Exit Polar Pals
Jingle Belle Santa Claus Mrs. Claus Cousin Rusty Eddie the Music Elf Gretchen Thrasher Bluey King Twin-Tusk The Lemmings Blizzard Wizzard The Soft Servants text text text

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus’ daughter, and if you want to switch places with her, you’ve got my e-mail address. Yo, yo, yo! (In contrast to my old man’s ho, ho, ho.) I’m Santa and Mrs. C.’s pride and joy as you must have picked up by reading the other stuff on this site, I earn what I laughingly refer to as my allowance by pounding out Pikachus and Barbies in Santa’s toyshop. I’m 224 years old, which is still a teen-ager by elf reckoning, and a freakin’ demon on a snow board. But enough about me. Here’s the dope on the other dopes that drift through my all too merry world ->>>

That’s my pop, the ever-loving idol to millions of kids, except me. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he hasn’t given me a Christmas present (other than a lump of coal) in the last hundred and sixty-nine years. Okay, so I screw up now and then, but that doesn’t mean he has to judge me harder than he does the other kids on his list. Think of it, I’ve got sibling rivalry on a global scale. Can you imagine how hard it is to be good when you’re under that kind of pressure 24-7? And I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to watch him working late in the toyshop, sweating over a gift he’s making for some other brat when I know he’d never do the same for me. Ah, but it all falls on deaf ears as far as the Kringle’s concerned. For the record, I also call him His Lardship, the ol’ Chimney-Plugger, Big Chief Yellow Lap, the Toy Nazi, or, when he’s really on my case, St. Dick.

She may be Queen of the Northern Elves to everyone else, but to me she’s just "Moms". I actually think she’s a very cool lady, though you won’t hear me saying that out loud. Far from being the chubby grandmother type usually depicted on Christmas cards, the Mrs. Santa I know is pretty regal and commanding. She’d have to be to keep the ol’ man in line. Moms also has an awesome magic wand which I’ve been known to borrow on occasion, usually when she’s not looking.

Ick! I hate this little drip! He’s my mom’s sister’s kid and for some reason he’s always sleeping over at our house. I wish he’d go home already. This lisping little kiss-ass always outdoes me at present-getting each year, admittedly not much of a feat, given my record.

The coolest elf at the North Pole, next to me. Eddie has the biggest record collection this side of Greenland. True, a lot of it is Xmas music, but a surprising amount of it does not suck. If you want a great ska version of "Frosty" or a hot zydeco rendition of "Sleigh Ride" Eddie’s the man to see. Each year Eddie descends into his subterranean subarctic Xmas record vault to blend the familiar, the obscure and the just plain weird into a holiday mix so cool even I’ll listen to it.

My best gal-pal at the North Pole and one of the head pastry chefs in Santa’s bakery. A nice kid who’s always willing to cover for me, especially on those nights when I’m down the shore partying with the Eskimo guys.

Thrasher’s my trusty steed and best bud. I raised him from a calf and taught him to fly better than my dad’s wimpy ol’ reindeer. All it took was an equal measure of flying corn mixed with refried beans and off he went. Now he flies me around everywhere. Of course, you don’t want to stand downwind from him.

My adorable little pet arctic fox. Isn’t he the cutest thing?!?

I used to not get along with old Needle-Nose here. The high and mighty king of our local narwhal pod always respected Santa but had a pretty low opinion of yours truly. Seems the only way to gain the good will of the Narwhal folk is to beat their toughest male in a tusk to tusk joust, and I had to take on the king himself. Fortunately for me, I was able to cram a lacrosse stick (it’s a long story) down Twin-Tusk’s blowhole and stop him cold. I’ve had the old boy eating out of my hand ever since. Wildlife trivia note: that spiral thingee coming out of the heads of narwhals is not a horn, it’s a tusk. Most narwhal males have only one tusk (the females have none at all — no fair!) but every so often a dominant bull will be found with two. Hence Twin-tusk’s name and distinctive look. Isn’t your life better now for knowing all that? Sure it is.

They are brave. They are many. They are mighty bastards. They are the lemmings, a huge mass of little furry rodents that swarm across the tundra every so often, usually in search of malt liquor. You can often see a few of them hanging out around the North Pole at all times. One lemming by himself is not much trouble, but if you get a bunch of them riled up, look out! The lemmings are incurable party animals. The bad news is they always show up at every gathering with several hundred more of them than expected, no matter if they were invited or not. The good news is they always bring beer.

This old cold sore’s nothing but trouble. He can control the ice and snow and just loves whipping up a nasty blizzard when my pop flies on Xmas eve. The Bliz Wiz was a lot stronger when he had his magic snow globe ring but Santa beat his ass many moons ago and seized it. Seems the Wiz ran the North Pole for years until Santa showed up. The old ice hole forced the Northern Elves (including my mom!) into slavery and made them carve ice sculptures for his amusement. Daddy helped free the elves and now they work for him, making toys for kids amusement. I’m starting to sense a disturbing pattern here. The elves say it’s not like working for the Bliz Wiz at all. They hang with Santa because they believe in his mission of bringing happiness to the kids of the world. Swear.

The Bliz Wiz needed some lackeys to help him conquer the elves so he created these frosty freaks. Made from equal parts snow and rancid walrus milk (with a dash of evil magic thrown in for spite) these ice cream clones will never make flavor of the month at Baskin-Robbins. They squish or melt pretty easily, which makes them just as easy to beat in a fight. Still, the Bliz Wiz keeps his Soft Servant maker cranking day and night, so there’s no shortage of these gloppy goons, sad to say.

One of my very best gal pals, a rambunctious super-powered girl Sheriff from down Texas way. We met a couple years back when daddy and I were bushwhacked by a gang of trailer trash coyotes. Ida and her pet jaguar came to the rescue and ran the varmints off in real western style, yee-ha! Ida never carries a gun, all she does is point a finger and bang! A blast of mutant energy knocks the bad guys for a loop. I wish I had super powers. I can fight dirty and pinch hard, but somehow it’s not the same thing.

Another friend of mine with a color for a last name. (Ever get the idea Dini’s not working too hard at this?) Actually Polly Green rhymes with Halloween, which is ironic as Poll’s an aspiring witch. Polly’s dad wants to push her as a major Halloween icon. He sees his daughter performing big magical feats for lots of $ but sweet Polly’s more interested in creating helpful spells for healing and love. Hmm, another holiday-related kid with family issues. No wonder I like this girl.

The Tibetan terror. The ounce with the pounce. The hottie from Xigatse. All these names describe Tashi, the slinky snow leopard who is my #1 winter sports rival. Like me, this cat’s a good skater, snowboarder, skier and plays a wicked game of hockey. Also like me Tashi tends to make her own rules. Translation: We cheat like hell. That said, we’re pretty respectful of each other’s abilities, and I’ll invite Tash’ over to the igloo now and then, particularly if I want to show off a new trophy and gloat, hee, hee!