The elves go on strike December 1^st. The cheesy felt costumes, the shoes, the bells. Forget it! They even detest their own child-like voices and pointy ears. They feel like mockeries. So, no more Santa’s workshop for them. Not under these conditions. Santa tells them they’re only thinking of themselves, not the children, all the children around the world, and the elves say, “Damn straight.”

Inspired by the elves, the reindeer go on strike a week before Christmas. They’re tired of working on a holiday. Just once they’d like to spend Christmas with their own families, get sloppy drunk on eggnog on Christmas Eve, watch their children open presents. Santa tells them they’re only thinking of themselves, not the children, all the children around the world, and the reindeer say, “Damn straight.”

Mrs. Claus goes on strike on December 23^rd. Says she’s only celebrating Festivus from now on and commences with the airing of grievances. She wants Santa to get a real job. No more milk, cookies, or sex until he does. Santa tells her she’s only thinking of herself, not the children, all the children around the world, and Mrs. Claus says she’s not employed by him for fuck’s sake, she’s his wife, and if he’d been paying more attention, he’d have seen this coming. “Families should come before work,” she says, throwing a fruitcake at the wall.

Santa thinks about this, considers going on strike himself. But he’s consumed by wanderlust and has to think of the children, too, all the children around the world—mostly with September birthdays. Mrs. Claus, of course, has had her suspicions. The reindeer have hinted.

“So, you're still going out tonight?” she asks Santa on Christmas Eve.

“Yes,” he says. “Families should come before work.”