Oh, SantaCon: Harbinger of puke, pee, bar brawls and a bro battalion in red hats descending upon Manhattan, drinking themselves into such Dionysian oblivion that it has become a source of both global mockery and existential dread. What hope is left for man when we annually transform Midtown, the center of our planet’s richest city, into a vomit-strewn hellscape of petty crimes and debauched violence, all in the name of Christmas?

But it didn’t have to be this way — this way being a 30,000-person December bar crawl in Santa suits known for immediately devolving into drunken mayhem.

In fact, it wasn’t always like that. That’s right: In the beginning, SantaCon was – dare I say – pure .

“SantaCon,” a new documentary shines a light on these early days of SantaCon, when it was just a one-of

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