What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Tis' Christmas time on Mystical Isle and just like the fat bastard in red, I've made a list and now I shall check it... twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I'm not an arse.

Battle the human women in sweatpants and snow boots for electronics on Black Friday. Check.

Cover each palm tree in lights even though the Mermaids insist they look phallic. Check. By the way, what does phallic mean? Never mind. Check.

Moving on.

Weave a Christmas tale during family story time on the beach, have a family portrait made in the special sweaters I pilfered, and write a letter to Santa. I mean, fat bastard... Check.

Planning activities that may end in bloodshed. Check. That's what I call a yuletide win, so check-check.

It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I'm not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

And I am. Check.