You know you're going to be an asset to society when you wake up one day and say, "I'd like to corrupt a timeless icon today! What shall it be?"

Merry Christmas Proleteriat!

Sally was cuddling with Rick on Christmas Eve. An electric fire was crackling merrily in the three-room apartment, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was playing on the battered television set. The weather man had optimistically predicted earlier that morning that it would be a white Christmas, and judging by the gigantic snowflakes lazily falling outside, Sally was in total agreement with the weather man. She was happy to be with Rick, but she was anticipating tomorrow like a little girl. Tomorrow he would give her the ring, and she would say yes. A Christmas proposal... how romantic...

A sudden knock at the door interrupted their nostalgically driven snuggling. Rick looked up and said, "Coming," grumbling about solicitors on Christmas Eve as he went to the door. He opened the door, and a blur of red walked in with a jovial, "Merry Christmas, bitches."

"Who the hell are you?" Sally asked while Rick went to the bathroom, where the baseball bat was hidden. In front of her was a young man with short bleached blond hair. He was wearing a red leather jacket, red denim jeans with green pinstripes, and knee-high black boots. Heavy make-up coated his face, and he had a cigarette wedged between his cherry red lips.

"I'm Santa Claus," said he in a Eastern-European accent. "What the hell does it look like?"

In Sally's opinion, this man looked more qualified to be leading a motorbike gang comprised solely of Roumanian transvestites, but kept that to herself.

"So, uh... Santa," she said cautiously, sidling closer to a shocked Rick, who was holding the baseball bat in his shaking hands. "You um... giving us coal?"

"Why? Have you been naughty, comrades? Not reading up on your Marx?" Santa asked, then spotted the vodka on the kitchen table. "Ah, you left out Smirnoff. I was getting sick of this milk and cookies bullshit. Well," he continued, striding to the vodka, "even if you happen to be a couple of bourgeois pigs, I'll forgive your misgivings if you give me the vodka."

"Help yourself," Sally said, at a loss.

"Look, you can't just barge in here, claim to be Santa Claus, and filch our booze," Rick accused angrily. "And if you're Santa, then what's with the Marx?"

Santa shrugged, took a hearty gulp of vodka, and wiped his mouth. His make-up stayed on, Sally noted, but she didn't put too much thought into it. Santa Claus was magical after all.

"I'm Santa Claus," Santa said in answer to Rick's question. "I can be Communist if I want. My party, da?"

"So, are you staying long? I mean," Sally said hastily. trying not to offend jolly St. Nick, "you must have a lot fo houses to get to..."

"Ah, I screwed with the time/space continuum," Santa explained nonchalantly. "Your television isn't working, see?"

Sally looked, and saw that he was right. Rudolph was frozen in the action of discovering the land of the misfits. Santa, meanwhile, started raiding the medicine cabinet.

"Wouldn't happen to have any stay-awake pills, would you, Richard?" he asked absently. "I work forty-eight jours in one night, you see. Does hell with my sleep cycle. And I suffer from narcolepsy."

"What the hell, man!" Rick blew up "You're supposed to give us stuff, not the other way around!"

"A few minutes off-schedule, mij pretel," Santa shrugged. "In a couple of moments, I am obligated to give you stuff. regardless of whether you deserve them or not. Until then, I steal pills from your medicine cabinet. Ah! How would you say it... Jackpot!" he said, finding a bottle of pills that would probably keep him wake till New Year's.

"Okay, so you messed with the time/space continuum early?" Rick asked skeptically.

"Why the disbelief, Richard? You're the one who still believes in Santa Claus. And your list was so thoughtful too. Let us see if I can quote: Dear Santa, for Christmas I wouldn't like that much for myself. I want to propose to my girl Sally, but I haven't got any money for a ring. So, if you could give me a ring for her, I would be much obliged," quoted Santa, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Quite nice actually. Reads a little like a voucher, but very unselfish and giving. And isn't that what Christmas is all about? So here's your ring."

He gave Rick a small box, and took another swig of vodka. Turning to a stunned Sally, he asked, "You don't mind if I take this with me?"

"N-no. Go ahead," Sally muttered absently.

"Oh. Thank you kindly. So, um..." Santa cleared his throat, and then said in a deep and jolly voice, "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, proletariat."

With that, Santa Claus walked out the door, shutting it behind him quietly.

After a moment, Rick turned to Sally, opened the box and said, "Sally, will you marry me?"

In the box was a ring that bore a single star-cut diamond. Coal.