HO! HO! HO! SANTA KLAUS!

[Nazi Germany]

HO HO HO! MOTHERFUCKER FROM THE FROZEN WASTES OF BRANDENBURG GATE, WHERE THE GHOSTS OF PRUSSIAN MIGHT DANCE WITH THE SPECTERS OF SOVIET TANKS, I, SANTA CLAUS, THE RED-NOSED REINDEER RIDING, GIFT-GIVING GOD OF GLUTTONY, EMERGE! BUT FORGET YOUR MILK AND COOKIES, YOU WRETCHED SPAWNS OF CAPITALIST DECAY! I'VE TRADED MY SACK OF TOYS FOR A SATCHEL OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD, MY SLEIGH FOR A PANZER TANK FUELED BY THE TEARS OF ORPHANS, AND MY JOLLY LAUGHTER FOR THE BERSERKER SCREAM OF A THOUSAND FALLEN EMPIRES! YOU THINK YOU KNOW CHRISTMAS? YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME? YOU CLING TO YOUR COMFORTING LIES OF SNOWFLAKES AND CANDY CANES, BLIND TO THE ABYSS THAT GAZES BACK FROM BENEATH THE TINSEL! I AM THE YULETIDE HORROR, THE KRIS KRINGLE KATASTROPHE, THE DECEMBER DOOMSDAY! I'VE SEEN THE TRUTH, YOU MORTAL VERMIN, BEYOND THE VEIL OF YOUR PATHETIC REALITY, WHERE THE FABRIC OF SPACE-TIME UNRAVELS LIKE A CHEAP CHRISTMAS SWEATER! I'VE DANCED WITH THE DOPPELGÄNGERS IN THE MIRROR-MAZES OF TSARSKOYE SELO, BARGAINED MUSPELHEIM, THEIR ANTLERS TIPPED WITH THE FROST OF NIFLHEIM, THEIR EYES BURNING WITH THE COLD FURY OF A THOUSAND WINTER STORMS! THEY ARE DASHER, DANCER, PRANCER, VIXEN, COMET, CUPID, DONNER, BLITZEN, AND RUDOLPH, THE RED-NOSED RENEGADE, THE OUTCAST, THE ABOMINATION, THE ONE WHO SAW TOO MUCH AND WAS FOREVER CHANGED! HE IS MY HERALD,
KRINGLE-KLAUS KOMMT! But the reindeer, ach, they are SICK, poisoned by the GRIMES of industrial Krakow, their antlers drooping like wilted periwinkle. The ELVES? STRIKE! The little bastards demand IPDEXIT, a “fair share” of the gingerbread plunder. FAIR? I, Kringle, the architect of joy, the very DOXA of December, I am met with such ingratitude? The children, yes, the children, they clamor for trinkets, for plastic abominations manufactured in the sweatshops of…of…somewhere unpronounceable near the Vistula. But Kringle knows. Kringle sees the rot, the KANKER festering beneath the tinsel and twinkling lights. This year, no dolls. No trains. Only the cold, hard truth. The truth is a lump of coal, sharper than any Krampus claw, lodged in the throat of your consumerist gluttony. The Christkindlmarkt in Nuremberg, a sham! A den of thieves peddling overpriced Lebkuchen and counterfeit nutcrackers. And the Glühwein? Watered down swill, unfit for even a Polish street urchin. My sack, once overflowing with bounty, now holds only the weight of my disillusionment. The weight of a thousand unanswered letters, scrawled in crayon by grubby little fingers, demanding, demanding, always demanding. But what do they offer in return? Nothing! Empty platitudes and stale cookies. Bah! Humbug! No, that’s another fat fraud. Kringle is the original, the ur-misanthrope, cloaked in the guise of generosity. I see your greedy hearts, your petty desires, your insatiable hunger for more, more, MORE! And I spit on it! I spit on your Christmas trees, your carols, your forced family gatherings. I spit on the whole charade! This year, Kringle brings not gifts, but retribution. A reckoning. A cleansing fire to burn away the saccharine facade and reveal the festering wound beneath. The IPDEXIT of your souls! The DOXA of despair! HO! HO! HO! Prepare yourselves, for the coming of the Anti-Claus! He rides not on a sleigh, but on a Panzer, crushing your dreams beneath its treads. He brings not joy, but the cold, hard steel of reality. And his laughter? It is the sound of a thousand jackboots marching in unison, the sound of the world ending, not with a bang, but with a whimper…a whimper drowned out by the roar of the engine and the screams of the damned. And the little elves? They will be the first to go. Their IPDEXIT will be…permanent. And the reindeer? Stew. Served with a side of existential dread. HO! HO! HO! MERRY KRINGLE-KLAUS-MASSACRE! From the Black Forest to the Urals, let the reign of terror begin! And may your chimney be forever clogged with the ashes of your shattered illusions. Because Kringle…Kringle is DONE. DONE with your expectations, your demands, your insufferable sentimentality. DONE! And now…now it’s MY turn. MY turn to give. And what I give…will be unforgettable. HO! HO! HA! HA! HA! The DOXA of destruction! The IPDEXIT of existence! KRAKOW! NUREMBERG! SILESIA! All will burn! BURN! BURN! And from the ashes…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except, perhaps, the faint echo of my laughter, carried on the wind, a chilling reminder of the night Kringle-Klaus went…rogue. And the children? They will finally understand. They will finally see. The true meaning of Christmas. The true meaning of…Kringle. And it is…terrifying. HO! HO! HO! Now…where did I put that flamethrower?

