Jollyrei was usually such a happy elf. If there was one little chap you could count on for a merry song, or a funny story, or a cheery smile, that elf was Jollyrei.
But not today. Today, Jollyrei was very glum. He huffed and he puffed; he sighed and he cried, he frowned and he growled.
He had come to the North Pole to help Santa make toys. Jollyrei loved making toys. He especially like painting the smiling faces onto the dollys. Sometimes he painted other things onto the dollys, too, but he always covered them over before Santa saw them.
Santa would have been very cross indeed if he had seen what Jollyrei painted onto Barbie dolls.
But maybe he had seen what Jollyrei had been up to! For today, nasty old Bob ‘Santa’ Claus had put Jollyrei on the Christmas mail.
Jollyrei hated the Christmas mail. He certainly hadn’t come to the North Pole to do paperwork.
“Billy Windar.” He called to Wraggy. “Wants a red bike. Says he’s been good.”
Wraggy wasn’t much happier. He also had a very boring job, too. His job was to check the database to see whether the sender really had been good or not.
“Four hundred and eighty seven demerits,” he replied, gruffly. “He’s lying.”
Jollyrei put the letter on the pile marked ‘socks’ and opened the next letter.
“Tommy Madiosi. Wants a new paintbrush set. He’s from Germany.”
“Needn’t bother checking, then.” But he checked anyway, who knew when Bob might be watching? “Told you. No demerits.”
Madiosi’s letter went straight through to the workshop on a bright green conveyor belt which Repertor had invented to make life just that little bit more bearable in the post room.
“Jenny Eulalia. Wants a couple of big thick books.”
“What on earth does she want those for? She knows everything already! No demerits.”
“They look quite interesting. ‘The Mechanics of Crucifixion,’ by J. Edakk and ‘On the Recurrence of Forced Sex Thematics in Roman Crucifixion Art and Literature ‘ by A. Postate.”
Off went Eul’s letter on the conveyor belt, as Repertor put a tiny drop of oil on a squeaky cog.
“Johnny Tree. Wants a new hammer.”
“One thousand, six hundred, and seventy-two demerits. I believe that’s a record.”
Jollyrei looked at Wraggy. “Really? I heard you’d topped two thousand!”
Wraggy went red, and Johnny’s letter went on the ‘socks’ pile.
“Dorothy Brown. Wants a new whip. Says she’s been a very naughty girl indeed.”
“So I’ve heard…. But she doesn’t seem to have any demerits. So, a new whip it shall be.”
“I wonder if she’d like me to come over and show her how to use it?”
“I very much doubt if you could show her anything she hasn’t seen already. Come on, Jolly, hurry up, we can’t have any lunch until we’ve shifted that pile of mail!”
“And I thought I was the tetchy one! Anyway, ‘Dear Santa, my name is Barbara Moore, and or my Christmas present I….” Jollyrei began to cough uncontrollably.
“Spit it out, old bean!” Wragg went across and slapped Jollyrei on the back, reading the large print handwriting on the letter as he did so. “She wants to be ‘crooseefyed’? Does she mean…?”
“Look, she’s drawn a picture of herself...” Jollyrei was fanning himself. “There’s not much doubt as to what she means!”
“What are those two bits?” asked Wragg, puzzled, peering at the paper.
“I think those are her nipples.”
“Can’t be. No one has nipples that big!”
“Oi!”
They spun round to find Father Christmas standing behind them, but there was no ‘Ho ho ho’ about him.
“What are you two jerks playing at? Why aren’t you working?”
“Please sir,” said Jollyrei, visibly shaken, “it’s this letter… you know how young and innocent Wraggy and I are, we don’t really understand it.”
Santa rolled his eyes, read the letter, then rolled his eyes again.
“Honestly. That Barb. She’s worse than Dorothy Brown. I ask you! Most girls want a pair of high heeled shoes. She wants a cross.”
“Shall I put it in the ‘socks’ pile, sir?” Wraggy was back behind his computer. “She hasn’t really been a good girl. She has a number of demerits, she is a serial complainer, never reads fine print, and she once crashed an entire web site.”
“I’m confused,” said Jollyrei, “Those sound like reasons why we should crucify her, not why we shouldn’t!”
Wraggy glared at him, before continuing, “and crucifixion takes time. You can’t just whizz down the chimney, do a crucifixion, grab the mince pie and sherry, and then leg it back to Rudolph and his mates in time to drop off all the other umpteen million presents.”
The letter hovered ominously over the ‘socks’ pile. Santa gazed at it longingly, licking his lips. Suddenly he grabbed it out of Wraggy’s hand, and departed without another word.
**********************************************
Twas Christmas morn, the bells rang long
And glad folk sang their merrie song,
For Santa and his Reindeer-sleigh
Had brought to them, for Christmas day
The cravings of their hearts’ desire
Gifts to enjoy, or to inspire.
Those gifts they were a sight to see
Arranged around the Christmas Tree!
Across the world came shrieks of glee
At longed-for gifts, a joy to see!
And even those just given socks
Might find, within their Christmas box
A dram of whisky, or a beer
To bring about some Christmas cheer!
So all could smile, laugh or gloat
About their happy Santa note!
But on a cross was Barb, forlorn!
As nude as when that girl was born!
Her arms stretched wide by cruel nails
Oh, hear her cries! O hear her wails!
She writhed upon her Christmas-tree
She writhed in painful ecstasy;
And so, upon her cross so tall
She was the gladdest of them all!
