The day Santa diedGagahut Police Station. 24th Dec, 2505.
"You think he's telling the truth?"
"You kidding me? This guy must be stoned or something."
"I dunno...I remember stories about some old man called Santa Claus. My nana loved talking about him."
"I don't care about some stories your nana told you. My guess is, this guy had a similar kinda nana, and he decided to pull of some kinda scam after hearing those stories."
"Yeah I guess so....after all, how can the guy be alive after all this while anyway?"
"Look. We gotta get a confession out of him. This story of his is crazy. I have a feeling he's gonna be pleading insanity."
"Your probably right. Lets go in."
The two men walked into the interviewing room, where there sat alone an old man. He wore a red suit, and a thin, torn sack was on the floor beside him. His beard was white and incredibly long, like he had been growing it for quite some time. He wore a hat, a red and white one, with a bell on top. He looked incredibly silly, and it was something children were expected to wear, not respected members of society.
"Santa Claus! I've told you a million times. My name is Santa Claus!"
"Sure it is. We'll just call you Shivramanian Krishna, ok?"
"No. Not ok!"
"Umm...how about Shivramanian Ganesh?"
"This guy just refuses to cooperate, doesn't he, Johnson?"
"That's right, sir."
"Shut up, Johnson. Stop stating the obvious."
"Well said, sir."
"Dammit, Johnson! Shut the hell up!"
"Dammit Johnson! Didn't I just tell you to shut the hell up?!"
There was no reply. Johnson began to sweat. He had been standing at attention for quite some time, trying to show off his impressive physique. No one, unfortunately, was interested. His arse began to cramp, and he winced slightly, before falling to the ground.
"Now listen, you. Your name is Shombhu." He was not very interested in Johnson.
"That's better. Atleast now we can move on."
"Now listen. What in the name of the Lord our God, Spongebob Squarepants, were you doing breaking and entering into 352 homes in one night?"
"I already told you, I'm San-"
"Don't give me that bullshit, old man!"
"There's no bullshit! It's all the truth!"
"Sure it is. You know what, Johnson?"
"I think we need to call in the professionals. You heard me, Shombhu? This is your last warning. Are you gonna co-operate or not?"
"Fine. Your mistake. We're calling in our number one detective. He specializes in breaking and entering cases, and he has graduated from the stud police."
"His name, Shombhu, is Mr. Notver E. Clever. You had better pay him respect, old man."
The two men left the room, Johnson being carried out by his supervisor. Santa, or Shombhu, was devastated. This was not going according to plan, not at all. "This is not going according to plan.", he thought, "I might as well co-operate with these idiots. The sooner I help them, the sooner I get out."
At this moment, the famed detective entered.
"You must be Notver. E Clever. I hear you studied with the studs."
"What the hell did you call me, boy?"
"Notver. E Clever."
"Are you calling me dumb, boy?"
"No! Not at all! You are Notver. E Clever, right?"
"What the hell is wrong with you, boy?!"
Santa was slapped.
"Ow! What was that, for?!"
"Don't pretend like you don't understand, boy! Everyone understands! Shave that beard, boy! Your never going to get into the army looking like that! Get a decent life!"
"What in God's name are you talking about?!"
"Did you just take the name of Spongebob Squarepants in vain, boy?! How dare you, waltzing in here like you own the place, insulting our God, drinking our water."
"They dragged me in here, and you never gave me water!"
"Damn, boy. You are one tough cookie. You wouldn't go soggy in milk, would you? Well, guess what, noone likes it when the cookie doesn't go soggy. They like the wet cookie. You understand me, boy?!"
"Damn, boy. Now listen to me. I'm on your side. Hell, there are three sides here. Like a triangle. But it ain't an equilateral triangle. Its downright isoscles."
"What are you talking about?!"
"Ok now listen. I'm gonna make a deal with you, boy. You tell me everything, and I'll make sure you get out real quick. You don't even hafta sign papers or anything. So, like an archaeologist says to a young man looking for a job, you dig?"
"I can't take this anymore! I need my insulin!"
"Aaaaargh! I can't take this anymore. I'm leaving this place. The children can go to hell!"
Santa banged his head repeatedly on the steel table. Blood poured out, and he was soon unconscious. But Mr. Clever understood what he wanted. And he finished the job for him.