[ WP ] After a screw up occurs at the post office , Santa starts receiving damned souls while Satan is stuck with thousands of wish lists .

It was a terrifying sight. All over the factory floor, the elves were screaming as souls passed in between them, searching for their hollowed remains. Machines exploded, and from the wreckage, more souls kept pouring into the warehouse. 
 
 
 `` Secure the rigging! Make sure they do n't penetrate the storage units! Someone get Mrs. Claus on the phone, the boss is n't going to like this. You there! try to redirect the souls to the doll section!'' The floor manager, red face with rage and jingling bells on his toes gesticulated violently, spouting orders trying to bring order to this chaos. 
 
 
 `` The big man is on his way!'' It was Demetre, the young intern elf that was helping the manager try to gather the wits about the remaining factory workers. 
 
 
 `` Machine two is overheating! Someone-'' 
 
 
 A huge burst of orange and red painted the center floor. It was the paint machine. The result was a colossal Jackson Pollock painting of epic proportions. The souls still wandering aimlessly moaned incessantly, passing through the walls to seek out some form of body. 
 
 
 *Ho ho ho! * 
 
 
 `` The big man is here!'' The floor manager turned around, and there he was, without a whisper. 
 
 
 `` Chief! Thank goodness you're here! These... ghosts! beings! Spirits! They're everywhere!'' 
 
 
 The big jolly man snapped his fingers and summoned forth a cell phone. Samsung by the look of it, but it had a christmas tree where the logo was. He put it to his ear and smiled at the floor manager. 
 
 -- - 
 
 
 *Ring ring ring* 
 
 
 Secretary: Thanks for calling the damned, your call will be monitored to ensure quality of demonic service, how can we help? Oh, hello Mr. Claus, absolutely. Deedry! Is the big man in? It's urgent! Sorry about that Mr. Claus, is that all? I'll transfer you over to his line right now. 
 
 
 *zzzzst* 
 
 
 Satan: Huh, is this thing on? Hello? Santa! What in the name of my genitals is your mail doing at my place? I'm getting charged millions to ferry the souls to somewhere unpleasant and I get sacks full of mail. How's that fair? Beelzebub, is that fair? 
 
 
 Beelzebub: No Sir, that's not. 
 
 
 Satan: What? I do n't know! Wait, you have the souls? Bee! What time is my tee off at St. Andrews? 
 
 
 Beelzebub: Four o'clock on the dot sir. With St. Peters and Jesus. 
 
 
 Satan: Do you think I have enough time to ferry a portal with a flow capacity of thirteen thousand souls back here? 
 
 
 Beelzebub: You would be cutting it very short sir. The Hold'em Boys could aid you for a price. 
 
 
 Satan: Yeah, yeah, get them here. I'll pay their stupid price. What was it again? 
 
 
 Beelzebub: Fourty girls of the pole with the night off on Tuesday for the next month. 
 
 
 Satan: Done. Hey Claus? Yeah, I'm on my way over. Damages? I have no idea. Split the cost, and get your reindeer ready, I do n't your stupid mail. Well, why do n't you get with the program and use email? You're still on compucom?! Whatever, I'm on my way over. 
 
 

