Nothing and Some More

Chatting online is brainwashing, therefore quite addictive after a hard day of work: just like tv except I improve your typing speed and my anatomic slang. I particularly enjoy talking with Camgirls, because they've heard everything and more, and they know that, ultimately all I want is some flesh (no blood, thanks). Xmas is, like any other global fiesta, an easy conversation starter (and much better than my usual it's raining here, and not men). So I was tit-ting-tattling with that smart ass about how many digital pictures I could have of her if I bought some crap on her wishlist. My nick was obviously Undercover Santa, since my wife would be upset if she knew I was using my privileges not really the way they were supposed to be used (ie having kids smiling, instead of them grokking quite early in their youth that money can buy everything these days.) but to warm my poor self in that chilly place called North Pole.

Of course, that camgirl was relectant to the idea of surprise. I could understand it though: I was just a freaky stranger. She wanted that Loft Story boxset and there was no way she would instead receive 1984. 'Not even a movie!'.

Then of course, the rain really started to fall. And that was no Geri Halliwell in tank top singing, but the real thing: raindrop falling on my roof. But the blues that they send to meet me wont defeat me.

One thing I like about karaoke is that I end up knowing by heart a lot of lyrics.

Then there was a big lightning and a few second later the thunder said hello...I think I better knock, knock, knock on wood.

And then, a popup from DHCPd informing me that somewhat was requesting an IP address on my freenet. THAT was weird: who, in his right mind, would be stoopid enough to be outside now, using a laptop to connect to the internet.

A clue was a barytone "Hello": an old fat guy, quite wet and leaking all over the room, was sitting on my bed, ruining the brand new plaid that mom lovingly made for my birthday..

- Don't worry, I clean the mess later. Thanks for the Freenet. By the way, you should told her that her teddy bear is behind the third drawer, her little brother put it here.
- Quite cryptic, don't you think ?
- TYPE IT.
Natural authority is a great thing.
I got one smiley, a 'hold on, I'm coming... back' and then after a long minute, the expected 'how did you know that ????'. And me to answer 'Didn't I told you I was Santa Claus ?'

And the lighting was there again, and the guy on my bed started to roll on the floor laughing, litteraly.

- So, how come you're around, it's not even Christmas yet.
- Reconnaissance.

And he showed me what he was typing on his iBook, creating a hell of a road-book. - Calling it a chimneybook would be more exact though. Do you mind me being really me with your friend for a sec ?

What to say ? So he starting typing, me peeping over his shoulders. She was quite excited, as much as I could judge by her cam. First, she proposed to bare it all, in order to get the full wishlist.

Santa smiled and wrote something I couldn't read, but she blushed, really and turned the webcam away.

I have a log, I will read it later.

- Don't even think about it, the old guy muttered, what I write here is just between her and me. I'm not real. I'm a symbol. An emblem. I have no physical presence. That's why your plaid is still okay. And this is why there is nothing in your log.

Then, there was a blue screen. She lost the connection. Funnily enough, the last sentence she was able to read from the so-called Santa was Think Different.

Santa was laughing like a childish devil. - You DoSsed her ?
- Yep. I signed an NDA, and I couldn't really let her know that some tricks of my trade were under heavy copyright.
- Like your suit belongs to Coca-Cola ?
- Nah. This is an urban legend: all my suits belong to me. I was red longtime before some smart MBA dude decided to draw me to promote some beverage. Could have been worse, I could be selling Pepsi instead. Or even milk.
She was starting to get into religion and why the world was so bad these days. So I tried to deviate the conversation and she went on asking about stuff I can't really tell to everyone.
- So what is so secret ? no one is reading this anyway! And I can handle it, I don't believe in Santa anymore.
- You should. Anyways, it's not really a secret, more like unpleasant views. Like the fact that I'm using underpaid dwarfs in shitty places of the world to manufacture cheaper presents so your kids can have more dull plastic toys like Happy Rotter or anorexic Blondie. And also the fact that I'm a global icon used everywhere in the world to give you one occasion to be together, one family , and for one night have a slice of magic back into your life that has been perveted into a massive buy everything tendency.
- Is this such a bad thing ? I'd rather have my kids not believe in Santa and be happy having some presents than believe into YOU.
- You're right, yhey don't believe in me anymore. They just know they will get lots of new toys. Believing in magic would mean that they receive suprizing presents, which means that there is a risk to be disapointed but also the orgasmic chance to get the one they were secretly wishing to have but afraid to ask.
- Like the boy that wanted a doll and the girl really keens on computer ?
- Not everyone wants to do his coming out during xmas. But, yes, you got the idea. Suprise helps not to forget that life can be bad at time, but also quite good and sometimes wonderful.
- So tell me, what will I get then ?
- You're a grown-up now, arent't you. Out of my database, and you should be on the other side, you are supposed to help me populate that database, remember ?
- Yeah, yeah, whatever. And now what ?

Thunder of course. And lightning.

And he was no more.

So back to the online world. I checked the log, just in case. Guess what? My complete NkdCmGrl directory was wiped out. Instead I had ONE single picture:
An old bearded NAKED guy with a sign saying Happy New Year and a huge smile. And the legend was Look what Coke can do to you.

P.S.: Mum, the plaid is ok.