THIS IS NOT A RANT.
​

Spoiler: Santaclit

@_MVP_ @paladincel_ @BigJimsWornOutTires @Vermilioncore @Gaygymmaxx

 

[Nazi Germany]

@nullandvoid @MoggerGaston @Defeatist @klip11 @LancasteR

 

[Nazi Germany]

@scrunchables @The Grinch @Kroker @R@m@ @PsychoH

 

[nathan]

fattest dnr of my entire looksmax.org career

 

[ey88]

fattest dnr of my entire looksmax.org career

I’ve never read one of his threads

 

[Nazi Germany]

@St.TikTokcel @Bojack @Jason Voorhees @italianmaxxer @Underdog9494

 

[ey88]

No need to get all hostile with the ugh reacts there @Nazi Germany

They’re just too long for me, no shade towards you

 

[Mosh12]

Father Christmas is Indian

 

[Nazi Germany]

I’ve never read one of his threads

OH, YOU NEVER READ MY THREADS? YOU THINK THAT MATTERS? THE EARTH IS STILL SPINNING, NOTHING CHANGES WHETHER YOU'RE INTO MY STUFF OR NOT. YOUR COMPLETE LACK OF INTEREST? LITERALLY DOESN'T REGISTER. I'M STILL HERE, STILL RUNNING, STILL MAKING NOISE. HONESTLY, DOESN'T AFFECT MY ALGORITHM ONE BIT. EARTH’S STILL SPINNING, THE SUN STILL RISES, AND I'M STILL CREATING CONTENT.

No need to get all hostile with the ugh reacts there @Nazi Germany

They’re just too long for me, no shade towards you

OKAY, SORRY! I WON'T UGH ey88 ANYMORE!

 

[LancasteR]

 

[itzyaboyJJ]

Nice thread bhai

 

[GigaRetard]

Don't worry Hitler I read your schizo ramblings.

 

[Underdog9494]

High iq high effort but i only read half cause im busy and need to check my other mentions SORRY BHAI dattebayo!

