In which we celebrate the original Icelandic version of that jolly old Coke-drinking elf.
If countries get the Santa Claus they deserve, you might be forgiven for wondering what we in Iceland did to deserve ours.
While other countries have a jolly old Coke-sponsored fat guy with a penchant for gift giving and flying reindeers, we Icelanders are stuck with thirteen good-for-nothing “Yule-lads” who come to town, one by one, to eat our skyr, bang on our doors, peep through our windows, steal our candles, and put potatoes in our shoes.
It’s like a mad Santa cloning experiment gone horribly wrong.
And if that wasn’t enough, we also have a so-called Yule Cat, a sadistic little beast that does nasty things to you if you don’t renew your wardrobe.
Don’t ask, we don’t know who the hell came up with this.