The Twerk-Off Before Christmas
’Twas the night before Christmas, when at the North Pole, a twerk-off was brewing between two iconic souls
The Star of Bethlehem shined brightly upon Christmas Town. Nestled in the center of the North Pole, this enchanted village was home to Saint Nick and his faithful community of elves.
Within Santa’s Workshop, the jolly giver of gifts appeared physically exhausted at his desk. Armed with a feathered pen, he reviewed the celebrity edition of his Naughty or Nice List.
“Greta Gerwig is nice,” he mumbled while adjusting his reading glasses. “Paul Giamatti. I loved him in Sideways. He’s nice. Mel Gibson…”
A sharp pain suddenly struck Santa’s heart. He pounded his chest a few times before returning to the list.
“Mel Gibson is heart-wrenchingly naughty,” he quipped while gasping for breath.
There was a knock at the door. Santa’s right-hand elf, Assistant Elf, poked his head into the office.
“Santa, you have a visitor from Nazareth.”
“Nazareth?” Santa remarked with wonder. “Could it be?”
On cue, a visually standoffish Jesus Christ stepped into the office. Santa jumped from his desk and greeted the Messiah with a hearty handshake.
“Jesus, I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life! My name is Santa Claus. It’s a privilege to make your acquaintance.”
Jesus forced a slight smile. The pair took their respective seats.
“This is quite an operation you’ve got here,” the Messiah observed.
“Thank you! It’s all in your honor!”
Jesus rolled his eyes. Though confused, Santa disregarded the aloof gesture and maintained his joviality.
“So, how long have you been back?”
“I just got in earlier this morning.”
“Splendid! Have you announced your return?”
“No. I plan to do it tomorrow on my birthday.”
“That’s a wonderful idea! The world has been anticipating your return for centuries. It will be a celebration for the ages!”
Jesus glared at Santa. The jolly giver of gifts was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Have I done something to upset you, Christ?”
The Messiah chuckled while shaking his head in disbelief.
“When I descended from Heaven and re-entered my body for the first time in nearly two thousand years, I didn’t want to rush into things. I figured I’d spend the day in my burial tomb and collect my thoughts. I began writing a speech for my loyal disciples, but I kept getting distracted. I couldn’t help but wonder how they planned to celebrate my birthday. So, with help from the Star of Bethlehem, I secretly toured the world. I imagined my followers would be at churches commemorating my legacy. Instead, they gathered around tinseled trees and sang hymns about a new savior from the North Pole. In my absence, someone had taken my place. And your conniving face was at the center of it all.”
“Christ, you’ve got it all wrong,” Santa assured. “My intent wasn’t to replace you. I just wanted to do something for the people. I wanted to help alleviate their troubles in your absence.”
“You expect me to believe that? I paid the ultimate sacrifice to ensure my disciples had everything.”
“That you did. But a lot happens in two thousand years. New trials arise.”
A wave of guilt washed over the Messiah as he broke eye contact with Saint Nick.
“Be that as it may, you took the one day celebrating my legacy and twisted it into something vile. That ends now.”
Jesus stood up from his chair and exited the office. Saddened by the Messiah’s accusations, Santa grasped his chest in agony. The throbbing heart pain had returned.
-
Outside Santa’s office, a task force of elves assembled gifts for the virtuous citizens of the world. Jesus stubbornly made his way to the center of the workshop and stood atop a bench.
“Excuse me,” he spoke with thunderous authority. “My name is Jesus Christ, and I want this operation shut down immediately.”
A theme of despair quickly infected the workshop. While scanning the room, the Messiah noticed a large portrait of his likeness hanging from the wall. This display of admiration caught him off guard.
Jesus felt a slight tug at his robe. He looked down to see Assistant Elf’s perplexed face.
“Mr. Christ, why do you want us to halt production?” the elf inquired.
“Santa Claus is interfering with my legacy. I’ve come here to take back what’s mine.”
“But we can’t just end Christmas! Millions of people are counting on us!”
Jesus once again glanced at the portrait of his likeness. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he felt conflicted.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I created this in your honor,” a voice spoke.
The Messiah snapped out of his speculative trance and turned to see Saint Nick standing amongst the elves.
“It makes no difference to me,” Jesus quietly stated.
“Very well. How would you like to partake in a friendly wager? Are you familiar with twerking?”
“Are you referring to the sexually provocative dance move? I believe I encountered it in Venice Beach while observing my disciples. The bottom jiggles profusely, does it not?”
