Drunk Santa Steals My Candy

Metaphorical Narrative

You wait for the gift. Candy promised, sweet and simple.
But instead, a drunk Santa stumbles in. He drops it at the wrong chimney, takes a photo of the wrong house, and staggers away.
The system calls it “delivered.” Your hands stay empty.

And then the fury rises. Not just at the missing candy, but at the insult: proof of failure paraded as proof of success.

That’s when you unleash the angry chicken. Small, underestimated, relentless. Peck after peck, flap after flap — it fights the drunk Santa for you. Your fury is no longer weight inside you. It’s a force outside, pecking the thief into retreat.

Core Insight

The loss isn’t only the candy. It’s the time stolen from you. The dignity ignored. The trust betrayed.
But the antidote is this: fury is not shame. Fury is reclamation.
When you let yourself feel the full spectrum — loss, anger, humor, and reclamation — you come out freer, not smaller.

Saturday Experiment

1. Name your drunk Santa. Who or what fakes duty in your life and leaves you to carry the loss?
2. Unleash your angry chicken. Don’t bury the fury — let it fight for you, outside you.
3. Write the decree. Candy is mine. Fury is mine. Loss is not mine.

Sunday Reflection

• How does the character of “drunk Santa” show up in their week?
• What did their angry chicken do when unleashed?
• How did they feel reclaiming candy, time, or dignity that was wrongly taken?