As Santa sat through another day of testimonies for the prosecution, his stomach growled, and quite naturally, he began to think of all those cookies and milk that would go uneaten this year, seeing that he was likely to be forced into retirement by a long prison sentence.
"Come to think on it, it's not so bad. Perhaps I'll finally get to settle down for a long winter's nap," he thought. "At the very least, I won't have to deal with that beastly chiwawa at 19 Lego Lane. They call him 'Ginger.' I say, 'Ginger snap,' since the little demon always bites my shins just above my boots. I'd have kicked her across their living room if I weren't such a saint..."
On these and other such ruminations, Santa resigned himself to drink whatever cup of wrath the fickle, ungrateful public set out for him. He was seen to close his eyes right there in court, no longer taking any apparent interest in the tears and bitter eyes of the witnesses. To his lawyer's dismay, Santa was seen to actually chuckle softly to himself, cross his hands over his large belly, lay his head back and fall asleep.