Post by Poe's Coats Host Toast on Dec 10, 2013 6:07:47 GMT -5
There was a place, and there was a Christmas, and there was something completely different. If you are interested in happy endings, you should continue reading this story or alternatively go find a masseusse. But alas, just like with a massage, before we get to the happy ending there is a somewhat troublesome beginning and many bizarre things in the middle.
The place was 667 Dark Avenue, and the Christmas was today. Well, it was Christmas Eve actually, but we'll get to Christmas Day soon enough, don't worry.
Trag was decorating the Christmas tree and the other 667ers were helping with the whole Christmas shebang. BSam was crooning cover songs; Sophie was the supporting act singing wonderful carols; Willis and Sixteen were telling exciting stories; Pandora got drunk on eggnog; Linda was baking Mormon cookies; Pen was stuffing the turkey; Charlie was cracking nuts; and I don't feel like going on about what everybody was doing, but everybody was doing something for this joyous day of the year.
But it wasn't long until squabbling began. Pandora misunderstood Anka, who said about herself that she should be in the kitchen making cookies, for an anti-feminist statement. Sixteen scorned something Terry said. Terry berated Charlie for suggesting to watch 'Easy A' this evening. Sam began drinking too much rum punch and started slurredly singing religiophobic songs:
"If there is a God then I am Santa Claus, ha! The bible's full of hate, and so is every Chris-tian."
"I actually can't stand hateful feminists," said Anka.
"What are you, pregnant?" asked a drunken Pandora.
"Hey now," said BSam, "feminism is a different matter. You can't generalize them as hatef-"
Suddenly a news bulletin was announced on the radio, interrupting the quarreling 667ers:
"Attention! Santa Claus has turned out to be totally real. He gives amazing presents to all those who've been good this year, and not just kids. He will appear in about 12 hours. This is not a joke."
The message was repeated. Tragedy turned on the TV and every station was saying the same. The 667ers went crazy, trying to grasp this unreal situation. Bryan killed himself, Sam started screaming like Lucille Bluth, Pandora threw up, Charlie started cracking knuckles and whatever else he could crack, Teleram spoke in tongues while pacing up and down, and so on and so forth. When everybody came to accept this plot point, they started thinking.
"Oh my god, I don't think I've been very good this year!" fretted Sophie.
"Me neither!" said MisterM.
"I don't think I've been either," frowned Willis.
"I've been awesome all my life, true story," said Pandora. "Although maybe not entirely this year for a change," she then added.
"So what do we do? Santa comes in about 12 hours!" Terry reminded the reader.
"How about we do something good to compensate for the bad?" proposed Hermes.
"Yeah," said Pen, "We should do something big. Like, for the betterment of the world."
"Well what exactly?" asked Charlie.
"Banish religion!" shouted BSam still drunkenly.
"Abolish all filthy humour!" proclaimed Dante.
"Ban Dante, Dante is evil!" shouted Willis.
"Burn all mainstream garbage!" exclaimed Terry.
"Illegalize non-leftist opinions," continued Sam.
"That's not what I meant, guys!" said Pen.
But the 667ers continued arguing what should be gotten rid off for the greater good of the world. And finally, when the argument got really heated, Willis ate Dante.
Yep he ate him.
He was tough to eat, too, had too much fibre in his diet, but Willis somehow did it.
"This is ludicrous," cried Bandit, "The author is writing nonsense, it's just too sill-" but he was interrupted by a particularly big snowflake flying through the open window into his mouth and freezing his tounge, because I can write this story however I damn well please.
So it got out of hand. BSam ate all religions, helped by Sixteen and Pandora. Terry ate all the mainstream pop artists and horrible TV shows of the decade. Dante would have eaten all the toilet humour jokin' entertainers, if Willis hadn't eaten him first. Anka ate some of the feminists and vegetarians. Bee ate all those who disagreed with her strong teenage opinions. And then, at the end of the night, there was nobody left in the world, except for the remaining 667ers themselves. They have just gotten back together at Dark Avenue again, at dawn on Christmas Day, when all of a sudden a loud voice bellowed from up above:
"Ho ho ho!"
The 667ers looked up at the sky.
"Oh wow, it's Santa Claus!" exclaimed Anka.
"Who?" said BSam.
"Ooooh! Aaaah!" they all marvelled in unison at the red-suited man riding a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer through the sky.
"Wait a minute," suddenly yelled Sixteen, "That's not Santa Claus! That's Santa Klaus Baudelaire! And he's getting away without leaving us any presents!"
"Get him!" shrieked Pandora.
The 667ers turned into a mob throwing things at Santa Klaus, who lost balance and fell tumbling down from his sleigh way up and landed with a loud thump! in the snow.
Klaus cried out in agony as he broke several of his bones. The 667 mob ran toward him yelling bloody murder, about to eat him, when Bandit positioned himself in front of Klaus.
"Wait!" he said, "Don't you see what we have done? We've already eaten the whole world and now we almost killed Santa Claus!"
"It's Santa Klaus Baudelaire," Willis pointed out.
"Whatever! It's just supposed to be a lame pun, anyway."
"Bandit is right," agreed Betsy, "Don't you see how we all just blindly followed whatever we each thought is right? You say you don't want other people to force their beliefs on you, so don't force your beliefs on others, even if it's just through passive aggressive remarks and sarcastic comments. Just don't. Let people enjoy whatever they enjoy. Whether it be a TV show or a way of life. Otherwise we'll end up all alone in this world, as you can see."
The 667ers realized their mistake.
And right at that moment a squealing electric guitar sound screeched through the sky.
Once again, the 667ers looked up.