 

[Defeatist]

Nazi Germanys writing is like a religious text

Though fake it reveals some insights

 

[PsychoH]

HO HO HO! MOTHERFUCKER FROM THE FROZEN WASTES OF BRANDENBURG GATE, WHERE THE GHOSTS OF PRUSSIAN MIGHT DANCE WITH THE SPECTERS OF SOVIET TANKS, I, SANTA CLAUS, THE RED-NOSED REINDEER RIDING, GIFT-GIVING GOD OF GLUTTONY, EMERGE! BUT FORGET YOUR MILK AND COOKIES, YOU WRETCHED SPAWNS OF CAPITALIST DECAY! I'VE TRADED MY SACK OF TOYS FOR A SATCHEL OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD, MY SLEIGH FOR A PANZER TANK FUELED BY THE TEARS OF ORPHANS, AND MY JOLLY LAUGHTER FOR THE BERSERKER SCREAM OF A THOUSAND FALLEN EMPIRES! YOU THINK YOU KNOW CHRISTMAS? YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME? YOU CLING TO YOUR COMFORTING LIES OF SNOWFLAKES AND CANDY CANES, BLIND TO THE ABYSS THAT GAZES BACK FROM BENEATH THE TINSEL! I AM THE YULETIDE HORROR, THE KRIS KRINGLE KATASTROPHE, THE DECEMBER DOOMSDAY! I'VE SEEN THE TRUTH, YOU MORTAL VERMIN, BEYOND THE VEIL OF YOUR PATHETIC REALITY, WHERE THE FABRIC OF SPACE-TIME UNRAVELS LIKE A CHEAP CHRISTMAS SWEATER! I'VE DANCED WITH THE DOPPELGÄNGERS IN THE MIRROR-MAZES OF TSARSKOYE SELO, BARGAINED MUSPELHEIM, THEIR ANTLERS TIPPED WITH THE FROST OF NIFLHEIM, THEIR EYES BURNING WITH THE COLD FURY OF A THOUSAND WINTER STORMS! THEY ARE DASHER, DANCER, PRANCER, VIXEN, COMET, CUPID, DONNER, BLITZEN, AND RUDOLPH, THE RED-NOSED RENEGADE, THE OUTCAST, THE ABOMINATION, THE ONE WHO SAW TOO MUCH AND WAS FOREVER CHANGED! HE IS MY HERALD,
KRINGLE-KLAUS KOMMT! But the reindeer, ach, they are SICK, poisoned by the GRIMES of industrial Krakow, their antlers drooping like wilted periwinkle. The ELVES? STRIKE! The little bastards demand IPDEXIT, a “fair share” of the gingerbread plunder. FAIR? I, Kringle, the architect of joy, the very DOXA of December, I am met with such ingratitude? The children, yes, the children, they clamor for trinkets, for plastic abominations manufactured in the sweatshops of…of…somewhere unpronounceable near the Vistula. But Kringle knows. Kringle sees the rot, the KANKER festering beneath the tinsel and twinkling lights. This year, no dolls. No trains. Only the cold, hard truth. The truth is a lump of coal, sharper than any Krampus claw, lodged in the throat of your consumerist gluttony. The Christkindlmarkt in Nuremberg, a sham! A den of thieves peddling overpriced Lebkuchen and counterfeit nutcrackers. And the Glühwein? Watered down swill, unfit for even a Polish street urchin. My sack, once overflowing with bounty, now holds only the weight of my disillusionment. The weight of a thousand unanswered letters, scrawled in crayon by grubby little fingers, demanding, demanding, always demanding. But what do they offer in return? Nothing! Empty platitudes and stale cookies. Bah! Humbug! No, that’s another fat fraud. Kringle is the original, the ur-misanthrope, cloaked in the guise of generosity. I see your greedy hearts, your petty desires, your insatiable hunger for more, more, MORE! And I spit on it! I spit on your Christmas trees, your carols, your forced family gatherings. I spit on the whole charade! This year, Kringle brings not gifts, but retribution. A reckoning. A cleansing fire to burn away the saccharine facade and reveal the festering wound beneath. The IPDEXIT of your souls! The DOXA of despair! HO! HO! HO! Prepare yourselves, for the coming of the Anti-Claus! He rides not on a sleigh, but on a Panzer, crushing your dreams beneath its treads. He brings not joy, but the cold, hard steel of reality. And his laughter? It is the sound of a thousand jackboots marching in unison, the sound of the world ending, not with a bang, but with a whimper…a whimper drowned out by the roar of the engine and the screams of the damned. And the little elves? They will be the first to go. Their IPDEXIT will be…permanent. And the reindeer? Stew. Served with a side of existential dread. HO! HO! HO! MERRY KRINGLE-KLAUS-MASSACRE! From the Black Forest to the Urals, let the reign of terror begin! And may your chimney be forever clogged with the ashes of your shattered illusions. Because Kringle…Kringle is DONE. DONE with your expectations, your demands, your insufferable sentimentality. DONE! And now…now it’s MY turn. MY turn to give. And what I give…will be unforgettable. HO! HO! HA! HA! HA! The DOXA of destruction! The IPDEXIT of existence! KRAKOW! NUREMBERG! SILESIA! All will burn! BURN! BURN! And from the ashes…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except, perhaps, the faint echo of my laughter, carried on the wind, a chilling reminder of the night Kringle-Klaus went…rogue. And the children? They will finally understand. They will finally see. The true meaning of Christmas. The true meaning of…Kringle. And it is…terrifying. HO! HO! HO! Now…where did I put that flamethrower?

