The last day of Santa Samurai:
"He used to arrive everyday three sheets to the wind, snow blind, and screaming, 'I can't kill who I want!' Some considered him a voodoo preacher powered by sterno, Windex, and cough medicine. Others saw a saint defying all censors. But most simply called him Santa Samurai. That last episode -- he promised (and foretold), 'There'll be no topping this... sin... so good.'
"Lights come up. Curtain rises. Santa Samurai in a tux spreading his usual devil-owes-me-money grin. He addresses the camera cock sure, 'You bored motherfuckers. Television doesn't have to be for sleeping. BANZAI!' And the razor blade whirlwind starts to spin. Immediately, a bevy of sexy clowns stripping on stage while he explains the philosophical proof there's a state of nothing. He shot sixteen celebrities for trying to change the world by posing for photos. Santa let a polar bear rape-murder the head of PETA; sold a case of dildos to a convent sworn to silence then played the sound of their moans -- hidden microphones in the base of plastic cocks -- while he hired Death to hunt the Pope; burned every last kind of Gone with the Wind and never gave a damn. First commercial break.
"Return to regular programming. Santa Samurai played a song that made children go psycho knife wielding crazy; showed a picture of the end of the world few could deny was bound to arrive; mathematically proved god existed once but died during creation; started the vivisection of a mime and shook his head all disappointed when the fucker screamed. Go to commercial round two.
"Final segment. Hell bent to leave minds scarred beyond recovering, Santa Samurai quietly read from the book of the dead, cursing the world to be haunted by... all that's ever been. From dinosaurs to Neanderthals to every single human since the beginning, there's a ghost, and thanks to Santa, they roam from every coast to coast. 'Good night everyone.' Roll credits.
"And for some reason, despite the ratings, Santa got canceled. It makes no sense. Who wouldn't want something so assuredly entertaining? Television must be for sleeping."
Steven J. Aldritch resides in the Morningside mental institute outside Chicago. He refuses to divulge the whereabouts of Santa Samurai. The only thing he's ever said on the subject is, "Have you been to Dimension Zed?"