Santa Claus Wants Some Lovin
It was on his fifth night sleeping in the stable that Kris first hummed that tune of good old Albert King’s. Mrs. Claus caught him, though, and shook her head at the fool.
“You want some loving?” she said, dropping his dinner unceremoniously onto the dirt floor, biscuits tumbling into the muck, gravy draining off his gleaming white plate and into the yellow straw. “You want some loving?” she repeated, fuming now. “Why don’t you go ask that floozy with the ’54 convertible then?”
Kris been singing that song a fortnight at this point, the sorry old lech.