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.
I’ve been staying as far away from my family as possible. Their Christmas miracles might be a pleasure to them, but they scare the hell out of me. Christmas is supposed to bring families closer together, but this year it seems to have torn us apart. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to us. I have a feeling that Santa is going to just force the whole family to move to the North Pole to live with him. Not because he wants us there but because transformers and chainsaw angels don’t have a place in the civilized world. Decapitron probably won’t officially divorce me, but I think she’s planning on marrying Burt Reynolds Elf. Tea is assuming that we will also get married now that we have a baby coming.
It’ll be odd to live the rest of my life up at the North Pole, but it probably won’t be any worse than how things used to be. Life changes and goes on. It might not get any better, but it goes on. Your kids grow up. You grow old. Your children bury you. Then they grow old. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. That’s just the way it is. For everyone.
Everyone, that is, except for Santa there, sitting on the sofa with his corncob pipe and eggy breath, dripping sausage grease from rips on his skin like tears from a dead womb.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carlton Mellick III is one of the leading authors in the new Bizarro genre uprising. In only a few short years, his surreal counterculture novels have drawn an international cult following despite the fact that they have been shunned by most libraries and corporate bookstores. He sings for the band “Popes That Are Porn Stars” in Portland, OR.
Visit him online at www.avantpunk.com
Sausagey Santa Page 7
