When I was a kid, I wanted to be Santa Claus. He would spend all year making toys with the help of his magical wizards, and deliver them to everyone in the world, with his flying reindeer. He could eat all the cookies he wanted and would kiss your mommy at his whim. But we have evolved in the last 30 years. My hero now seems archaic, his magic workers must be overworked, Rudolph should be close to retirement and Santa’s diabetes from the annual cookie-binge will inevitably take him someday.

In recent years, I have noticed a change in the color and shape of Christmas. The reds are fading, the ho-ho-hos are dimming, and the use of a photon-emitting flying being seems cruel in the 21st century. Christmas is turning brown, and is under your tree in the shape of a smiling box. As I start to see the Prime airplanes overhead, I get the same tingling sensation I used to as a kid looking for Santa. It is 2018, and it is time to acknowledge that Santa Claus should now be called Jeff Bezos.

First, according to the famous song, Santa “sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good…” He generally does this through his program called “Elf-on-the-Shelf,” which are dolls that report your progress to the North Pole nightly. Amazon’s Alexa is also always listening, she can see when your lights are on, what you are wearing, your home temperature, your irrational anger when she mishears “play a fart,” and who has been naughty. Alexa once identified a 9-year old naughty boy, who broke into his neighbor's house, by completing a voice recording and sending it to the home’s owner. With Amazon’s weekly release of Alexa video products, you can bet she is the new Elf-on-the-Shelf.

Second, when I was a kid, I would write the jolly diabete a letter with my Christmas wishes. For the millennials, a letter is something you manually write with a pencil on paper and mail it. Mail is like e-mail but proves you are lonely. E-mail is a long tweet. A tweet is a pictureless Instagram. Fuck me, put down your FOMO and read a book. A book is a physical Wikipedia page. The only time Santa honored my request was when I asked for rejection. Amazon continues this tradition with “Wish Lists,” a means for primarily porn stars to ask for cat food and medicine, and watch the dude who wants to bang them buy it. However, a slight tweak in intention and these lists can be used by kids to ask for anything that can be made in China.

Third, have you ever wondered how a balding bearded man can deliver billions of products in one night and for free? The only viable form of payment we provide is cookies, something Diabetes Claus eats all himself and does not share with his workers. Unless Santa pays in reindeer steaks or Rudolph snout, his Elves are slaves. Perhaps the only benefit of being Santa’s slave is tapping into the free Canadian healthcare system. Santa is no Trump after all. On the other hand, Prime Clause has over 500 thousand workers and pays them a minimum of $15/hour to keep children happy. Sure there are rumors of a tough work environment, but I need my Jeff Goldblum shower curtain before 9 PM.

In addition, the magic of Santa is in his speed and stealthiness. He is a sneaky womanizer (see “I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus”) and it is rumored that 24% of Americans are descendants of the fat man, which explains the country’s pervasive obesity problem. However, Santa still managed to make it to billions of homes, all in one night. Although this is an amazing feat, technically Prime Claus can get it to everyone in less than an hour. To do this, Amazon crowdsources willing participants who own a car. Call your Tesla you can’t afford your sleigh, and the automatic drive function “Blitzen,” and you will have battery operated sorcery-mobile. Don’t trust your methed-out son to deliver packages? Bezos has you covered with a tiny helicopter in under 30 minutes. Paint those propellers red and Dronedolph puts Rudolph to shame.

Finally, Santa delivers a wrapped gift that ends up inside your house and either under the tree or in your mommy’s tummy. Amazon solves this through gift wrapping services and also, yes, they can already get in your front door. During December I plan to leave a cookie trail to my Christmas tree and a software patch for Blitzen. All I need is for Bezos to read my kids a bedtime story and I will be up for 2018 award for disconnected dad of the year.

In 2018, Christmas is brown. Try not to buy gifts on Amazon and watch your kids get bullied at your grass-fed school. It is time we change our songs: Prime Claus has been in town since 1997, I’m dreaming of a brown Christmas, I saw mommy kissing Jeff Bezos.