Imagine if you will. It's a sunny Saturday afternoon. It's your wedding day. You're outside having your wedding photos taken on an expansive lawn across from a church in downtown San Francisco. It's the holiday season, and while you've always wondered if there was truly a Santa Claus, you were not prepared for the proof that will come on this day. While posing with your parents and new spouse, you hear a distant chant coming closer with every moment. "I'm the real Santa! I'm the real Santa!" Within seconds, 200 Santa Clauses appear above a grassy knoll. They descend upon you, encircling you from all sides. They photograph you, jostle you, discombobulate your neatly-quaffed wedding hair, suspend mistletoe over your head and insist on a kiss. You smile; wince almost, hoping if you display pleasure they may scurry off so the focus will once again return to you. Your professional wedding photographer is having a field day. Thankfully, they soon move a short way off and begin engaging in a game of extreme dodgeball, grass staining their suits and falling all over one another in a drunken stupor as onlookers watch, nonplussed with mouths agape, leaving you to your nuptial bliss.

That's Santa Anarchy folks, and that's how I spent last Saturday. Tightly wound in a red vinyl and white fur Santa Suit, holding hands with a corduroy clad Don (who happened to be visiting San Francisco just in time for the Cacophony Society's annual Santa soire); drinking, running through the streets, stopping traffic, evading police and security, inadvertently scaring small children, dumbfounding tourists, modeling in department store windows, taking over public arenas in mock protest, cramming bars to the rafters, and, oh yes, tormenting hapless wedding parties. It was more fun than a bowl full of jelly. Happy holidays everyone. Enjoy the photos. (And please excuse the pathetic site. My gallery is down and I was in a pinch.)