The Well Dressed Vladimir Karlov

It wasn't long before the parade would reveal the fat man in the red suit and twelve year old Vladimir Karlov was in no mood for a fat man in a red suit.

His hands were being warmed by the heat of a tall woman's ass, an ass which he had been looking at for the last forty five minutes while waiting.

Vladimir had waited for the fat man for nine straight years and not one time did he go home with a woman, however, with flask in tow and bowler hat on just right, tilted to the right a modest six degrees, he had high hopes that year ten of the fat man's passing would bring good tidings to his warming hands.

“It seems the big guy has traded up this year,” Vladimir said aloud, commenting on the harem of elves that flaunted large breasts and rounded asses, which were squished into outfits with all the fabric of a pillow cover. “Doesn't seem right that he's got all those elves to himself.”

The lady whose ass had been warming Vladimir's hands turned to request of him to repeat what he had just said. It seems with all the yelling going on because of the fat man's arrival his words had been lost and she missed what he was trying to say. Vladimir nodded and tipped his hat in gentlemanly fashion.

“I said, it doesn't seem right that he's got all those elves to himself.”

Again the woman explained her difficulty of hearing him and again she asked him to repeat. Vladimir Karlov, though a patient man, was not one to fool with the faint of hearing and said nothing else. Still, he thought, her ass was quite the oven.

“I said your ass has been warming my hands for some time now and I would like very much for it to continue to do so.”

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in confusion and turned around. Vladimir Karlov moved his hands in closer.

Prior to the parade Vladimir Karlov had learned that the fat man on his decorated float was in fact, not actually from the North Pole. He learned this through a series of photographs taken by a private dick named Sherman whom Vladimir hired to follow the man on the float around to disprove his claim. If there was one thing that Vladimir Karlov could not stand, it was a fraud.

When Vladimir was four a woman selling insurance came knocking on his high rise gray stone. She had spoke of his need for life insurance and cornered him with several charts that sprouted from a modest leather satchel, designer it was not, he had thought, still, she had nice calves so he let her speak. Pamphlets were explored among other things with his wandering eyes and though her presentation was flawless he could see through the pyramid scheme she was trying to seduce him with. The deductibles were of an absurd amount and though he worked out several times a week and had no family history of heart disease, there were no discounts. “On account of the diabetes your annual rate will have to be higher.” It seems the lady had dug up some dirt about his ancestors' weakness towards refined sugars.

“I'll never take insulin unless the shot comes from the hand of an Amazon,” Vladimir said without knowing exactly what it meant, and the lady with the calves did nothing to convince him she was an Amazon, too short, too hair less, still, he had thought, those calves were awfully strong.

“Diabetes can cause blindness, and blindness can cause one to step into the street and get hit by a truck.”

She had a point, Vladimir thought.

“What do you say you lose the blouse and you got yourself a deal?”

The pamphlets were left on the coffee table. They were printed quickly and on a cheap stock of paper, they would not be missed. A fraud through and through Vladimir thought.

Vladimir, though sure the fat man was nothing more than a graying pervert with a keen interest in baked goods, he couldn't help but respect his prowess in attracting women. The harem of elves and the two mile stretch of road lined with busts and rears of all shapes and sizes proved this. He had a secret, powerful men always do, and Vladimir Karlov was determined to find it out.

The ass owned by the deaf woman had finally lost its appeal and it was time to move on, and so keeping at a close distance, Vladimir followed the fat man down the boulevard.

The snow had accumulated by the time the float had reached its destination where the fat man was on his throne handing out candy to the ill mannered children as they screamed for meaningless gifts, and their gravity filled mothers froze under the falling ice. Around the fat man swarmed the elves with their bright red lips and pink cheeks.

Vladimir took several hits from a Smith and Wesson flask he had bought on auction from a museum two years prior, one of only sixty-five ever made. He offered a drink to a mother of two. She said no. He offered a drink to a mother of three. She said no. Oh how he envied the fat man.

Finally it was his turn.

“What do you want for Christmas little boy?”

“If you'll look to my lap fat man, you'll notice that below a thick wool layer is a bulge. Do you know what that bulge is?”

The fat man didn't respond.

“I'll tell you what the bulge is fat man. The bulge is an erection. An erection unfulfilled in more than a fortnight. Fourteen days. And as I sit here looking at your red cheeks and white beard I can't help but notice that around you are nothing but women put on this earth to do one thing and one thing only.”

The man in red adjusts his hat.

“Do you know what that one thing is fat man? I'll tell what it is. You're elves, everyone, are here to fulfill you. You and your god damn red suit. Well fat man, where are my elves? You seem to have taken them all and left the rest of us with nothing but these mothers and their candy cane children.”

