Nicholas of Myra is in his chambers praying. Suddenly a blinding bright light emerges through the window and fills the room. Nicholas shields his eyes.

God: Nicholas of Myra!

Nicholas: God! God, is that you?

God: Yes, my son. I have come to speak with you directly, for you are a great man!

Nicholas: I'm not worthy of your praise, Heavenly Father!

God: Nicholas of Myra… you have been a kind and generous Bishop to the people of your parish! To deprive the rest of the world of your generosity would be unfair. Therefore I have a special blessing in store for you, if you choose to accept it!

Nicholas: Anything, my Lord! Please bless me with the chance to do more good deeds in your name!

God: Very well! First… I shall transfer you to the North Pole, where you shall live in near-solidarity!

Nicholas: That's… strange, but I'll go with it. What then, O Lord?

God: Then, I will grant you a workshop, and two dozen elves!

Nicholas: I'm sorry, what?

God: You and the elves will spend your days constructing toys for all the good boys and girls of the world! Then, on Christmas eve, you will take all of the individually wrapped toys with you in a sled, and deliver them to every childs' house, one by one!

Nicholas: (Rubbing his eyes) Right. And how will this sled power itself around the entire world, out of interest?

God: Uh… swimming… no flying Reindeer!

Nicholas: To every house in the entire world?

God: Well, not every house. I mean you can skip Jews and poor people I guess.

Nicholas: God, I spent my entire life doing good, in the knowledge that paradise awaited me after my life was over. You promise me a blessing, but this doesn't seem like much of a blessing. In fact, if I didn't know better I'd assume you were damning me.

God: Look, Nick, quit busting my omnipotent balls already. Just do it for a millenium or so, and if you don't like it, I'll palm the job off to someone else.

Nicholas: I don't know…

God: There's a sainthood in it for you…

Nicholas: (Thinks it over) Fine! But on one condition… I at least want a beautiful wife to keep me company.

God: You got it!

The bright light disappears from whence it came and suddenly Nicholas is left standing in a bitterly cold North Pole workshop, surrounded by twenty-four elves and a rotund, grey-haired Mrs Claus at his side.

Nicholas: Goddammit.