Science fact: Fruit is not native to the North Pole, at least not for another thirty years (can I get a shout-out to global warming?). You wouldn't know it though, given the prodigious rate and cost at which Mrs. Claus imports that sweet sweet fructose. The big man could stand to lose his spare truck tire, sure, but oranges cost an arm and a leg up here. Maybe literally. I wouldn't put it past her to sell elf limbs. Certainly would explain the disappearances, though that could just as easily be... the other thing. We did have to put Shenzhen-style suicide nets on the elf barracks.
Don't be a Yukon Cornelius, kids. Keep your teeth.
The fat man, of course, won't eat anything that came from a plant, though he humors Marjorie and lets her burn a good quarter of the family income on fruit imports. Cost of doing business I guess.
He still has to get rid of the things somehow, and rather than just tossing them down the Elf Pit (which is exactly what it sounds like), he and I have reached... an understanding. Specifically vis a vis the lemons, cherries and oranges. Because I, Rudolph F. Reindeer, have discovered the alchemy for simultaneously cheating the dual scourges of scurvy and sobriety.
Ingredients:
5 cups orange juice
1 cup vodka
1/3 cup orange liqueur
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup maraschino cherry juice
fruit-flavored candy canes and/or cherries with stems and/or orange or lemon slices
Preparation:
Put all the ingredients together and stir. Garnish to taste. Instructions even Comet can follow.
I learned about scurvy from Yukon Cornelius. "Hey kid! Hey kid! Watch this!" ...and then he pulls out his false teeth, makes a crack about venison, and cackles hysterically. Still gets me every time.