‘Twas the night before Christmas and at Farm o’Saw, not a creature was stirring… nope nothing at all. The stocking was hung on a doorknob with care, we’ve a chimney but there’s a TV in there. The Grandson was nestled all snug in his bed, while visions of…
Ya know, this kid’s at that age that when asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” the response is a discombobulated “I don’t know!” This leaves for a lot of under tree guesswork. Then a week before the event there’s a sudden interest in figgin’ Pokémon. Fortunately Santa and Grandpa are good guessers.
Anywho…while visions of whatever danced in his head, and Red with her puppy and I in my cap, were taking a break from the holiday crap. When out to the west there arose a commotion, “Holy shite!” I exclaimed, “Was that an explosion?” Outside the window there was a bright flash. Then it imploded throwing me on my… posterior. Black and grey ash rained down like new-fallen snow, the horizon lit up with an atomic glow. When, what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a scorched wooden sleigh, and eight terrified deer. With a little old driver, looking worried and sick, so I yelled out, “What the hell did you do, Nick?”
When they landed his face was covered in shame, and he quickly admitted that he was to blame. As nuke fallout began to rain down from the sky, he explained, wiping ash and a tear from his eye. He’d flown too close to a silo — the missile kind, and he didn’t think Uncle Sam would really mind. But they panic-launched in fear he might be-a enemy aircraft straight from North Korea. “How many did they fire?” I inquired of him. He shook his head and said, “I think all of them.”
Well…poot! Merry Christmas to all and we’re all gonna die…
Chainsaw’s Holiday Guide to Surviving a
“No!” shouted Santa, “you have to help me! To undo what I’ve done, for the children, you see. We have to save Christmas… the world’s what I mean,” and then pulled from his sack a Way Back Machine.
“You’ve got to be s***ing me Santa, and I feel, this holiday special has gone way too surreal.”
He heard not a word, but went straight to his work, flipped a few switches, gave a lever a jerk. Time fluids swirled in a cylindrical hose; with a really loud “POP” back in time we goes. (Improper English excused, due to rhyme scheming).
‘Twas the day before Christmas at missile command when we way-backed in there just as Santa had planned. I feared we’d have to fight as some guards drew near us; surprisingly Santa has government clearance. We went straight to the top to meet the head man, whom Kringle informed of his altered flight plan. “Not a problem,” he said, telling Santa he rocks, just as long as his kids get the latest Xbox.
So we way-backed back home to a clear Christmas sky. Santa hopped in his sled nodded thanks and goodbye. “Hold on,” I called out, not trying to prolong. “Why did you even need to drag me along? There wasn’t a fight or need for a chainsaw; I didn’t really do anything at all?”
He paused and taking a step down from his sled, looked me in the eye and then quietly said, “Because it is important that we remember, the events that transpired on this late December. The night that Santa Claus brought missiles to town, I needed a writer to write it all down. So the same mistakes won’t soon be repeated, we fixed the past and now it’s been deleted. Since we’ve altered the timeline no one will know, and we’ll both forget… in a minute or so.”
“Forget what?” I asked. He shrugged and … sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like a nuclear missile. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “I have no idea what happened tonight!”
Funny… neither do I. What’s this — Santa Claus, preempted missile strike, time travel? Oh well, there’s no time to write anything else so have a Merry whatever!
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