We start off with your no-frills decapitation (under dome), courtesy of Giovanna B.:
This isn't horrendously wrecky, but it looks exactly like the bleach-bottle Santa crafts my grandmother used to make, so I had to post it. Here, I found a picture of one over on Thrifty Fun for reference:
Next there's the beret-wearing, chin-melting, something-seriously-wrong-with-the-whiskers incarnation:
Huh - I've never seen a handlebar mustache grow all the way around the nose like that, Shelby B. You think it's a French thing?
And speaking of disturbing facial hair, it looks like Mrs. Claus needs to get her hormones checked:
Maybe she's born with it, Darla D. (Maybe it's Maybelline.)
Apparently Deon M.'s local decorator didn't get that new CCC Puzzle pan from Santa this year, and decided to lash out the only way s/he knew how:
Poor Santa. You'll thank him later, dear wreckerator; he's only saving you from yourself in the long run.
Suzanne G., this next little holiday vignette makes me feel a song coming on:
Here goes - y'all feel free to join in, now:
Walking home from our house Christmas Eve,
You may say there's no such thing as Santa,
But once you see this stain you may believe."
"No respect! I get no respect around here! That's a lump of coal for you, Jen! And why the *%&! do I never get a proper nose, anyway? Is it so hard to give me a frickin' little nose?!? Huh? I just - I'm so - I can't even talk to you anymore! Geez. Somebody get me a hot cocoa."
I'd fetch that right away, Alden M.