Two Saturdays ago, I convinced my friends to join me in the booze-riddled, fur-covered, red tidal wave nightmare known as Santacon. Last year, I went by myself and had a smashing time. I also had a fantastic time this year, but it suffered a little from lack of organization, and the weather also blew, which made hanging outside the bars socializing with strangers, caroling, elf-tossing, etc, less appealing. If spending all day in a velvet suit with itchy fur is uncomfortable, spending all day in a sodden velvet suit is exponentially worse. Last year as a single Santa, it was easy for me to squeeze into the bars and do my thing–when you have to find spots for 4-6 other people, it gets a little more difficult. I’m not complaining, merely explaining why we ended up breaking off from the Santa horde and forging our own path, filled with slapfights and pizza slices the size of a toddler and handsy elves and shoving plastic penguins down strangers’ pants. Emily took some funny videos, but sadly, I cannot figure how to get those from facebook to embed here.

Everyone met at the Fremont Troll, where one of the organizers reminded everyone of the Four Fucks of Santacon: Santa does not fuck with cops, Santa does not fuck with children, Santa does not fuck with security, and Santa does not fuck with Santa (unless it’s consensual). After the Four Fucks were established, everyone made their way to the first bar, the Dubliner. Already, there were far too many Santas for everyone to get inside, so we hung around outside, passing out gifts, receiving condoms and pornography and swigs from random flasks and party invitations and clove cigarette drags and awkward kisses, all while dancing to such fine tunes as “Baby Got Back” by the inimitable Sir Mix-a-Lot.

^{This Santa was very, very naughty.}

By the time we got to the second bar, The Red Door, it was starting to rain and we were getting cold and miserable. We barely managed to cram ourselves inside, but there was no way we were actually going to make it to the bar itself, nor get seats, and we decided to skip ahead. Far ahead.

We were all getting hungry and decided we should probably eat something to soak up the booze we were imbibing, lest Santa have to fly on a vomit-powered rocket, so we ordered a pizza. The waitress had us all scoot down on the table to make room for the pizza, but in all honesty, I thought she was exaggerating about its size. Nothing could have actually prepared me for the beast that arrived at our table. Each slice was the size of a small child. The pizza was so big, it drew people into its orbit. Strangers began to ask to take our photograph, but they really didn’t want pictures of us, they wanted a way to photograph this pizza without seeming crazy.

I badgered Tristan into eating a second piece, because if I can’t use my goading powers for evil, what exactly do I have them for? He dutifully ate it, but really, really regretted it. Man was not intended to eat this much pizza. We began offering it to strangers, who cut off little bits and bites until we demanded that if they were going to take some, they were going to take a whole damn slice. One guy was up to the challenge, but insisted on feeding me a bite of it first, and who am I to say no?

This guy was really attached to Emily. He was clearly rolling and absolutely wouldn’t leave her alone, until something shinier or furrier made its way by, and then he’d go off to poke/pet it, and then return. On one of his away expeditions, I made my way over to Emily, raising my eyebrows and petting her coat, and when I attempted to lick her, she’d had enough and cracked me right in the face, proving once and for all that Emily does not draw the line at hitting people with glasses.

I had also apparently reached the point of drunkenness where I’d willingly try a chum flavored breath mint.

After waiting a ridiculously long time in line for the facilities and having dudes attempt to recruit us into their bathroom, AND realizing the next official stop would have us walking all the way to Ballard, we decided to throw in the towel and head back to Tristan’s.

But not before I was given some fine VHS pornography–Mature Women and Young Girls 5. Seeing as how I don’t have a VCR, I felt it was best that I pass this gift along to someone who might better enjoy it.

HO HO HO, what would YOU like, little girl? Not to be exploited by appearing in a video with mature women? …I thought so.