Say what you will about anarchy, it's at least pretty simple. No one’s in charge. Mayhem rules. It's every man for himself. Unless you're trying to pull off a Santa Rampage—where dozens, maybe hundreds of folks don Santa suits and descend on the city all at once, flash-mob style, to spread holiday cheer (or you know, kinda drunken, rabble-rousing cheer). In that case, a few essential organizing ground rules are pretty critical. This is, after all, St. Nicholas, rosy-cheeked gift giver of jovial gentility—no one likes a dirty Santa. So play it safe: Don't make kids cry. Dress warmly. Don't whine. No throwing coal. Bring naughty gifts for grown-ups and nice ones for kids. No drunken vomiting in alleys. Pay for the booze you drink and tip the bar staff. Stick together. Don't drink and drive. (There are Santa Rampages all over the country—the Nashville chapter borrowed its rules from Atlanta.) And then there's the brass tacks, or what they call the four “fucks”: Don't fuck with kids, security, cops or Santa. If all those stuffy rules don't totally harsh your buzz and you've got a spare Santa suit lying around, it sounds like it still manages to be a pretty swell time. Or, according to Nashville Santa Rampage's Facebook page, “It's fun! It's crazy! It's totally absurd! You may not remember a damn thing!”
Sat., Dec. 12, 6 p.m., 2009
