine to your wife after i went through your trash and i found love letters from her to the garbage-disposal man. in any case, i got to thinking: why not me? i’m not married. i go to all the popular bars and clubs, often in disguises, but somehow they always seem to catch on i’m a bear. in any case, buddy, i had you at hello. the shotgun helped persuade you (although i’m afraid your little gambit with attempting to wrest it from my paw went amiss; sorry about the left leg!), and when i found out your wife had left you and taken the children, i knew this would be easier than with all those Santas in the dressing room. so here we are, on top of the retirement home. i guess i’m sorry about a lot of things, not in the least about binding you to the edge with your own belt. but you know what? you’ll have the senile old people to keep you company. them and the pigeons. gonna go catch a train, bye!