“That’s correct,” Santa laughed. “I purpose a twerk-off. Victory goes to whoever outlasts the other.”
“I see,” Jesus pondered. “And what are the stakes?”
“If you win, I’ll shut down this entire operation forever. But if I win, I want us to share the twenty-fifth of December and work together to bring joy to all those who celebrate us. Do we have a deal?”
Santa extended a handshake to initiate the terms and conditions of the twerk-off. Jesus accepted, and the pair shook on it. While the Messiah partook in warm-up stretches, Assistant Elf pulled his boss aside.
“Are you sure about this, Santa?”
“Of course! I have the juicier derrière.”
“That’s a given. But I’m concerned about your heart. You’re in no condition to be doing this.”
“Nonsense, Assistant Elf. I have experience on my side. By nightfall, Jesus and I will be comrades. Trust me.”
Santa turned to face the Messiah.
“Christ, as the guest of honor, you get to choose the song we twerk to.”
“Very well,” Jesus contemplated. “Play ‘O Holy Night.’”
“Alexa,” Santa bellowed. “You heard the Son of God. Play that tune.”
Over a wireless speaker system, the Nat King Cole version of ‘O Holy Night’ began to play. The Messiah started thrusting his hips and gyrating what little ass he possessed to the beat of the music. Santa followed suit by dropping his thick rump to the floor and bouncing it in place. The elves cheered for their boss.
“It’s no use, Christ,” Santa teased, albeit out of breath. “I have the most succulent peach this side of the North Pole!”
“That may be true, but I possess the stamina you lack. It’s amazing what nearly two thousand years of rest will do for a person. My mind is at peace, and my bony behind has energy for days!”
The rivals continued to twerk. Around the crescendo of the song, Santa’s vision began to blur. The jolly giver of gifts clutched his chest in agony and collapsed to the floor.
“It’s his heart!” Assistant Elf yelled. “Somebody call a doctor!”
Panic erupted in the workshop. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Jesus approached Santa and attempted to apologize. Before he could speak a word, Assistant Elf shoved him away.
“Happy now, asshole?” the elf emotionally inquired.
Jesus reluctantly backed away while staring into the fading eyes of Saint Nick.
“It was all for you,” the jolly giver of gifts weakly murmured. “I just wanted to help.”
-
The Messiah bolted out of Santa’s Workshop. He didn’t stop running until Christmas Town was a blurry speck in the distance. Once out of sight, he fell backward into the cold snow and gazed upon the night sky.
“What have I done?” he gasped.
Upon spotting the Star of Bethlehem, the Messiah reached his hand toward the sparkling phenomenon.
“Star of Bethlehem, I pray to you. Transport me to the holiest being in the world. I am in desperate need of guidance.”
-
The Star of Bethlehem teleported Jesus to the front door of a giant mansion located in Malibu, California. He knocked on the door and proceeded to wait. Eventually, a disheveled Mel Gibson appeared.
The sleep-deprived actor squinted at the Messiah.
“Sonofabitch, Caviezel. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Uh, Mr. Gibson, I’m not Caviezel. My name is Jesus Christ.”
Gibson appeared unamused. The Messiah awkwardly cleared his throat.
“You know. The Son of God.”
“Do I look like a putz to you?”
“No, you appear to be Mel Gibson: actor, devout Roman Catholic, and hopefully, the answer to my prayers.”
Gibson abruptly grabbed Jesus by the hair and stuck a revolver in his face.
“Come off it, shit stain,” the actor snarled. “I can smell your paparazzi type a mile away. Where’s the rest of the asshole brigade, huh? I’ll give you TMZ fucks something to film!”
Gibson cocked the revolver. Jesus began to panic.
“Mr. Gibson, please! If you give me a chance, I can prove my identity!”
Gibson slowly released his grip from the Messiah’s hair.
“Thank you,” Jesus sighed. “Do you have any water on you?”
Agitated, Gibson retrieved a thermos from his bathrobe.
“This is water,” the actor coldly stated.
“Not anymore.”
Gibson scoffed and reluctantly sipped the liquid. When discovering the taste of wine, he spat the fluid in the direction of the Messiah’s face.
“I’ll be damned,” the actor trembled. “You’re the real deal.”
Jesus stood drenched in Gibson’s saliva. Noticing his discomfort, the actor ushered the Messiah into his home.
“Forgive my wastefulness,” he sheepishly apologized. “I quit booze years ago.”
