Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: FTSD: Ho Ho Ho
Organization: The Crisper Mind
From: (Crisper Than Thou)
Date: 02 Dec 1999 04:02:18 GMT
Lines: 278
Message-ID: <3845ef4a$0$>
X-Trace: 944107338 214 crisper@

				1. "If Santa Claus did not exist,
				    it would be necessary for us
				    to invent him."

They should have seen it coming. It wasn't like it was subtle. The forces of
 The Klaus crept closer and closer to the border for years. There had always
 been talk about the encroachment of his holiday forces, but a line had been
 drawn in the sand across the beaches of Thanksgiving. "Your domain begins
 the day AFTER," he was told, as if that somehow settled the matter.

But if they'd just bothered to look around a little, they would have seen the
 signs-- a few lights up on homes and trees in mid-Novemeber, set up by
 eager beaver neighbors... the shopkeepers pulling out the garlands and
 dusting them off... the occasional tune popping up on the radio....

The Klaus already had people on the far side of the line and they were eager
 to serve his never-ending hunger. Saboteurs. Moles. Some had spent their
 whole lives secretly in his employ, listening to Bing Crosby, fingering the
 25% Off Holiday Sale tags in the dark stock rooms.

In the bitterly cold winter of '03-'04, the forces of Christmas made their

				2. "They're coming out of the goddamn walls!"

Chunk was telling us about some news article he saw years ago, about how
 tryptophan is good for your prostate or some bullshit like that, as we
 packed away the last of the bird. "I'm fucking serious!" he insisted
 around a full mouth's load of candied yams and cranberry. We were pelting
 him with muffins when the sound began... that sound that we only heard
 once in a very rare while.

Battle stations. Combat alert.

Doobie was the first to react, spitting up green beans as he shouted, "What
 the fuck do they think they're doing, calling a drill during dinner?" A
 general noise of rebellious agreement was just going up when Sarge busted

Everyone was stunned for a few seconds as the wail of the alert rolled
 over the base... and then there was a deep, heavy BOOM in the distance.
 Impact. Explosion. Jesus, it really *was* combat. Needing to feel
 somehow safer, I reached over to get my pistol from its holster, and
 that's probably what saved my life.

Behind me, there was a "tink" and a "thump" and a rolling sound, and everyone
 else must have turned to look directly at what I only caught in the corner
 of my eye-- Rollins, the little weasely guy. Rollins, who never said much
 about himself. Rollins, who had just pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed
 into the middle of the mess hall.

Rollins, that little fuck, who once mentioned (when pushed on it) that was
 from "way up north". Chunk had thought he meant he was Canadian, but Chunk
 was a dipshit-- didn't know they don't have Thanksgiving in Canada, at least
 not like WE do. The Monk thought Rollins was probably ex-Montana militia
 or something.

Rollins. "Way up north." Fucker. We'd always heard intelligence reports about
 how the elfs had moles and deep-cover operatives and shit. Already half
 leaned over, I toppled forward instinctively, putting the heavy oak table
 between me and the explosive.

There was a hard, fast, wet smacking sound and suddenly I was tumbling in
 a cloud of shattered wall fragments, covered in turkey and cranberry.

No... as I crumpled in a heap, my legs a ruined mess, I realized what I was
 covered in: Sarge. Chunk. Team mates. My squad. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Outside, the air was heavy with the first falling snow and the clashing,
 ringing cry of jingle bells.

The sky was filled with reindeer.

				3. "Now we reunite with Belgium... then
				   France... then Austria...."

The Klaus smiled grimly as he looked over the latest reports. The defensive
 forces being brought to bear against his Thanksgiving assault were truly
 unbelievable. Despite his superior technology, and the fanatical devotion
 of his consumer army, it was clear that Thanksgiving had been so heavily
 reinforced by holiday warriors from around the year, and around the world,
 he would not be able to survive a protracted engagement. The line would


His Boxing Day ally spoke up: "We can't hope to maintain this level of
 conflict for very long-- the casualties we're suffering are already
 high, and now that they're reinforcing, it will go very badly for all
 of us!"

The Klaus looked over slyly, then turned to the ambassador from New Years.
 "I trust our new alliance is acceptable to you?" he asked. The ambassador
 nodded. "Oh, yes! We are eager to be a part of your consumer holiday
 spirit!" he said. It was clear he was nursing a hangover again-- the
 negotiations had been a pushover.

The Klaus turned back to his Boxing Day ally. "New Years will no longer
 impede you, my friend. I think you'll find the defenses in the early part
 of the year to be minimal at this point... and the resources to be gained
 quite substantial."

The other man's eyes went wide. "You mean... they...." He could contain
 his elation no longer. "You are brilliant, mein Fuhrer! Genius!"

Then, dismissed by The Klaus, he hastened from the room, eager to communicate
 new battle instructions to his forces.

				4. "Film at 11."



				5. "Tear down the Wall!"

Unfortunately for the defenders, Thanksgiving was not as sound and secure
 a defensive line as was hoped; saboteurs operating behind the lines were
 continually harrassing reinforcements and impeding supply lines. As it
 became harder and harder to keep the massive defense force adequately
 fed with turkey, cranberry, yams, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy,
 and stuffing, morale plummeted. The defenders, not the invaders, were
 waging the losing battle.

Finally, the order was given: Abandon stations and fall back to Halloween.
 A small brave band of old-timers took a stand on Veteran's Day and bought
 enough time-- paid for with their lives-- that the rest might safely

The R&D team at Halloween HQ had come up with what they hoped would be an
 improved weapon for facing the forces of The Klaus: lust for candy. What
 better way to wage war against the greedy spirit of consumerism than with
 the greedy gluttony of trick or treaters?