The man in red adjusts his beard.

“I see your beard is fake. Is that the secret? Shall I purchase a gray beard and wear red, and then will my bulge be fulfilled? I have money to spend sir, I'll close my Swiss account if that's what it takes.”

The man in red adjusts his fake belly.

“That one there, she is looking at me. She has blond hair and green eyes, her ass is full and her hands empty. Would you allow me to let me fill her hands? Or are you nothing but a fraud, giving out the candy and keeping all the true goods for yourself. I want not remote cars and toy soldiers, I want those lips and I want those cheeks, red and rouge. So tell me fat man, tell me once and for all, how may I attain them, how may I be fulfilled by those you have monopolized?”

“If you will not speak fat man I will have to act, and when Vladimir Karlov acts, the world looks on in fear, and so will you fat man, so will you.”

Vladimir Karlov was a man of action.

Vladimir Karlov was a man of his word.

The fat man, with his nose of veins, spoke again. “And have you been a good boy?”

“Speak not as if I'm a child fat man, for Vladimir Karlov is no child. My bowler hat is made of Siberian Minx and my gloves, Alaskan Seal. This scarf, cashmere and this watch, diamonds. That's right fat man, cashmere and diamonds, cashmere and diamonds. So spare me the candy cane logic and tell me your secret.”

Vladimir looked out to the line of women and found the ass that had warmed his hands. Sure she couldn't hear, but her ass, bare and full, would look overwhelming in a robe of her liking, any number of robes he had in his closet would do just fine. Yes, he though, the red one with the black trim and foreign crest would do just fine.

“I saw a woman earlier this evening fat man. Her ass cheeks were as round as melons and they warmed my hands like a fire, but I seek to warm much more than just my hands fat man. I seek to warm much more indeed.”

The line grew impatient.

“Look to that line fat man. All those children with all those mothers. All those breasts with all those asses. And what of these foreign girls with their foreign smiles, foreign tongues and foreign hands. I've heard them speak, but they say nothing. Handing out candy canes, distracting the children from what they really want. But I will not be distracted fat man. I will not be distracted by your red eyes and red suit, I will not be distracted by cinnamon and spearmint, red and white and green. No fat man. My attention is steadfast and my bulge is only growing. Growing with every jingle of every bell and every bob of breast.”

A lady with two children, a young girl and a young boy, twins as it were, approached the throne where Vladimir reigned.

“Young man, would you please hurry up, its getting late and the line is only getting longer.”

Ignoring her, Vladimir looked to the young boy; he was dressed in a mother's warm weather wardrobe, hate nearly covering his eyes and mittens too big to fill. “You there, boy with the fat face and small hands, are you here to receive candy and lullabies? Are you here, drugged by the books your mother has sold you and your sister has slept on? Speak when I ask, for I do not envy the man who ignores me, no, I do not envy that man at all.”

The boy said nothing, just looked to his enraged mother, who squeezed the hands of her children till they cried aloud for her too stop. Vladimir ignored them.

“I'm sure you've been a very good boy indeed and I bet you'll get all you want from Santa Claus.” The fat man was speaking from a recorder, from note cards Vladimir could not find. He took a swig from his Smith and Wesson flask and breathed out the malted scotch.

“A red nose tells me you're an alcoholic fat man. Now what say you forget about those cue cards in your head and tell me how I can take one of these elves of yours home?”

The fat man lifted Vladimir from his lap and put him on the steps of the throne.

“How dare you not answer me fat man. Do you think I am unaware of your secret? Oh fat man, I am aware, I am very aware.”

“Merry Christmas,” he rang out from above.

“Say not another word fat man, you're nothing but yellow teeth and red eyes, drugging them with your holiday sweets and waiting to die alone when the winter thaws.”

“I'll never be alone.”

“Nor will I fat man, nor will I.”

The elves quickly surrounded Vladimir, all speaking a language he couldn't understand, handing him the candy cane currency.

Vladimir threw the candy canes back, but they just kept giving them and giving them.

“No more for me you sirens that stand on tip toe, no more. I've had enough of your processed sweets; I want nothing but pure sweets, your sweets. Your gumdrops and sesame seed cakes, which you hide under the green fabric of your country. I too am from a far away land so let us share in our heritage. Let us all share in our heritage as foreigners. Naked and robust and full, full of all the candy we want. Mine and yours, mine and yours.”

But they kept handing him the cinnamon and pushing him into the snow. Into the dark where the throne of foreign juggling was miles away and the red rouge cheeks were white and cold.