“It’s quite alright,” Jesus muttered while drying his brow. “I suppose I should’ve shown you the holes in my palms instead.”
The Messiah took a few more steps into the actor’s home. He noticed a small Nativity scene nearby, which made him smile. However, his happiness quickly depleted when entering the living room, which featured a vast assortment of Santa decorations.
“How long have you been back?” Gibson inquired.
“About twenty-four hours. I planned to announce my return on my birthday, but I don’t think people will care.”
“Why say a silly thing like that?”
Jesus wordlessly gestured toward Gibson’s enormous collection of Santa ornamentations.
“Not a big fan, huh?” the actor chuckled. “I’ll admit it’s a little excessive. I’m not sure why I bother anymore. The big guy’s given me nothing but coal for the last twenty years.”
“Mr. Gibson, please!” Jesus groaned. “Can’t you see what’s going on here? A jolly rotund man from the North Pole hijacked the day celebrating my birth. My legacy is no longer relevant! I died for the sins of the world, and no one cares. It’s like they’ve forgotten I exist!”
“Can you blame them?” Gibson replied bluntly. “You’ve been gone almost two thousand years. Humanity crumbled in your absence. We prayed for your return again and again. But you never showed.”
Ashamed, Jesus averted his eyes from the actor.
“Well, I needed the rest,” he hastily reasoned. “Crucifixions take a lot out of you.”
“People started losing hope,” Gibson divulged. “And then, like a miracle from Heaven, along came Saint Nick. He couldn’t fill your massive sandals, nor did he try. But what he provided was an escape. A holiday centered on harmony and joy. He called it Christmas, named in your honor.”
This revelation hit Jesus hard.
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” he whispered to the heavens.
The Messiah turned to face Gibson.
“I didn’t believe him.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I confronted Claus earlier today. He told me everything you just revealed. And I didn’t believe him. I wanted the day for myself. We agreed to partake in a high-stakes twerk-off. Mid-competition, he had a heart attack.”
Jesus fell to his knees and began to cry uncontrollably.
“I used to think of myself as a savior. But would a savior single-handedly destroy Christmas? Nay! I’m a monster!”
Gibson knelt in front of Jesus and gently lifted his chin.
“Messiah, may I be frank with you?” the actor softly requested.
Jesus nodded. Gibson proceeded to slap him hard across the face.
“Get ahold of yourself!” he barked. “You’re Jesus, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’m sorry!” the Messiah wept. “I don’t know what to do! Please help me, Mr. Gibson!”
Gibson arose from the floor and paced his living room, lost in thought.
“Alright. Your greed nearly killed Santa Claus. You realize the error of your ways, which is good. But now it’s time to make amends. You gotta repent and save Christmas.”
“I can’t do that! I’m ill-equipped to deliver those gifts!”
“Relax. The Star of Bethlehem will guide you. All you need is Santa’s sack.”
“And how do you suppose I’ll acquire that? The elves won’t trust me with it. I gave their patriarch a heart attack!”
“Well, that’s where repenting comes in!”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not like you have much choice. If your disciples catch wind of what you did, they’ll hunt you down and make your last crucifixion look like child’s play.”
Jesus gulped back tears and quietly observed his stigmata. Gibson exhaled.
“Messiah, we all make mistakes. The only way to heal wounds is through the power of love. Just as I have loved you, you must also love another.”
At that moment, Jesus had an epiphany. He arose from the floor and faced Gibson.
“Mr. Gibson, you’re right. Thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson on the importance of tolerance.”
“Hey, it’s your sermon,” the actor joked. “I’m just paraphrasing.”
The duo smiled and shook hands. Jesus exited Gibson’s mansion and looked towards the night sky.
“Star of Bethlehem, take me back to Christmas Town.”
Jesus magically vanished before Gibson’s eyes. The actor calmly dialed a number into his cell phone.
“Caviezel, it’s Gibson. Don’t bother reading the Passion 2 script. I gotta cook up some major rewrites.”
-
The Star of Bethlehem teleported Jesus back to the North Pole. From the outskirts, Christmas Town appeared quiet.
“You’ve got this,” Jesus whispered while entering the village. “You were selfish, but everyone sins now and then. Surely they’ll understand and accept your sincere apologies.”
Immediately after hyping himself up, the Messiah came across a horrific sight. In the center of town, a mob of elves assembled around a large wooden cross.
