Sausagey Santa (8 page)

I better help him now.

“Hitler was a wussy vegetarian!” I scream at Frosty.

There was nothing else I could think of to say to get Frosty’s attention, but it works.

I step away from Decapitron and groove into the middle of the street, the empty sleeves of my suit dangling at my sides. Frosty just snarls at me as I center myself.

Okay, here it goes . . .

I push one of the buttons and the suit curls my body up into a ball. The cabbage skin ignites around me and then I launch myself at Frosty.

I can hardly imagine what I must look like out there. I am a big fireball rolling through the snow at 70 miles per hour, melting everything in my path. On the control switch between my legs, there’s a little monitor. I see Frosty’s mouth open wide with shock as I plow into him, dissolving his bottom ball. Rolling around and coming back towards him, I see him trying to reform the snowball with the snow from the ground but I hit him again. He explodes into powder.

Meanwhile, the upper half of Santa is vacuuming up Frosty’s coffee birds. But he doesn’t get all of them as Frosty’s consciousness leaves his body and enters a nearby snowman. The new snowman retrieves the sickle-arms and the Hitler mustache and becomes his old self, good as new.

But there’s no stopping the sly man. I melt his new body just as quickly as the last one, rolling in circles around the intersection. Santa sucks up more of his coffee birds.

I roll and I roll until all the snowmen in the area have turned to liquid and all of the coffee birds have been sucked away.

By the time I finish rolling in circles and figure out how to make the suit get out of fireball form (Tea didn’t explain that part to me), I find myself in the middle of a crowd of elves. They explode with cheers for me. They hoot and applaud and cheer.

“Hooray for the sly guy!” they sing. “He’s the greatest! Sly Fry’s number one!”

Santa gets restuffed with old clocks. It’s not sausage, but it’ll have to do for now until the elves find the rest of his meat goop that’s been splattered all over the South Pole. He recovers his bag of toys and then the elves build him a new sleigh out of Tea’s squid ship.

“Arrr, ye know what?” Santa says. “I might just be able to save Christmas this year.”

The elves cheer for him.

“Sorry, laddie,” Santa tells me. “No time fer thanks and pleasantries. I need to deliver toys to the rest of the boys and girls of the world.”

“Can we come with you?” I ask.

“Can we, Santa?” my kids cry. “Can we?”

Santa looks down at Nora’s bloody growth dripping into the snow.

“Nay . . .” he says. “The elves will give ye a ride home.” “But Santa . . .” Angelica cries.

“Please?” I say.

“Well . . .” Santa says. “You know what? . . . it’s really late and I really don’t have time for this kind of bullshite right now. I know ye saved me from the forces of evil and all, but come on, man. I’ve been cut in half and most of me guts have been replaced with clocks for Christ’s sake. I’ve never had a worse Christmas in all me life.”

Before I can say another word his squidy vehicle blasts off, leaving me in cloud of snow.

Boon leads us towards another ship so he can give us a ride home.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “I’m sure he’ll leave you something special under your tree tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TEN

PRESENT WORMS

Christmas Morning:

I wake up at home, alone in my bed.

I’m not sure how I got here. I don’t remember the trip back from the South Pole.

It was so all so much like a dream. I would think none of it really happened if it wasn’t for the distance between my feet and the edge of the bed. Being elf-sized, our queen bed feels bigger than a king.

It’s already the afternoon. Not really Christmas morning anymore, it’s Christmas Day. I get up and put on a robe. Then wander into the bathroom.

Boon is standing on a stool, grooving to a tune in his head while shaving in the mirror.

“You’re awake,” he says.

I groan.

“You’ve missed out on all the presents,” he says.

I shrug at him and urinate into the toilet. My brain feels sore inside my head.

After I’m done I just stare at him for a while, watching him shave.

Then I say, “What are you doing here?”

He waits until he’s finished shaving to answer me.

“You know how I said Santa was probably going to leave you special presents under the tree for Christmas?” he says, hopping off of the stool.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, he’s decided to give each member of your family the gift of your dreams,” he says. “And he’s here to give them to you personally.”

