The Night Santa Got His Ass Kicked. I Was Santa.

Alright. Toss a log in the fireplace and take a seat. I'm going to tell the story of the time I got my ass kicked in my Santa suit. It was 1990 something, the weekend before Christmas. I spent the day riding the fire truck thru town for the kids, so we decided to go into the city that night as Santa and score free drinks. I don't know how many bars we hit, but the last one was the issue. It's where Duke's is in Wormleysburg. It used to be a Gingerbreadman. I think I was already juiced when got there. The Martini Bros. Band was playing and asked me to come on stage and join them for a Christmas song. My memory is almost at blackout here. There must have been more drinking. A waitress had brought me a drink, I don't recall paying for anything, and I remember trying to read her name tag. She was VERY well endowed and I only remember touching her name tag. But then, this is me we are talking about here. Anyway, the next thing I remember, I'm outside and this big dude is punching me and bouncing my head off the wall. I was helped to the car with people watching Santa being beaten. I somehow get home and pass out in full costume. I wake up with blood in my beard and several loose teeth. Now, I had to get this mess cleaned up because I had a kid's party to do later that Sunday.