ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity.

Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution's presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous "Tooth Fairy."

"This man, sitting right here—though he may appear jolly, and have the very glint of holiday joy in his eyes, is at best a worldwide fraud and perpetrator of lies," presented attorney Manfred Hauser for the prosecution. "At worst, he's the greatest terrorist in the history of mankind."

Hauser was referring to the charges levied against the alleged jolly old elf: the first, pretending to provide toys and presents to all the children of the world, when in fact they're bought and delivered by the children's parents; two, attempting to set up a non-profit "holiday" religion by infringing upon the beliefs of Christianity; three, initiating and operating international pyramid schemes of "helpers" on street corners and department stores everywhere; four, cruelty to animals, i.e. specifically the training and illegal housing of endangered reindeer; and five, violating labor laws and international laws against slavery, specifically regarding the livelihood of diminutive people.

Kringle had the entire world on the edge of their seats, awaiting how he would plea, when he finally entered a statement of "not guilty" two weeks ago.

The trial has been the focus of the entire world ever since the world-famous "Santa Claus" was taken into custody last year, Sept. 19, 2012, by Russian soldiers while leading a Chechan rebels' rebellion during his so-called "off season." Tipped off by local naughty boys, soldiers found Kringle hidden beneath a collapsed chimney that he may have been using as a home for as long as six weeks. The U.N. had planned to try Claus in October of this year, but thought given the circumstances they could postpone the event until the holiday season.

The highlight of Thursday's trial included the testimony of an anonymous elf, known only to the jury as "Sprinkles," alleging Kringle used magic powers to extend the days just so he could make his elf workforce work 28-hour shifts. The testimony took a turn for the lewd as the witness alleged, through sobs and comically high-pitched crying, Santa Claus made the workplace even more uncomfortable with the use of a device called a "mistletoe belt buckle."

"Humbug!" exclaimed Kringle, standing up and shaking a green-gloved fist at the video screen. "Complete and utter humbug! And there's no use disguising your voice—I know it's you, Butterscotch! He's a liar, your honor! Check his closet and you'll see—nothing but coal!"

Kringle denounced the trial as a sham, and tried to remind the court of the reason for the season, but was warned by Judge Avril Harkrieger he would be bound and gagged if he didn't keep quiet, and maybe would anyway, if the judge wanted it bad enough.

Each day the trial has been marred by protests outside, middle- to upper-class kids demanded Santa's release, and several children living below the poverty line demanded years worth of retroactive gifts.

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The American people should thank the inventor of the remote control. We should thank our fat asses off. Because if it weren't for the remote, we'd have to get up off the couch every time something crappy came on TV, which means we'd all have bionic Teflon knees by now. And I don't know about you, but I like my current knees just fine.

Before the invention of the remote, Americans had to get up off their big, fat asses to change the channel every time something crummy came on, which led to the modern trend of watching whatever is on for hours regardless of quality. Beaten down and bitch-slapped by the repressive lack of technology in those days, Americans slouched away their meek little lives in front of such stultifying fare as Ted Hammerslut's Big Band Breakdown and The Russians in the Cushions, both of which were huge ratings hits in the 50's because TVs came from the factory set to that channel.

During World War II, those ingenious fucks known as the Nazis developed the first remote control technology, which they utilized in the design of a robotic doorman that was used to heil Hitler a cab when he was visiting Nazi central headquarters in Berlin. Due to the crummy technology of the day, the robot didn't work very well and after decapitating Hitler's mother-in-law in 1943, it was given the German medal of honor (the coveted "Big Bastard") and retired to a furniture showroom in Dresden.

Early attempts to adopt the Nazi remote technology for use in television sets were unsuccessful, as the remotes would channel-surf on their own looking for reruns ofThe Three Stooges.

The first successful television remote was developed by the Zenith Electronics Corporation in 1950. Called the "Lazy Fuck," the device was attached to the television by a long wire, and was used less for controlling the TV than it was for tripping crabby housewives in hilarious ways all across America. Though a huge hit among unhappily married men all across the country, overall the unit did poorly due to its bitingly accurate name.

In 1955, Zenith sort of improved on their invention with the creation of the "Flashmatic," a small device that looked exactly like a flashlight but wasn't because it said "Remote Control" on one side. Viewers aimed the Flashmatic at one of four light-receptive cells positioned on the corners of their television screen, allowing them to turn the set on, change the channel up or down, and explode the television. Some considered the lack of an "off" command to be an inconvenience, but forward-thinking Zenith executives imagined a day when Americans would never turn off their televisions, making unsightly "off" knobs a garish eyesore. The main purpose of this innovation, however, was to draw attention away from the Zenith's exploding feature, which made tidy profits for the corporation due to repeat business from customers with poor hand-eye coordination who blew up several television sets a year.

Eventually the Flashmatic had to be phased out since on sunny days the set would flash channels randomly for a few minutes before exploding, and in 1956 Zenith televisions killed half the residents of Arizona. The Flashmatic was replaced in 1957 by the Zenith Space Command, a revolutionary new remote technology named to appeal to small boys and the insane. The Space Command used an unpowered remote which contained four small aluminum rods. When the buttons on the unit were struck violently, preferably with a xylophone mallet, the rods would produce inaudible ultrasound tones that were then picked up by vacuum tubes hidden inside the television set.

The Space Command worked like a charm, a shitty, useless charm, and was a big hit among the tech-savvy and expectant mothers who soon realized that if they stood close enough to the humming set, they could see their babies. Unfortunately, after several years of lawsuits from families claiming birth defects and complaints from dog-whistle enthusiasts that their sets kept exploding, Zenith decided to discontinue the Space Command in 1959. For nearly two decades Americans were plunged back into the darkness of throwing coffee table knick-knacks and snack items at television sets in hopes of jogging the channel knob.

The modern remote made its debut in 1980, with current units using gamma radiation to perform tasks as disparate as setting a VCR's clock or cooking a Thanksgiving turkey faster than a microwave. Research found the gamma rays caused attention deficits in children and obesity in adults, but it was a small price to pay to not have to watch CHiPs anymore.

In 1992 MTV debuted a gameshow called Remote Control, which was of no consequence to anyone beyond the fact that it fills up three lines of column space.

Over the last twenty years, countless new remote-controlled innovations have hit the market, changing the way we live forever. From the "Bitch Be Quiet" human silencer to the remote-controlled "Woody," few can deny that remote controls are here to stay. And why not?

Well, I'm waiting. I'll expect an answer by Monday.

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Dear commune:

I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universal—like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool?

Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks!


Nat McCauley
Whitewash, Washington


Dear Nat:

Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."

It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.

In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to the African people, and that's how the gifts get under the tree.

In Japan, "Santa" is actually a 50-foot robot that transforms into a walkman and leaves itself under the tree. Fortunately, once one robot has completed its mission, other robots construct themselves for delivery to other children around the world.

As for ourselves, sometimes we're Santagnostics and don't know what we believe. But usually we rely on the idea that "Santa Claus," as you call him, is just pure energy that divides itself among us all, and that by closing our eyes and collectively picturing sugar plums dancing and other Christmas things, we can generate gifts under the tree without buying them. This hasn't happened yet, but it's usually from a lack of good will and Christmas cheer and therefore does not constitute a lack of existence of this energy.

Hope this has illuminated the subject and you're no longer tied to the ridiculous idea of a man coming down your chimney to empty his sack rather than fill it. Merry whatever!

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the lump of coal in your stocking. Perhaps you should have thought about that before sending us all those forwarded e-mails asking us to add our names to the bottom.

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