With the soft silence of new-fallen snow outside, skinny Santa bats his eyes open from dreams of famine and poodles. It’s the big day, and he pinches at the folds of loose skin on his belly, once more doubting the safety of the strict seaweed and tofu diet that Mrs. Claus has held him to this year. Will his thin body be able withstand the frigid temperatures of the upper atmosphere? He halfway hopes not. A single aborted mission and the disappointment of a few kids, skinny Santa hazards to himself, would be a small price to pay for regained authority over his own tummy.
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