Boon leads me out of my room and takes me downstairs.

As I look over the balcony, I see all the surviving elves lounging around on my furniture. Above them, Angelica is flying around the living room with chainsaw angel wings. The chainsaws buzz as her wings flap.

“Angelica?” I say.

She opens her mouth in excitement when she sees me and flies in close. “Look at me, Sly Guy! I’m a real angel! Look at me!”

“See,” Boon says. “She got the gift of her dreams. She can now fly like an angel.”

I wish I would have explained to Angelica that angels don’t really use chainsaws for wings.

I go down the stairs and pass the twins. They are running around the dining room table. Well, one of them is running. Matty is hopping on one foot.

“What did they get?” I ask.

“They were given the gift of free movement. They were sick of being strapped to your wife all the time. They wanted to be able to run and play, but couldn’t. So that’s what Santa gave them.”

“Did Nora get her brain chip?” I ask. “Or, no, if she could have anything I bet she’d want her growth removed . . ”

“No,” he says. “That’s not what she wanted.”

“What did she want, then?”

“She wanted to become the dictator of a small third-world country.”

“Sounds like Nora,” I say.

“So, what did I get?” I ask. “I see I didn’t get my old height back. That’s all I really want. Please exchange whatever Santa gave me with my old height.”

“We’ll see,” he says.

Tea barges between us, wearing one of my old shirts as a dress and drinking out of my favorite coffee mug.

“Santa has your present out back,” she says.

Then she continues on her way. As she passes, she purposely rubs her breasts against me. They feel nice. I check out her body as she walks away. F or some reason, I find her pretty sexy now that I’m at this shrunken down height. She doesn’t creep me out like she did at the North Pole. I don’t feel so bad about being raped by her anymore.

My path outside is blocked by a giant robot.

A big transformer toy is standing eighteen feet off the ground in my backyard, leaning against the side of the house. I guess my wife wanted a real transformer for Christmas . . .

Boon and I squeeze through the transformer’s legs. It is a big female transformer with torpedo boobs.

“Sly Fry,” Boon says. “Let me introduce you to your new wife. The Decapitron.”

“Decapitron?” I ask.

“Hi, Fry,” she says. Her voice is electronic, but it is still her voice. Her mouth doesn’t move, but a light flashes on and off when she talks. “Check me out.”

She transforms. The noise she makes while transforming is the same as the noise from the cartoon show. Then she is a big nuclear submarine in the backyard.

“Pretty nice, huh?” the submarine says.

It isn’t all that big of a submarine, but fills a good portion of our yard. The hatch on top of the submarine opens up and Burt Reynolds Elf climbs out.

He waves at me.

Just great. Not only am I permanently elf-sized, but now I’m married to a giant robot. Sure Decapitron always had the personality of a giant evil robot, but now she looks like one too.

“Ready for your present?” submarine Decapitron says.

Burt Reynolds Elf helps Sausagey Santa out of the miniature nuclear submarine and they climb down to greet me. Santa is still worn and tattered, with clock-filled thighs.

“Merry Christmas, me boy,” Santa says, handing me a very light present about the size of a shoe box. “Ye shall love it, I’m right sure.”

I doubt I’ll love it.

I rip off the wrapping paper, which is strangely covered in pictures of plump German sausages with big red bows tied around them. It is a shoe box. I open the box to find that it is empty except a small yellow piece of paper on the bottom of the box.

The paper has two words on it: turn around.

So I turn around.

HOLY MOTHER OF FUCKING CHRIST. Oh, my fucking shit . . .

Can it really be?

Can it?

Is it real?

NO WAY!!!

In my backyard . . . MY backyard. They’re here . . . SPELUNKER!!!

The band Spelunker is on a stage in my yard. All five members. They are even wearing their awesome adventure gear. One of them is wearing mountain climbing gear, one is wearing snow gear, one is wearing scuba gear, one is wearing desert camo, and the singer is wearing jungle survival gear with a machete.

They pick up their guitars and wail on them.

“This is for the sly guy, Matthew Fry,” says the singer, Maxwell Stone.

