North Pole

Turns out the place Santa “knows of” is the North Pole. He just tosses the body in the snow.

“It’s gonna be thousands of years before anyone finds that, this whole thing will hopefully have blown over by then,” he says.

You: “Whatever. Say, could I take a look through your records to see if the mysterious millionaire or the hot, adulterous wife have gotten anything suspicious for the holidays over the past few years?”

Santa: “It’s probably like a breach of confidentiality or something. But be my guest.”

You look through what the M&M and his spouse have both asked for and received over the past few years. Typical requests of a couple that has been married for a really long time. Socks, underwear, etc.

You: “Hey Santa, this isn’t really all that provocative. Santa?”

You turn around, to see Santa pointing a gun at your face.

You: “What are you doing?.”

Santa: “You are rifling through my personal records. I must kill you now.”

You: “You said it was alright.”

Santa: “Eh, I was high.”

Then he shoots you in the face. The shot kills you. You have lost the game.

Back to the beginning.

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