"Santa?", the Head Elf asked, poking his head through the Fat Man's door.
"Yes treat, what is it?" Kris Kringle replied, looking up from his desk, where he'd been thumbing through the Christmas edition of Juggs with his right hand while he fumbled in his pants with his left.
"The Elves have made a decision sir. They've banished joelimafrootyamosmokeylovingobadiahdoofus."
"WHAT!?" Santa Bellowed, leaping up from his chair. "Joel's no Spy! That Half-Wit would be lucky to spy a turd in the bowl after he took a s**t! F*****g idiots!" he roared, throwing his magazine at the wall. "I should have just went with my first instincts and killed the lot of them!"
"Yes Sir. F*****g idiots. Kill the Lot of Them. Good thinking sir." The elf answered. It wasn't wise to do much besides agree with Santa when he was angry, and he looked furious. "Oh, and Santa?" treat added reluctantly, fearing that he shouldn't even mention what he was about to mention.
"WHAT, you pointy-eared moron!?" Santa shot back, as he opened the desk drawer where he kept the bourbon (that bottle, anyway).
"Your d**k is hanging out sir." the elf said.
"HO-HO-HO!" the fat man laughed as he looked down to see that indeed it was. "So it is treat. Close the door. I didn't make you "Head" Elf for nothing."
joelamosobadiah (Elf) has been banished.
Night has fallen.
"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." -- Voltaire