I point guns at him and bob my head.

HUGE smile on my face.

Then they play “Canyon Kayaking Danger Team,” my absolute favorite song!

All of the elves come out of the house and dance to the rockingest tune ever written. I groove in the center of the crowd and show off my sly moves, hoping Maxwell Stone catches a glimpse of them. Angelica flies in the air above, waving down at me. I point her some gun-fingers. Even Decapitron dances in the background in her enormous robot form.

After a few songs, I go to Santa.

“How did you know?” I ask. “How did you know this is what I wanted?”

“Arrr, me boy,” he says. “That be Santa’s little secret.”

I give him a high-five on his hotdog fingers and go back to dancing.

Between songs, Boon tells me Santa didn’t actually know I wanted Spelunker to play at my house for Christmas. He says that Santa never knows what anyone wants for Christmas. Only the present worms do.

Present worms are small gooey elf-manufactured creatures that Santa uses to get boys and girls what they want for Christmas. All he does is put the worms inside of a box, address the package, and put it under the tree. While the children sleep, the present worms read their minds and find out what gift is wanted. Then the worms construct that gift, die, and evaporate before morning.

Santa’s job is to figure out the size of the box and how many present worms he should put in. He decides this by calculating how naughty or nice the child has been. If he puts in only a couple of worms the present won’t be very good. If he puts in six to ten it is likely to be an awesome Christmas for the little kid.

But for the members of my family Santa put three shovelfuls of present worms into each of our boxes. It was hundreds of times more potent than any present he has ever given before. There were so many worms that they could have given us any gift we ever could have wanted in the world.

I don’t know about the rest of the family, but I sure got what I wanted.

The party rages on into the night. Spelunker keeps playing nonstop and the elves keep dancing. We finish all the booze in the house and Santa wraps up a bunch of present worms to make himself some scotch. He’s looking for some bigger boxes so they can make a few kegs. They tell me that we’re going to party  nonstop for days. That’s what they do every Christmas Day, after their job for the year has been completed. They like to celebrate. But this year they have to party extra hard because they have to celebrate the lives of those elves fallen in battle and celebrate the defeat of Nazi Frosty.

I’m hopping up and down like a kid, chugging some brandy eggnog. Being this size has some advantages. I sure get drunk really easily.

“This was the best Christmas ever!” Decapitron says, robot-dancing far above me.

“Yes, it was,” I tell her. “The best Christmas ever!”

But I’m really drunk and probably don’t mean it.

EPILOGUE

You know what they say about what house guests and dead bodies have in common, right?

Yeah, they both start to smell bad after a few days.

The party lasts a few weeks. After it’s over, nobody goes home. Sausagey Santa lounges around the house in his underwear, eating eggs without taking them out of the shells. The elves keep following me around, bobbing their heads and slicking back their sly guy haircuts. They kind of view me as their sly guy leader. It was cool for awhile, but it has gotten pretty annoying as of late. Even Spelunker is starting to annoy me. They are still rocking in the backyard nonstop all day and night. I’m really starting to get sick of their music. They play the same songs over and over again. They don’t eat or sleep. I’ve been trying to give them food and water, but their rocking so hard they don’t notice. The rhythm guitar player has passed out from exhaustion. I think he might be dead.

Angelica accidentally cut off Voltron’s left hand with her chainsaw wing, so now both twins have that three-limbed thing going on. At least they’ve evened out.

I don’t see much of Decapitron. She spends all of her time with Burt Reynolds Elf, which is fine with me. They have sex while she’s in submarine form, somehow. The submarine hatch is the transformer’s equivalent of a vagina I think. Every time I see him he is glowing purple. And I think he has recently gotten his nipples pierced.

Tea is pregnant with my half-elf baby. Hyperspace panties rape sex is a surefire way to get an elf pregnant. It could have been worse, though. I could have gotten some kind of weird elf STD. We’ve started sleeping together. My real wife can’t fit inside of the house, so Tea has decided to take her place. She talks way too much about Dungeons and Dragons, but at the moment she’s the only person in this house that I care to talk to.