by Kirk Scroggs
Hans turned to the blob. “Listen, you! I’ve vorked my tushy off on zis musical, and I vill not let it be ruined by a giant phlegmball! Ze show must go on. Sing it, girls!”
The Sugar Sisters launched into their heartfelt rendition of “Little Drummer Boy.”
And a funny thing happened…
The blob exited stage right.
“Look!” I said. “The sound of the Sugar Sisters singing “Little Drummer Boy” sent the blob oozing toward the exit!”
“I’m afraid it usually has the same effect on me,” said Jubal.
The stage and auditorium were utterly devastated.
“Man. The janitor’s not gonna be happy about this,” said Jubal
“Vell, zat’s all, folks!” said Hans. “I hope you enjoyed ze show. Please purchase a T-shirt on ze vay out, and come back next month for our presentation of Avalanche! Ze Musical.”
CHAPTER 11
A Grosser Look
The next morning, we went to see Nate Farkles, Gingham’s finest veterinarian, to check on the eggnog analysis.
“Nate,” I said, “did you get those samples of eggnog I sent you?”
“I sure did,” said Nate. “Thanks! They were delicious.”
“Are you telling me you drank expired, mutated, morphing eggnog?” I asked.
“I sure did,” said Nate. “I used it to wash down those funny-tasting fudge balls Mrs. Logan and her Chihuahua dropped off this morn—hey, wait a minute!”
While Nate went for some mouthwash, I went into action. “Gentlemen, we’ve got to call a town meeting. Tonight at the school auditorium. Spread the word!”
CHAPTER 12
General Mayhem
That night, the town gathered at the school with the mayor, the police, and the military.
“Thanks for coming, folks,” said two-and-a-half-star General George Gruffbelly.
“What we’re dealing with here is a Blog—half blob, half eggnog—and not only is it rich and creamy and sprinkled with nutmeg, but it can take the shape of any man, woman, or overweight celebrity.
“Weapons are useless against the Blog. Only the soothing sound of “Little Drummer Boy” has any effect. Our town choir has been singing it out front for eight hours straight which has got to be unbearable for the Blog—I know it has been for me.”
“Gramma,” I whispered, “you don’t have to wear a disguise anymore. You’re safe now.”
“I know,” said Gramma, “but I kinda like it. I feel so mysterious and exciting.”
“I can catch this beast for you,” said a voice from the back of the room. It was a looming, creepy fellow with a candy cane hook for a hand, a Yule log for a leg, and a posse of elves.
“Are you Santa?” asked a small boy.
“Of course not, young one,” chuckled the tall man. “I’m his second cousin, Roberto. I own Santa’s Holidaytown Shanty Village outside the city. If you can lure the Blog to my Christmas compound, I will capture and destroy it.”
“Sounds good to me!” said Mayor Maynott. “But how will we repay you?”
“Don’t be silly. I won’t accept any payment,” said Roberto Claus. “All I ask is that I can have your autograph. Nothing sinister going on here.”
“Sure!” said the mayor, signing away.
“What charity!” said Grampa. “It warms the heart.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
CHAPTER 13
Dreck the Halls
Roberto Claus took us on a free tour of Santa’s Holidaytown Shanty Village.
“Wow!” I said. “You’ve got a whole lagoon made of eggnog. Aren’t you worried about a Blog attack?”
“I’m counting on one, my boy!” said Roberto.
“Follow me,” he said as we strolled through his enormous gift shop. “Step into my gingerbread trolley and I’ll show you wonders that will make your spine tingle, your nostrils flare, and your heart glow like a lightning bug’s fanny.”
“Must be some trolley!” said Grampa.
Roberto took us on a first-class tour of his Christmas paradise.
“Wow!” said Jubal. “You have your own cows!”
“That’s right,” said Roberto. “And their udders are filled not with milk, but with pure, glistening eggnog.”
“Sounds disgustingly delicious!” said Grampa.
“Here you’ll find my killer snow-bots,” said Roberto. “And over there is Crumby, the fruitcake monster.”
“Ugh!” I said. “I hate fruitcake!”
“I wouldn’t say that too loud. Crumby might squash you like a ripe kumquat!” said Roberto as we finished the tour. “So that’s it, folks. If you can lure the Blog to my eggnog extravaganza, I’ll use everything in my arsenal to destroy it.”
CHAPTER 14
Use Your Noggin
So we strapped a loudspeaker onto the car and drove through Gingham County spreading the word about Roberto’s Christmas wonderland.
“Come on down, folks!” I yelled. “Come see the world’s largest supply of eggnog! Bring the kids. Bring your camera. Bring your aunt Brenda!”
Hopefully my announcement would lure the sinister slime.
CHAPTER 15
Something Liquid This Way Comes
That night we set up a stakeout in front of the eggnog lagoon, and we waited…and waited.
