discretionary

Discretionary Claus

It was Christmas morning, and Billy and Katie were eagerly opening their presents, when up on the roof there arose such a clatter, that ... they wondered what on earth was going on. The clatter was followed by scraping sounds in the chimney. The scraping sounds, in turn, were followed by a pair of dangling feet, which eventually alighted in the fireplace, complete with accompanying body.

"Oh, my!" cried Katie, while Mom and Dad dialed 911. "Are you Santa Claus?"

"Heh, heh, heh," chuckled the visitor. "Indeed, I am not!"

And indeed he was not. For while Santa is round and pink and plump and jolly, the newcomer was wizened and gray and gaunt and grim. And unlike Santa, he wore a suit and tie, wingtip shoes, short hair, and no beard.

"Isn't that supposed to be 'ho, ho, ho?'" asked Billy. "And who are you?

"No on one," said the visitor. "Heh, heh, heh. As for two, I am Discretionary Claus."

"Have you come to give us presents, this fine Christmas morning?" asked Katie.

"Not so much give," said Discretionary Claus, producing a humongous empty sack, "as take. Heh, heh, heh."

And he proceeded to shovel all the presents into his sack.

"You can't take the presents Santa brought!" protested Mom.

"Not only those," said Discretionary Claus, starting on the silverware, "but anything else I take a fancy to." He was wrestling with the TV set.

"Now, hang on just one minute there!" cried Dad. "That's the TV. There's football today!"

"Tough toenails," smirked Discretionary Claus. "Heh, heh, heh."

"Hey, that stuff belongs to us!" Dad objected. "We bought it and paid for it. We earned it!"

"That's as may be," said Discretionary Claus, "but I am Discretionary Claus! It's all up to me, and you get no say in anything. Heh, heh, heh."

Prompted by the infamous discretionary clauses used by insurance companies to invalidate coverage for no substantive reason. More of "the best healthcare system in the world." For somebody.