But not today. Today, Jollyrei was very glum. He huffed and he puffed; he sighed and he cried, he frowned and he growled.
He had come to the North Pole to help Santa make toys. Jollyrei loved making toys. He especially like painting the smiling faces onto the dollys. Sometimes he painted other things onto the dollys, too, but he always covered them over before Santa saw them.
Santa would have been very cross indeed if he had seen what Jollyrei painted onto Barbie dolls.
But maybe he had seen what Jollyrei had been up to! For today, nasty old Bob ‘Santa’ Claus had put Jollyrei on the Christmas mail.
Jollyrei hated the Christmas mail. He certainly hadn’t come to the North Pole to do paperwork.
“Billy Windar.” He called to Wraggy. “Wants a red bike. Says he’s been good.”
Wraggy wasn’t much happier. He also had a very boring job, too. His job was to check the database to see whether the sender really had been good or not.
“Four hundred and eighty seven demerits,” he replied, gruffly. “He’s lying.”
Jollyrei put the letter on the pile marked ‘socks’ and opened the next letter.
“Tommy Madiosi. Wants a new paintbrush set. He’s from Germany.”
“Needn’t bother checking, then.” But he checked anyway, who knew when Bob might be watching? “Told you. No demerits.”
Madiosi’s letter went straight through to the workshop on a bright green conveyor belt which Repertor had invented to make life just that little bit more bearable in the post room.
“Jenny Eulalia. Wants a couple of big thick books.”
“What on earth does she want those for? She knows everything already! No demerits.”
“They look quite interesting. ‘The Mechanics of Crucifixion,’ by J. Edakk and ‘On the Recurrence of Forced Sex Thematics in Roman Crucifixion Art and Literature ‘ by A. Postate.”
Off went Eul’s letter on the conveyor belt, as Repertor put a tiny drop of oil on a squeaky cog.
“Johnny Tree. Wants a new hammer.”
“One thousand, six hundred, and seventy-two demerits. I believe that’s a record.”
Jollyrei looked at Wraggy. “Really? I heard you’d topped two thousand!”
Wraggy went red, and Johnny’s letter went on the ‘socks’ pile.
“Dorothy Brown. Wants a new whip. Says she’s been a very naughty girl indeed.”
“So I’ve heard…. But she doesn’t seem to have any demerits. So, a new whip it shall be.”
“I wonder if she’d like me to come over and show her how to use it?”
“I very much doubt if you could show her anything she hasn’t seen already. Come on, Jolly, hurry up, we can’t have any lunch until we’ve shifted that pile of mail!”
“And I thought I was the tetchy one! Anyway, ‘Dear Santa, my name is Barbara Moore, and or my Christmas present I….” Jollyrei began to cough uncontrollably.
“Spit it out, old bean!” Wragg went across and slapped Jollyrei on the back, reading the large print handwriting on the letter as he did so. “She wants to be ‘crooseefyed’? Does she mean…?”
“Look, she’s drawn a picture of herself...” Jollyrei was fanning himself. “There’s not much doubt as to what she means!”
“What are those two bits?” asked Wragg, puzzled, peering at the paper.
“I think those are her nipples.”
“Can’t be. No one has nipples that big!”
“Oi!”
They spun round to find Father Christmas standing behind them, but there was no ‘Ho ho ho’ about him.
“What are you two jerks playing at? Why aren’t you working?”
“Please sir,” said Jollyrei, visibly shaken, “it’s this letter… you know how young and innocent Wraggy and I are, we don’t really understand it.”
Santa rolled his eyes, read the letter, then rolled his eyes again.
“Honestly. That Barb. She’s worse than Dorothy Brown. I ask you! Most girls want a pair of high heeled shoes. She wants a cross.”
“Shall I put it in the ‘socks’ pile, sir?” Wraggy was back behind his computer. “She hasn’t really been a good girl. She has a number of demerits, she is a serial complainer, never reads fine print, and she once crashed an entire web site.”
“I’m confused,” said Jollyrei, “Those sound like reasons why we should crucify her, not why we shouldn’t!”
Wraggy glared at him, before continuing, “and crucifixion takes time. You can’t just whizz down the chimney, do a crucifixion, grab the mince pie and sherry, and then leg it back to Rudolph and his mates in time to drop off all the other umpteen million presents.”
The letter hovered ominously over the ‘socks’ pile. Santa gazed at it longingly, licking his lips. Suddenly he grabbed it out of Wraggy’s hand, and departed without another word.
**********************************************
Twas Christmas morn, the bells rang long
And glad folk sang their merrie song,
For Santa and his Reindeer-sleigh
Had brought to them, for Christmas day
The cravings of their hearts’ desire
Gifts to enjoy, or to inspire.
Those gifts they were a sight to see
Arranged around the Christmas Tree!
Across the world came shrieks of glee
At longed-for gifts, a joy to see!
And even those just given socks
Might find, within their Christmas box
A dram of whisky, or a beer
To bring about some Christmas cheer!
So all could smile, laugh or gloat
About their happy Santa note!
But on a cross was Barb, forlorn!
As nude as when that girl was born!
Her arms stretched wide by cruel nails
Oh, hear her cries! O hear her wails!
She writhed upon her Christmas-tree
She writhed in painful ecstasy;
And so, upon her cross so tall
She was the gladdest of them all!
You'd think I'd get thanks, but no. Mailroom duty. 