“Roberto,” I said. “What’s it like at the North Pole?”
“The North Pole,” said Roberto. “People think it’s all sugarplums and candy canes….
“No one ever mentions the cyborg polar bears, like the one that took my hand.
“Or the clan of Siberian snow orcs that waged war on Santa’s village for one hundred years.
“Or the evil snow wizard, Barnabus Ice Beard—a man so dastardly, he was known to rob the poor, use kittens for handkerchiefs, and cheat on book reports.”
“Boy!” said Grampa. “You sure never hear about that stuff in any of those Christmas songs.”
Suddenly, we got a transmission over the walkie-talkie: “This is agent Cold Turkey. Come in!”
I responded quickly. “We hear you loud and clear, Cold Turkey! What’s goin’ on?”
Cold Turkey was the code name for Gramma, and boy was she getting into the whole disguise thing.
“I’ve spotted the Blog!” said Gramma. “He’s heading toward you from the south. I repeat, the Blog is coming your way. Over and out!”
CHAPTER 16
As the Milk Turns
The Blog approached us in the shape of a giant bag of Pork Cracklins. Grampa couldn’t resist.
“Must have Cracklins!” said Grampa as he marched toward the beast, mesmerized.
“Yikes!” I yelled. “It’s got Grampa! Quick! Roberto, release your fruitcake monster and killer snowmen to destroy the Blog!”
“Actually,” said Roberto, “I’ve changed my mind. Come on in, my drippy friend! Take a dip in my eggnog lagoon!”
The Blog plunged into the lagoon and absorbed all of the eggnog.
“You dirty dog!” I yelled. “You tricked us!”
The Blog grew to outrageous proportions.
“Now my arsenal of Christmas supermonsters is complete!” yelled Roberto as he pulled out a megaphone. “Citizens of Gingham County, you have five minutes to evacuate. I’m taking over this town!”
“You’d expect better from a seven-foot-tall creepy dude with a candy cane hook for a hand who hangs with elves,” said Grampa.
“This is outrageous!” screamed the mayor. “You can’t just kick us out of our own town!”
“Of course I can!” said Roberto. “It’s all perfectly legal according to this contract that you ‘autographed.’ It says that if I capture the Blog, you turn all of Gingham County over to me.”
“Rats!” said the mayor. “I’ve gotta quit signing these things!”
“This Roberto guy makes the Grinch look like Mary Poppins,” said Grampa.
“But why?” I asked. “Why do you n
eed Gingham County?”
“Because I’m tired of that do-gooder, Santa, getting all the attention,” said Roberto. “I will create a Christmas empire that will put the North Pole to shame. I will deliver toys and ugly sweaters to the children of the world. And when Santa tries to challenge me, I will defeat him with my army of elves, fruitcake monsters, and mutating eggnog. It will be glorious!”
“I think this guy’s a couple beans short of a burrito,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 17
Noggy By Nature
“Oops!” said Roberto. “Your time is up. I’ll have to evacuate you myself. Christmas critters, attack!”
“Well, this it it, boys,” said Grampa. “Stomped by a giant fruitcake. Why couldn’t it have been a giant German chocolate cake with extra frosting?”
The attack was on! Merle and I dodged the super nasal carrot rockets of the killer snowbots with our amazing shaolin moves.
Unfortunately, Jubal was no match for the elves and their fake snow-flocking devices.
General Gruffbelly showed up with tanks, but expected a blog, not a bunny.
“Hold your fire, gentlemen,” he said. “I will not fire upon a cuddly, fluffy bunny. Not on my watch!”
Of course, the bunny attacked mercilessly.
“I guess that’s why he’s only a two-and-a-half-star general,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 18
Who Let the Nog Out?
We formed a barrier, and Roberto attacked with his elves, armed with cheese ball-lobbing catapults.
“Arm yourselves, citizens!” shouted Grampa. “Let this day be known as Eggnog Independence Day!”
“Or Soggy Noggy Bloggy Day.” said the mayor.
“How about Nate Farkles Day?” said Nate Farkles.
But their conversation was cut short when a giant nut-covered cheese ball landed on Grampa.
“Grampa!” I yelled. “Are you okay?”
“Wiley, my boy,” gasped Grampa, “I just have one final wish: can somebody bring me some crackers? This cheese is delicious!”
Just then, a wave of eggnog crashed over us.
“This is just awful!” said the mayor. “And to think it’s only two hours until Christmas!”
“Two hours?” said Grampa. “I guess I’d better start my Christmas shopping!”
“Don’t worry,” I said, pulling out my walkie-talkie. “All right, Gramma. Operation Super Absorbent is in effect!”
CHAPTER 19
Spong Blob, Square Pan
Suddenly, the Blog came to a screeching halt. There, in front of us, was Gramma’s car, and it was blasting Christmas music out of the loudspeaker on the roof.
