I hate SantaCon, the annual pubcrawl where people dressed in Santa costumes invade urban areas all over the world and get wasted. If you live in New York, SantaCon happened this past weekend, meaning that every drinking establishment you went to was invaded by drunk and increasingly touchy fat men in suits.
SantaCon’s official rulebook only gives 4 rules for being jolly old St. Nick:
• Don’t Fuck With Kids
• Don’t Fuck With Cops
• Don’t Fuck With Security
• Don’t Fuck With SANTA!
As the night goes on however, these rules become more “bendy.” What constitutes a kid these days, anyway? Or a cop? Or what if it’s a kid dressed as a cop, huh? What’chu gonna do then??? Answer: This.
SantaCon starts out all “Ho-ho-ho,” but usually becomes unmanageable by the end of the night. Last year, New York’s SantaCon started to split off their pub-crawls into several different groups, to avoid red and white riots after 2 p.m. Last year, I was dancing at one of these SantaCon post-party raves and got offered Ecstasy by at least three very fat, sweaty men in Santa suits. If I wasn’t Jewish and 25 at the time, I might have been traumatized.
If you have a fear of large throngs of people, think of Santa Claus as a clown’s bigger, scarier cousin. But if you can’t deal with watching childhood figures vomit into the gutters before most people have brunch, SantaCon is not for you.