Mrs. Clause knew something had gone wrong when she woke on December 25th and realized she had nothing on. Nothing at all. She checked for clothes in the closet and chest of drawers, but they were empty, she could find nothing to wear. “Oh, heavens. What’s he done this year,” she thought as she wrapped herself in her blanket, and cautiously opened the door to the hallway.
She didn’t see anyone in the hallway, so she made her way toward the laundry room, “Maybe he got industrious, and is cleaning all the laundry at once.” She knew that was damn unlikely as the man hadn’t washed a load of clothes in over 120 years.
In the laundry room, she found two naked female elves, “Mrs. Clause!” Both blushed, and used hands and arms to cover themselves as best they could.
“What is going on?”
“We don’t know. We woke up, and…” the elf on the left started.
“I know. Same here.”
“At least you grabbed a blanket,” the second elf looked at the first, “I told you we should have done that.”
The three of them checked the laundry room for anything they could wear. The two elves found bath towels to wrap themselves in, after which the three of them proceeded toward the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room.
In the kitchen, they found the chef hiding as best he could inside a couple of aprons. “I fear he’s walked off the deep end this time, Mrs. Clause.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how he gets when he finishes his package delivery run.” She did indeed know, he usually got totally snockered.
“What did he drink?”
“A full bottle of the best Kentucky whiskey he could find.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Clause knew Mr. Clause had done something stupid after that much to drink.
“Yes, and that’s when he started talking about New York.”
“He said, ‘New York. We should call it Nude York.’ Then he laughed, and said, ‘Nude York, Nude York.’”
Pictures of everyone in New York city being naked, and having no clothing anywhere suddenly painted themselves in Mrs. Clause’s mind. “Oh, no!”
“Nude York, which is in Nude York. Next To Nude Jersey.” It got worse with each word the chef mumbled. “Then, there’s Nude Mexico. And Nude Brunswick. And Nude England. All part of the Nude World.”
“Yes, ma’am. He did. The Nude World, which celebrates the Nude Year. Which everyone, everywhere celebrates. Happy Nude Year, world!”
“He called the reindeer, and made a second trip out.”
At that point, Santa Clause staggered into the kitchen, a bottle of Kentucky’s best in his hand, totally naked, “Happy Nude Year, Dear!” Then he belched.
“What have you done?”
Santa took a big chug from the bottle, then held it up, “I just gave the world what it wanted. A Happy Nude Year, like the saying goes!”
“Where did you put all the clothes?”
“You have to take them all back! That’s why!”
“It’s not Happy Nude Year?” Santa belched again.
“No! It’s New! New! Not Nude!”
“So, you’ll have to take everyone’s clothes back to them.”
Santa looked a bit perplexed. “I’m afraid that will take a while.”
“I can’t remember where I put them.”
And that’s when everyone near the International Date Line started to wake up. Suffice to say, Christmas Day was rather interesting, and it was not, despite Santa’s best wishes, a Happy Nude Year.