How Political Heroes Saved Christmas

Snowstorms are usually comforting at the North Pole, like Mother Nature giving the world a gentle shake. But this year’s storm wasn’t natural. It felt personal, like someone whispering “brace yourself” just before flicking the lights off.

Mark Santa Carney sensed trouble the same way a parent senses silence from a toddler. He knew it meant someone, somewhere, was up to no good. And sure enough, deep in the peppermint tunnels beneath the Pole, a plot was brewing that could torch Christmas for the entire planet.

In the dim glow of the Sugar Plum Mines stood the anti-Christmas coalition.

Pierre the Grinch Poilievre paced in circles, mumbling slogans he planned to shout later. Each sentence sharpened itself before leaving his mouth, ready to slice through any joy left in the hemisphere. Every now and then he practised a grin, bit an apple, but it came out more like someone testing sour milk.

Beside him floated the Wicked Witch of the West, Danielle Smith, stirring a cauldron filled with half-formed policies that bubbled, changed shape and contradicted themselves every two minutes. “Christmas needs disruption,” she cackled. “Preferably the irreversible kind.”

Ebenezer Scrooge Trump lounged on a throne carved from gold-sprayed gingerbread. He kept insisting it was real gold, but the crumbs on his jacket disagreed. He had come to the North Pole for one reason: to be declared the greatest Christmas figure in all of history, even wanting to annex the North Pole and rename it “the Pole of America”. When Santa declined, Scrooge claimed the elves were biased and incompetent, and swore vengeance through tariffs.

And in the corner sat the Nutcracker Vance, cracking walnuts with the seriousness of a man cracking geopolitical treaties. He muttered about destiny, tradition and how nuts were too woke these days.

Their plan was simple. Wreck Christmas. All of it. Wipe out generosity, unity and the global outbreak of good vibes. Replace it with a holiday where everyone fought over who deserved the biggest spotlight.

Back at the workshop, Santa Carney rounded up his oddball team.

Doug Frosty Ford waddled in first, shedding snowballs everywhere, some landing in unfortunate places. He tended to approach problems like a man charging through a snowbank without checking the depth first, but he meant well and could move surprisingly fast when cornered by responsibility.

Gavin Buddy Newsom arrived seconds later, bright-eyed and dressed like the elf version of a couture model. He radiated energy so warm it melted Frosty’s elbow, which Frosty found… inconvenient.

“Alright team,” Santa said. “We’re dealing with a coordinated attack. They’re hitting Christmas at its weakest points: Truth, goodwill and basic common sense.”

Buddy grinned. “So we use their weaknesses against them.”

Frosty’s eyes lit up. “You mean like… tactical kindness?”

“Not quite,” Santa replied. “Think more… precision strikes.”

They started with the Grinch.

Santa and Buddy approached him as he was practising speeches titled ‘Why Christmas Is a Scam’ and ’Santa is accumulating Air Miles’. Buddy clapped cheerfully and attached a small candy-striped box to the Grinch’s lapel.

“What’s this?” Pierre demanded.

“A Fact-Checker,” Santa said. “Latest model. It corrects inaccuracies as soon as they hit the air.”

Pierre scoffed. “I need that like I need Security Clearance!”

He opened his mouth to continue his speech, but the device honked loudly and proclaimed: “Statement unsupported! Please revise!”

He tried again.

Honk. “Missing context!”

Again.

Honk honk honk. “Contradiction detected!”

The Grinch sputtered, froze, and finally fell silent. It was the quietest he had been since birth. Even his dog left him to join Santa’s group soon after.

Next up: the Wicked Witch.

Danielle soared above the candy cane forest, spreading chaotic oil spells. Some made houses sprout wings. Some turned reindeer without healthcare. One encouraged the snow to separate, using what she qualified as the notwithstanding Claus.

Frosty, who wasn’t known for finesse, solved this one in the most Frosty way imaginable. He simply tackled her. Right out of the sky. Into a snowdrift the size of Quebec.

When she popped up sputtering, her wand snapped like an icicle. The magic fizzled. Her chaos machine short-circuited. Frosty gave a sheepish shrug.

“Sorry ma’am. Snow safety protocols.”

Santa sighed. “Unconventional, but effective.”

Which left Ebenezer Scrooge.

This one required careful strategy. Scrooge was stubborn. Fiery. Resistant to logic, emotion or anything requiring empathy. Santa relied heavily on Buddy to help with this one.

Scrooge did fear exposure. Not factual exposure, since this story wasn’t dealing in actual files or real-world claims. No, Buddy and Santa had something far more devastating.

First, the Elf started mimicking Scrooge’s every word, even matching his tone and… fonts. It was a thing of genius.

Then, came a magical artefact stored deep in the Vault of Broken Promises.

The Mirror of True Intent.

Buddy Newsom carried it into Scrooge’s gingerbread throne ballroom. The moment the mirror caught his reflection, Scrooge recoiled like it had slapped him.

“What is this?” he barked.

“A truth spell,” Santa replied. “I call it ‘The Ghost of Epstein’s past’. It shows you not who you say you are, but who you really are in this story. Ego bloated. Compassion shrivelled. Completely driven by the need to be adored.”

Scrooge howled, flailing at his own image until he collapsed under the weight of it. His focus scrambled, his power dissolved, scattered like crumbs from his supposedly gold throne.

Finally, they turned to the Nutcracker.

Vance was tough. His shell didn’t crack easily. He sat surrounded by broken nuts, mumbling dramatic speeches.

Buddy approached him gently. “Hey, big guy. You know you don’t actually have to be part of their team, right?”

The Nutcracker paused mid crack.

“You came here trying to belong,” Santa added. “But you joined a group that only values you when you break something.”

The Nutcracker blinked. Slowly, the tension left his jaw. For the first time all day, he didn’t crush the nuts in front of him.

And with that, the rebellion collapsed.

Christmas surged back to life.

Lights reignited across the globe. Markets stopped panicking. Families set aside arguments. Even the geese in Canada honked in a slightly friendlier tone.

News cameras from around the world turned to the North Pole, broadcasting Santa Carney, Frosty Ford and Buddy Newsom standing together. Not perfect. Not polished. But united.

Santa spoke to billions watching live.

“This season isn’t saved by magic. It’s saved when good people decide they’re tired of the noise. When they join forces, even if they don’t agree on everything. Christmas is the reminder that unity still works.”

The world cheered.

Frosty shed a sentimental snowball.

Buddy sparkled brighter than the tree behind him.

Santa smiled, tired but proud.

And deep in the peppermint caves, the defeated villains muttered about trying again next year.

But even they knew the truth.

Christmas had survived for one simple reason.

Santa’s team found the cracks.

And filled them with light.