In the morning the president of the bank arrived,
Unlocked the front door and made his way inside.
As he entered his office he got quite a shock,
He was met by an angry old elf with a Glock.
He saw six more elves as he looked round the room,
Armed with guns and grenades and what looked a harpoon.
Binkle sat up on the edge of the desk,
And said, “Mr Waverly, I’m sure you have guessed,
We are Santa’s elves, but we don’t come with toys,
I’m afraid you’ve been a rather naughty boy.”
The elves sat the president down in a chair,
And with ropes tied in bows they secured him there.
Then Binkle said, “Sir, won’t you look here and see,”
In the corner were briefcases, one, two and three.
“You’ll find these briefcases heavy and solid,
They contain exactly 3.8 million dollars,
Cash of course, I hope that’s okay,
And with that you can consider Santa’s debts paid.
“You know how that jolly old man does such good,
And I’m not making myself out to be Robin Hood,
But from now on I hope you’ll leave Santa alone,
Not a letter in the mail, not a call on the phone.
Let’s call it even and you can forget we were here,
’Cause if I have to come back I’ll cut you ear to ear.”
And with that Binkle drew from his sleeve a machete,
Hopped off the desk and said, “Boys, hold him steady.”
Two elves grabbed Mr Waverly’s head,
As he struggled and panicked, his face turning red.
Binkle walked over and climbed up in his lap,
And with the back of his hand gave Waverly a slap.
He held the machete to Waverly’s eye,
And said, “Just do as we say and you will be fine.”
Then Waverly stammered, “You don’t understand,
Your boss’s problems go beyond this bank,
His workshop is no longer tax-exempt,
I’m just the messenger, this is over my head.”
Binkle scowled, then gave a wicked smile,
The other elves snickered and laughed for a while.
Binkle said, “Listen while I make this clear,
Or things are going to get nasty in here.
Here’s how I see it in my humble view—
Messenger or not, the buck stops with you.
“So the next time somebody bothers Saint Nick,
I’ll be leaving the workshop and coming here quick,
Or perhaps, better yet, I’ll go visit the girl,
Who gave me this beautiful, golden curl.”
And Binkle showed Waverly his daughter’s hair,
The president raged, then slumped, in his chair,
And muttered a curse, “You sons of bitches!”
Then Binkle said, “Now I think he gets the picture.”
With a slash of his blade Binkle cut the man loose,
And all of the elves returned to the roof,
They got in the sleigh and took off through the clouds,
And were all back at work making toys in an hour.
When Santa awoke from his drug-induced sleep,
His financial troubles seemed just a bad dream.
He never again got mail from the bank,
For the toyshop, somehow, was back in the black,
And Christmas brought smiles to girls and to boys,
As Santa continued delivering toys.
From what Binkle could tell his plan did the trick,
Not a hint of suspicion had come from Saint Nick,
It seemed to Binkle and all of the elves,
That Santa was back to his old jolly self.
But one detail hadn’t escaped Santa’s eye—
The strange disappearance of Piggledy-Pie.
And on that note, there’s one thing left to tell,
It involves a Mexican drug cartel,
And how certain gang members that Christmas Eve,
Were mysteriously choked to death in their sleep.
© 2019 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED