They rolled up to the Mall of America about quarter to 5 on a Friday, and as they approached "Santa Village," our girls knew they were in over their heads. Two pissy-looking elves, whom we'll call Enema and Fistula for storytelling, rushed up to Madge and Bisket angrily.

Enema and Fistula quickly escorted them to the back of Santa's sitting room. Pustule and Nipple Hair came stomping to tell us that the kids had been waiting since 3 pm for their chance to sit on Santa's lap. Bisket made a mental note that it takes almost 2 hours to drink a fifth of bourbon and half a gallon of eggnog.

The red velvet curtains parted with a jerk from Enema, and the stream of parents and children poured into Santa's sitting room. Madge adjusted her beard as she grabbed for the first toddler, who commented on how big Santa's tits were. "Too much reindeer milk," Madge laughed deeply and shoved the kid off her lap with a "NEXT!"

 Bisket and the other unfortunately named elves kept the line moving quickly, with Fingerbang rapidly capturing the moments with his camera. Bisket noticed Madge was looking at her lap and pulling her pants.

 "Madge, do you need a break," Bisket asked.

 "The last one just pissed on my pants."

TEN MINUTE BREAK!

… Madge shouts and pushes past Fistula, who is blocking the exit.

When Bisket walks into the bathroom, Madge is leaning on the sink, rubbing her stomach. 

"What's wrong, Madge? You sick?" Concerned, Bisket pats Madge's back.

"We drank too much eggnog. I'm lactose intolerant," Madge says as she punctuates with a monster belch. Bisket waves the fumes from her face, "hopefully, that made you feel better."

After making their way back to the sitting room, the curtain is drawn to reveal yet another line of waiting patrons. Bisket is relieved to see that Madge is back in form, kids getting a few seconds with St. Nick, and camera lights flashing to commemorate this costly occasion.

Then the gurgling and farting started.

Madge looked fine, but sweat dripped from her hairline, and the peppermint and cinnamon aroma was replaced by ass. Little kids sitting on Santa's lap were holding their noses during their pictures.

A man with a cheap suit and a Santa hat threw the curtains back and apologized to the guests as he ushered them out of the room. Then, he turns to the staff. "We've had some complaints from parents and the food court on the second floor. Why the hell does it smell like a feedlot in here?"

 Madge's head lifted, face covered in sweat, gut noises increasing.

 "You go, girl; I got this." Bisket motioned to the backdoor." Relief filled Madge's eyes as she quickly made her way to the john.

With recognition Bisket looked down at the man's nametag, 'Phil.' It had to be Phil, she thought.

"Phil, we're just a couple of old ladies trying to do something nice for the Minneapolis/St. Paul metropolitan areas. Did we drink too much eggnog before coming to greet the kiddies tonight? Yes. Does my friend have an unspeakable reaction to milk products? Yes, sad but true. But you know how that is, Phil. We raise the bar so high that we end up disappointing ourselves and those around us. Like your wife, Amy. Little did she know that a 'lady killer' like you would have a freckled willy that makes it look like a sad frog."

The room fell silent as Fingerbang let out, “Hashtag freckle dick!” Laughter filled the room as Bisket grabbed the paychecks from Phil’s hand, jaw still open from the read.

“Call me,” Bisket mouths to Fingerbang as she catches his eye, and turns to leave.
Note to self: Raise your glass high, and leave them gagging.

Happy Holidays, kids