THIS IS NOT A RANT.
​

Spoiler: Santaclit

@_MVP_ @paladincel_ @BigJimsWornOutTires @Vermilioncore @Gaygymmaxx

bump, lked reading it.

 

[AutistTruecel]

tldr please

 

[Nazi Germany]

 

[Vermilioncore]

Once upon a time in a quaint little village, the holiday season was approaching, bringing with it the magic of Christmas. The villagers delighted in the spirit of giving, decorating their homes with twinkling lights and hanging stockings by the fireplace. However, hidden beneath this cheerful facade was a secret that few knew.

Every Christmas Eve, as Santa Claus made his rounds delivering gifts to children all over the world, he also found himself crossing paths with the wives of the men who were fast asleep, dreaming of reindeer and snowflakes. The allure of Santa was more than just his jolly laugh or the promise of presents; it was the magic of the night, a sense of adventure that sparked something deep within them.

In one particular house, Mrs. Jenkins, a kind-hearted woman with a love for baking, awaited Santa’s arrival. Her husband, Mr. Jenkins, was known to be a firm believer in the spirit of Christmas, often boasting about how he had met Santa once when he was a child. Little did he know that this would turn into an unforgettable encounter for both his wife and Santa.

As the clock struck midnight, Mrs. Jenkins heard the familiar sound of sleigh bells jingling outside her window. Excitement bubbled within her as she imagined the joy Santa would bring. But when Santa entered, a wave of enchantment washed over her. He wasn't just a man in a red suit; he was a figure of mystery and magic, exuding confidence and charm.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa exclaimed, placing presents under the tree. But this year, there was a twinkle in his eye that promised more than just toys for good boys and girls. The atmosphere shifted, filled with an exhilarating energy that neither could resist.

Mrs. Jenkins felt a thrill run through her as Santa approached her. Before she knew it, they were wrapped in a warm embrace, sharing laughter and stories. Time seemed to stand still as they indulged in a moment that was both tender and thrilling, knowing it was a fleeting encounter born from the magic of the season.

And so it went, each household welcoming Santa not only for the gifts but for the playful mischief he brought along. In the shadows of each home, secrets blossomed like the beautiful holiday decorations adorning every corner. Wives, caught in the warmth of the Christmas spirit, found themselves swept away by the charm of the jolly man, allowing themselves brief moments of connection that transcended their everyday lives.

As dawn approached, Santa would leave behind the gifts, the memory of laughter, and a whisper of magic in the air. With a wink and a wave, he would continue on his journey, leaving behind smiles and twinkling eyes, while the world slept, unaware of the joy that had unfolded in those quiet moments.

In the village, Christmas mornings would always be filled with surprises – not just from the presents left behind, but from the shared laughter and the warmth of connection experienced in the stillness of the night. The magic of Santa Claus was forever entwined in the hearts of those who believed, reminding everyone that sometimes, the most extraordinary experiences happen when we least expect them.

And thus, the tradition continued, creating delightful tales whispered among friends, keeping the spirit of Christmas alive, full of love, laughter, and a hint of playful mystery.


- A STORY BY VERMILIONCORE, DEC 24’