As the elves slammed into the holiday, they were suprised by the new and
 powerful tactic of the plucky defenders. The air filled with the smell
 of alpine fur all gummed up and sticky with caramel... with pixie stick
 sugar... with Red Vines. And, for the first time, the defenders felt
 real hope.

				6. "This will make a great movie someday."

Washington threw down the pistol. "Out!" He grabbed another from his belt of
 spares and continued to lay fire into the December Horde. "You just about
 ready back there?"

Lincoln looked up for just a moment, vexation on his face. "Shut the hell up,
 will you? I'm already having a hard time concentrating on this thing with
 all the gunfire."

They were holed up in the remains of Memorial Day. Once the brave frontmost
 outpost on the borders of Summer, it was now a hollow wreck. A brave freedom
 fighter brigade from Cinco De Mayo had made excellent use of it while it
 lasted, but The Klaus knew how to take down a bunch of Mexicans. The forces
 of Christmas were arrayed on all sides; the two February Birthday presidents
 had taken refuge in a reinforced tower. It rang perpetually from the
 repeated impacts of candy cane projectiles. The Klaus was becoming angry
 at the nuisance these two rebels were proving to be.

For a moment, the incoming fire stopped, then an elvish voice cried out,
 "We have new orders from the Klaus. Your lives will be spared if you
 surrender to us-- you are to be treated as guests. Wouldn't you like to
 see your lovely homeland of February again, instead of this miserable
 May hell?"

For a second, Washington's eyelids drooped wearily. February.... But he was
 caught up short by Lincoln's voice. "Snap out of it, George! You know they'll
 never let us live after the way we wired up Easter to blow like that."

Washington knew it was true. The poor bunny... he'd never wanted to be
 involved in any of this, but they had made him a pawn in a terrible game.
 And the resulting Sunday devastation had claimed many, many Christmas
 lives and halted their advance for over a month.

"Besides," the first American president agreed with a sigh, "when it comes
 down to it, Febraury is just my home away from home. Independence Day has
 always been my first love."

Lincoln shifted from his low crouch. "Okay, ready. Here's yours." He handed
 the portable rocket launcher to his fellow former president, then hefted
 his own. "Let's do it."

The rockets carried small nuclear warheads... smuggled all the way from
 sympathetic August forces. Only one other existed, in late July.

Washington popped his head up in one window. "Okay!" he shouted. "We're coming
 down! Don't shoot! Which one of you are we negotiating with?"

There was a slight shift in the crowd... someone was coming forward. They
 couldn't see exactly who, but it did not matter-- the blast radii would be
 quite significant. He just wanted to pick the best possible ground zero.

"Count of three?" Lincoln asked breathlessly. Washington nodded.

"Just like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," he said. "One...."


They didn't wait to see if their aims were true-- as soon as the rockets
 left the tubes, the two former presidents leapt backwards from their high
 tower hideout. For a moment, time seemed to stop as they plummeted down,
 down, down-- then SPLASH, they struck the cool water of the ocean that
 spread across all those dozens of summer trips to the beach.

Moments later, the entire world above became bright and hot.

				7. "Damndest thing I e'er did see."

I'll never forget meeting the Presidents. Washington had a way about him
 that made you know he was giving you the straight shit, no lies. And
 Lincoln shook my hand firmly, resolutely. I would have died for those two
 men, if it came to that. That's why I was there. That's why, despite my
 injuries from that first Thanksgiving attack, I had volunteered to be
 on the line at Independence Day.

If the Fourth fell, the year would belong to The Klaus, and I wouldn't want
 to live in a wolrd like that, anyway. Death was far preferable.

There were a lot of us that felt that way. The Hiroshima and Nagasaki
 surprise on Memorial Day had crippled the Christmas charge across the
 year... It might almost be a fair fight now. They would be six months
 away from home, badly hurt, in the heat of summer... we were in the
 heart of Old Glory.

Outside, it began: The jingling bells. My new squad leader-- some old
 Revolutionary War hero or original member of the Continental Congress or
 something-- put a hand on my shoulder. "This is it, boys. Here we fight
 and here we die, by God."

I shouldered my musket, feeling more alive than I ever had.

				8. "Boom City"


The crowd ooooooo's. Green and red, then changing to white and gold.

ssssssssss-KRAK KRAK KRAK

A string of firecrackers echoes across the Bay. Hunter slaps his hands over
 his ears but really, it's over so quick, he's too late. I should have maybe
 brought some earmuffs or something, despite the heat.

"Daddy," he asks, "why do we have fireworks?"

"Well," I say, "The fourth of July celebrates how we won our freedom. See,
 a long time ago..." but Jade puts her hand on my arm and gives me that look
 that says, hon, he's three. The distinction between signing the Declaration
 of Independence, and actually winning the revolution months later, is going
 to be lost on him. I nod and smile.

"There was a big war a long time ago, and we won. So we celebrate it now by
 making big explosions, just like the ones they had in the war. Sorta," I
 finally settle on. Good enough for Hunter, it would appear. He flops back
 on the grass and stairs into the sky.

"Fireworks are neato," he decides. "Almost as good as Christmas!"

				9. "Obligatory end"

Happy holidays, you miserable bastards...

		...and may God have mercy on your souls!

	--The Elder Dan
	(celebratorily crisper)

This is the only false statement ever made.

Dan Curtis Johnson	||