We’re in the warehouse district on the outskirts of the city. It’s Christmas Eve Day, mid-afternoon. Everything is silent, no one is around. Except, as we soon find out, one Salvation Army Santa Claus. He stands, ringing his bell, though no one will ever pass by at this hour. He looks around, constantly bringing his eyes back toe one particular warehouse, which doesn’t seem to be any different than the others. He takes a look at his watch — it’s time — then makes his way over.
He goes up to the warehouse and knocks on the door. The peephole slides open and a pair of steely gray eyes peer out from under a white sheet.
“What do you want?”
“I’m dreaming of a White Christmas,” Santa says.
The peephole slides shut. After a second, the door opens.
Santa walks inside the warehouse, right into the KKK Christmas party. A twangy Country ballad of “White Christmas” croons over the stereo, and everybody mingles around a cross-shaped Christmas tree — one that looks like it’s been on fire on someone’s lawn — under which, are presents for a secret Santa. (more…)