“Hey, Blog!” said Gramma. “I’m feelin’ a little dairy intolerant! Sing it, girls!”
The car was loaded up with the big-hair Sugar Sisters and several of Gramma’s elderly friends, and they launched into an extra-special version of “Little Drummer Boy.”
The caroling car forced the Blog right up to the edge of Lookout, Gingham’s most convenient cliff. The girls sang one last chorus of “Ba-rump-bum-bum-bum” with gusto, and it drove the Blog over the edge.
The Blog plummeted hundreds of feet, but since it was a Blog it really wasn’t damaged when it hit the ground.
But little did it realize that it had landed not on the ground, but on the world’s largest sponge cake. Vera had been doing some serious baking, and her giant cake absorbed the helpless Blog.
After the Blog was completely soaked into the cake, Vera called over some friends.
“Here, birdie, birdie, birds!” said Vera. “Come and get it!”
Every pigeon in Gingham County flew over to the cake.
The pigeons devoured that sponge cake in no time. It was a horrible sight.
“Oh, I can’t watch!” said Gramma.
“I know, honey,” said Grampa. “It’s a weird and disturbing sight. Yet somehow I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It’s like watching an episode of The Wiggles.”
CHAPTER 20
A Crumby Ending
We carried the drained and expired eggnog carton and put it in its proper recycling bin.
“I’m gonna miss that little stinker,” said Grampa. “He sure was rotten, but he had a lot of guts.”
“Crumbs!” yelled Roberto. “All that’s left of my beautiful Blog are a few measly crumbs! Well, I’m not done with Gingham County yet.”
“You still have to deal with Crumby, the fruitcake monster! If you think you hate fruitcake now, wait until Crumby gets through with you.”
“Actually, we like fruitcake,” came a sweet, angelic voice out of the blue.
It was the Sugar Sisters. “We love the tough leathery texture of fruitcake and the mysterious sugar-soaked fruit particles.”
“They like me,” said Crumby. “Nobody likes fruitcake. Crumby gonna cry.” The Sugar Sisters gave Crumby a hug.
“I’ve gotta get some meaner monsters,” said Roberto.
While Crumby made some new friends, Merle took care of the killer snowbots with a monkey wrench.
“Ohhh!” Roberto wailed. “My plan is ruined! What else could possibly go wrong?”
Suddenly, the elves got nervous and a strange sound filled the night air.
“Is that the sound of sleigh bells?” asked Jubal.
“It sounds more like the revving of motorcycles to me,” I said.
“Nooooo!” screamed Roberto. “He’s found me!”
CHAPTER 21
Hight on a Hog
It was Santa! The real Santa Claus! And he was riding a motorcycle. He landed right in front of us.
“Wow!” I said. “I always figured he’d be riding in a sleigh.”
“Of course not,” said Grampa. “Santa traded in his sleigh for a chopper years ago. I saw it on CNN” (that’s the Christmas News Network).
“Roberto,” said Santa, shaking his finger, “did you get out of your padded room again?”
Roberto looked very guilty, “Yes, sir. I just get so bored and so cold up there at the North Pole.”
“Let’s go, Roberto,” said Santa. “I’m taking you back home to Santa’s Institute for Holiday Nuts.”
“You never let me have any fun!” said Roberto as he climbed into a peppermint paddy wagon.
“Sorry about my cousin, folks,” said Santa. “Sometimes he just gets these wild ideas.”
“It’s all right,” said Grampa. “I’m sure he meant well when he clobbered me with a giant cheese ball and flooded the town with rancid eggnog.”
“I think I know how you can repay us, big guy,” I said. “How ’bout a quick spin on your flying hog?”
“Welllll,” Santa said, “okay. But we gotta make it fast. I’ve got five billion presents to deliver, and my back is killing me.”
Santa gave us a first-class flight over Gingham County, and it was awesome.
“Everything looks so small from up here,” said Grampa. “Hey, look! I can see your gramma. No, wait! That’s just a Volkswagen.”
“I heard that!” yelled Gramma.
Well, that’s my Christmas story, folks. Hans added Crumby to the Christmas musical. His version of “Puttin’ on the Ritz” brought down the house.
The unruly elves were entered into a five-step elf help program. They are making tremendous progress.
Gramma served up a delicious Christmas dinner of honey-slathered ham with all the fixins’—except eggnog, of course.
And as for those pigeons that ate the mutant eggnog, scientists have assured us that there were no side effects and everything is okay.
That’s right. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Everything is 100% A-OK, peachy keen, hunky-dory.
CRACKPOT SNAPSHOP
Gramma just printed up a batch of lovely homemade Christmas cards, but something went wrong with her printer. One of these cards just ain’t right. Pick out the differences before she takes them to the post office.
The answers are on the back. Anyone caught cheating has to gargle eggnog
for five minutes!
