Santa: He Does Exist, But Unfortunately He's A Moron

My first and last experience of Santa's Grotto was in the December of 1971, when I was a mere four years old. In those days, unlike most boys of my age, I was very keen on Ruritanian literature, especially the celebrated philosophical works of the late eighteenth century. Consequently, when Santa asked me what I wanted for Christmas I told him that a copy of Heinrick Schleist's famous codex, A Proposition on Gnomique Hand-Wringing would be a welcome addition to my collection, and since sitting on Santa's knee was such a special event, I decided to make my request in my best fluent Ruritanian country dialect: "Jip kronstumpf une codexoy don A Proposition on Gnomique Hand-Wringing vai Heinrick Schleist," I whispered in Santa's ear, hoping that he didn't know how naughty I had been when translating some of the bawdier Ruritanian folk poems earlier that year.
But he just gave me a funny look. "Eh?" he said, his jaw slackening by the second.
And it was at this precise moment, at the tender age of four, that my belief in Christmas magic was destroyed forever. Almost immediately I could see that the bearded imbecile had no idea what I was talking about. Not only could the festive fool not speak properly, he didn't even understand conversational Ruritania parlance; and last but not least, the Christmas cretin had obviously never heard of Heinrick Schleist either!
No wonder the idiot slides down chimneys, he probably doesn't know how doorknobs work.

Comments

[DarkoV]

The giveaway "Eh" points out your first mistake in ditching Santa. You posed you questions to a Canadian Santa, not a self-satisfied American one.
Not sure if the response you would have received from the USA Man in Red would have been different, although i suppose the barbed tone of your wish may have resulted in a "You'll oke your eye out with that request."

[DarkoV]

Uhmm, That s/b "poke" not "oke", although "oke" sounds equally painful.