The story: It’s Christmas Eve, and Santa Claus has a poor, achy back from his arduous job of turning a gigantic crank for apparently all year long, while a workshop full of slave labor elves actually seem like they’re the ones doing all the making of the toys. Addled Santa endures pain while putting on his outfit, delivering toys, and traversing snow-covered rooftops.
In one particular home, a father’s late-night masturbation session is interrupted by Santa’s home invasion, but seeing him in obvious pain, he discreetly slips onto the table the bottle of Aleve® that he was using to help desensitize himself and last longer (paraphrased). Surprised, Santa does not hesitate to wolf down some over-the-counter drugs that some stranger left for him to take, but fortunately his trust is rewarded with fast, effective pain relief.
The commercial ends with Santa back at his sweatshop in the North Pole, and with his back pain numbed, he begins studiously working for next year’s Christmas as the countdown ticker in the background resets to 365 days away.
The takeaway: Santa Claus is now addicted to Aleve pain pills.
He stands absolutely zero chance of making it until next Christmas. His body will develop a tolerance to the Aleves, and he’ll eventually up his doses, probably by late February or early March. Eventually his body will develop a dependence on Aleve pills, regardless to the murder his increasing doses are doing to his liver. By summertime, Santa is a strung-out mess, and servicemen acknowledging Christmas in July for the Troops point out that he has lost a substantial amount of weight and his complexion is pale and always sweaty.
By August, he’s taking an entire jar every twelve hours, and on Labor Day weekend, his liver fails him, and he’s put on a dialysis machine, as the extensive liver transplant waiting list is longer than the Mississippi River, and not even for Santa Claus could an exception be made. Attempts to acquire one on the black market fall through due to the complication of logistics, from South America to the North Pole.
In November, the stress of the upcoming Christmas holiday takes its toll on a perpetually cranky and unruly Santa suffering from Aleve withdrawal. Constant arguments with Mrs. Claus and elves results in morale decline throughout the sweat shop. Letters from children, and the endless array of wishes to grant, and toys to manufacture cause Santa Claus to lose his sanity, even frailer than ever in his weakened state.
A week before Christmas, with the ticker showing just seven days left prior to Christmas, Santa cannot take it anymore, and late at night after all the elves had retired, and just after one of the latest angry fights with Mrs. Claus, he pulls the plug on his own dialysis machine, and by morning he skin has yellowed and he is found face first on the ground of the workshop with vomit and other excretions everywhere.
Christmas is ruined.