The Christmas Saga: Ho Ho Fucking Ho!
Galloway finished the last few modifications on the Flying Bunker, then climbed back through the trap door leading to his room. It was raining outside, just like it did in Visalia about 80% of the winter season. Sighing, he kicked his busted computer a few times, then snuck into his brother’s room to use the PS2.
When he began to look for Onimusha 2, though, he found something strange. On his brother’s desk was a pamphlet that read:
Wanted: Someone that hasn’t seen The Shining all the way through and wants to help maintain an old hotel for the holidays. Free food, drink, beer, and everything else you can imagine. Deluxe accomidations. Really creepy paintings. Blood that gets off on the second floor instead of the first. Also includes the heavily stained room President William Jefferson Clinton stayed in with a young intern. If interested, go there right now. No application neccessary. Oh, and we have LOTS and LOTS of snow!
Galloway’s eyes blew open when he saw the part about snow. Visalia almost never got a centimeter of snow in a decade, and the only other place to get snow was filled with whiny brats that should be shot and dragged behind cars. He quickly kicked open his brother’s window and ran off, but not before grabbing the PS2.
“Hey, Santa!” shouted an elf, standing in front of Santa’s private study. “We need you to name the new reindeer!” When there was no answer, the elf pushed on the door. It was unlocked; Santa ALWAYS locked the place up! After all, it was where he kept his list…
Suddenly, a figure crept out of the shadows and strangled the elf to death using a piano wire. After disposing of the body, he closed and locked the door. “Damn elf,” he said. “Why can’t my blasted brother keep an eye on them?” He then snuck up to a computer called, “Christmas List 3000.”
He began to read through all the children’s names. “Naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, fucking evil, naughty!” He then scrolled over a bit to the right, and learned that they were getting their presents anyway.
“GOD DAMN IT, BROTHER!” he hushly shouted. “THESE CHILDREN HAVE BEEN VERY NAUGHTY! HOW CAN YOU LET THEM GET OFF THE HOOK LIKE THAT?! I’LL SHOW YOU HOW THIS BUSINESS IS RUN ONCE AND FOR ALL!”
(He then went off and took over Santa’s Workshop. Unfortunately, our camera man, a die-hard athiest, complained about the “God” part we just said and left, making us unable to film. And now, back to the show.)
The evil figure tied Santa to his old wooden chair. “I’m taking over the family business now, brother!”
“I’m not your brother!” shouted Santa. “You’re just my evil twin half-brother!”
“Maybe,” said Santa’s half-brother, “but I know how to run something like this, unlike you! Naughty children don’t deserve gifts, and yet you give them a bunch every year! That’s why I, and my dark master Stan, a potatoe farmer who gained my soul due to an unfortunate typo when I was making a contract to sell my soul to Satan, have come up with a way of punishing the worst children in existence!”
“But…only one group qualifies as the all-time worst!” shouted Santa. “And they’ve all grown up!”
“I know,” said Santa’s half-brother. “But I can still punish them in ways you can’t imagine…”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Santa. “I can imagine quite a bit.”
“Oh, fine,” said Santa’s half-brother, “I thought it up after a couple thousand vodkas one night. But it’ll still annoy and horrify them to no end!” He then stole Santa’s sleigh and flew off.
(to be continued)
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