“If that Jesus ever comes back here, I’m going to crucify him for what he did to Santa!” one elf shouted.
“Not if I can crucify him first!” another elf roared.
“Fellas, please!” a third elf reasoned. “There’s no need to argue. We can crucify him together!”
The Messiah’s eyes widened.
“On second thought, I could go back to my tomb and give this another shot in two thousand years,” he quivered.
When attempting to flee, the mob of elves spotted him.
“There he is! String him up!”
A chase ensued. Jesus stumbled over a deep patch of snow and fell to the ground. When picking himself up, he noticed a nearby building with an open window. Using his remaining energy, he made a beeline for the opening and dove through.
Once inside the building, Jesus shut the window and attempted to catch his breath. When he turned to observe his surroundings, he quickly discovered he was in the town’s clinic. Furthermore, he had entered a patient’s room, and that patient was Santa Claus.
Santa’s comatose body rested on a cot in the middle of the room. Jesus slowly approached.
“Santa, can you hear me?” he softly inquired. “It’s me, Jesus.”
The Son of God reached for Saint Nick’s hand. He gently squeezed it with affection.
“I was foolish to be angry with you. All this time, I felt my disciples owed me something when, in fact, I owed them. I wasn’t around to help them in their darkest hours, but you were. I should’ve trusted your word. We could’ve shared the twenty-fifth of December if it wasn’t for my avarice.”
Tears began to fall from the Messiah’s eyes.
“I’ve come to repent,” his voice trembled. “But I fear I’m too late. I don’t deserve a legacy. I should’ve stayed dead.”
Just then, an elf holding a clipboard entered the room. Jesus raised his hands in defense, but the elf was uninterested.
“You can’t be here,” the elf stated matter-of-factly while going about their business. “Visiting hours are over.”
Perplexed, Jesus lowered his hands.
“I’m sorry, are you the doctor?”
“No, Doctor Elf is out sick. I’m subbing on their behalf. My name is Captain Obvious Elf. I specialize in the self-evident.”
Captain Obvious Elf continued to review Santa’s charts as Jesus watched on.
“How is he?” the Messiah asked.
“He’s in a coma.”
Captain Obvious Elf set aside their clipboard and looked Jesus in the eyes.
“Aren’t you the guy everyone is after?”
Jesus hung his head in shame and nodded.
“Why’d you bother coming back? Did you not see the giant wooden cross outside?”
“I came back to repent. And potentially save Christmas.”
“That’s going to be impossible without the big guy helping you.”
“I’m aware.”
“Well, you are Jesus, right?”
“Indeed I am.”
“The Son of God?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Okay, then resuscitate him. You can do that, correct?”
A light bulb went off in the Messiah’s brain.
“My God, you’re right! Stand back, Captain Obvious Elf!”
Jesus rubbed his hands together and placed his fingertips on Santa’s chest. Within seconds, the jolly giver of gifts awoke from his coma.
“Ho, ho, whoa!” Santa exclaimed. “That was the deepest slumber I’ve had in years!”
Jesus placed his hand on Santa’s shoulder.
“Are you feeling better, Claus?”
“Yes, Christ. I feel stronger than ever, and it’s all thanks to you!”
“Claus, I’ve come here to re-”
“Save your energy,” Santa interrupted. “I heard everything you said in my coma. I forgive you, my friend. It would be an honor to share the twenty-fifth of December with you.”
Jesus embraced Santa.
“Thank you,” the Messiah happily wept. “And thank you, Mel Gibson.”
Santa’s brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry; did you thank Mel Gibson? The actor?”
“Yes! The Star of Bethlehem sent me to his Malibu residence for guidance. Without him, I wouldn’t have realized the error of my ways. He truly is a martyr among sinners.”
Santa arose from his cot and put an arm around the Messiah’s shoulder.
“I think it’s time I introduced you to my Naughty List,” he quipped.
Once outside the clinic, Santa and Jesus approached the mob of angry elves. The jolly giver of gifts signaled for his community to stand down.
“It’s okay, everyone! Christ is with us!”
The elves erupted with cheers. The Messiah and Saint Nick walked arm in arm to Santa’s Workshop as the Star of Bethlehem brightened their path. From that day forth, they worked together to preserve their legacies. The world was a happier place under their cooperation.
As for Mel Gibson, he went on to make Passion of the Christ 2: Blood on the Snow, starring Jim Caviezel as Jesus Christ and Jon Voight as Santa Claus. Nobody liked it.