"Ho ho ho!" a badass looking, bearded rock God on a large chopper motorcycle carrying a sleigh roared through the snowy sky.
"It's the REAL Santa!" exclaimed Pen.
"It's... it's Lemmy!" Terry recognized the figure.
Indeed it was me. I, Lemmy, hammered out the kickass Motörhead song called "Rock Out," which went all across the land and beyond, restoring everything the 667ers had eaten and destroyed, back to its former glory, including its good as well as its bad sides, because such is life, and that's what the 667ers knew now.
Santa Klaus Baudelaire moaned something about calling an ambulance.
"Haha, oh you," said Tryina.
"!!!YTRAP" exclaimed Teleram.
"Dammit, Teleram! That's a good idea," said Bandit.
And so, party they did. The 667ers all went back to singing carols, drinking Christmas punch and hot chocolate, and they danced like The Peanuts always do at the end of their movies, and had a jolly good time with a new sense of understanding and respecting each other.
The place was 667 Dark Avenue, and the Christmas was today. Well, it was Christmas Eve actually, but we'll get to Christmas Day soon enough, don't worry.
Trag was decorating the Christmas tree and the other 667ers were helping with the whole Christmas shebang. BSam was crooning cover songs; Sophie was the supporting act singing wonderful carols; Willis and Sixteen were telling exciting stories; Pandora got drunk on eggnog; Linda was baking Mormon cookies; Pen was stuffing the turkey; Charlie was cracking nuts; and I don't feel like going on about what everybody was doing, but everybody was doing something for this joyous day of the year.
But it wasn't long until squabbling began. Pandora misunderstood Anka, who said about herself that she should be in the kitchen making cookies, for an anti-feminist statement. Sixteen scorned something Terry said. Terry berated Charlie for suggesting to watch 'Easy A' this evening. Sam began drinking too much rum punch and started slurredly singing religiophobic songs:
"If there is a God then I am Santa Claus, ha! The bible's full of hate, and so is every Chris-tian."
"I actually can't stand hateful feminists," said Anka.
"What are you, pregnant?" asked a drunken Pandora.
"Hey now," said BSam, "feminism is a different matter. You can't generalize them as hatef-"
Suddenly a news bulletin was announced on the radio, interrupting the quarreling 667ers:
"Attention! Santa Claus has turned out to be totally real. He gives amazing presents to all those who've been good this year, and not just kids. He will appear in about 12 hours. This is not a joke."
The message was repeated. Tragedy turned on the TV and every station was saying the same. The 667ers went crazy, trying to grasp this unreal situation. Bryan killed himself, Sam started screaming like Lucille Bluth, Pandora threw up, Charlie started cracking knuckles and whatever else he could crack, Teleram spoke in tongues while pacing up and down, and so on and so forth. When everybody came to accept this plot point, they started thinking.
"Oh my god, I don't think I've been very good this year!" fretted Sophie.
"Me neither!" said MisterM.
"I don't think I've been either," frowned Willis.
"I've been awesome all my life, true story," said Pandora. "Although maybe not entirely this year for a change," she then added.
"So what do we do? Santa comes in about 12 hours!" Terry reminded the reader.
"How about we do something good to compensate for the bad?" proposed Hermes.
"Yeah," said Pen, "We should do something big. Like, for the betterment of the world."
"Well what exactly?" asked Charlie.
"Banish religion!" shouted BSam still drunkenly.
"Abolish all filthy humour!" proclaimed Dante.
"Ban Dante, Dante is evil!" shouted Willis.
"Burn all mainstream garbage!" exclaimed Terry.
"Illegalize non-leftist opinions," continued Sam.
"That's not what I meant, guys!" said Pen.
But the 667ers continued arguing what should be gotten rid off for the greater good of the world. And finally, when the argument got really heated, Willis ate Dante.
Yep he ate him.
He was tough to eat, too, had too much fibre in his diet, but Willis somehow did it.
"This is ludicrous," cried Bandit, "The author is writing nonsense, it's just too sill-" but he was interrupted by a particularly big snowflake flying through the open window into his mouth and freezing his tounge, because I can write this story however I damn well please.
So it got out of hand. BSam ate all religions, helped by Sixteen and Pandora. Terry ate all the mainstream pop artists and horrible TV shows of the decade. Dante would have eaten all the toilet humour jokin' entertainers, if Willis hadn't eaten him first. Anka ate some of the feminists and vegetarians. Bee ate all those who disagreed with her strong teenage opinions. And then, at the end of the night, there was nobody left in the world, except for the remaining 667ers themselves. They have just gotten back together at Dark Avenue again, at dawn on Christmas Day, when all of a sudden a loud voice bellowed from up above:
"Ho ho ho!"
The 667ers looked up at the sky.
"Oh wow, it's Santa Claus!" exclaimed Anka.
"Who?" said BSam.
"Ooooh! Aaaah!" they all marvelled in unison at the red-suited man riding a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer through the sky.
"Wait a minute," suddenly yelled Sixteen, "That's not Santa Claus! That's Santa Klaus Baudelaire! And he's getting away without leaving us any presents!"
"Get him!" shrieked Pandora.
The 667ers turned into a mob throwing things at Santa Klaus, who lost balance and fell tumbling down from his sleigh way up and landed with a loud thump! in the snow.
Klaus cried out in agony as he broke several of his bones. The 667 mob ran toward him yelling bloody murder, about to eat him, when Bandit positioned himself in front of Klaus.
"Wait!" he said, "Don't you see what we have done? We've already eaten the whole world and now we almost killed Santa Claus!"
"It's Santa Klaus Baudelaire," Willis pointed out.
"Whatever! It's just supposed to be a lame pun, anyway."
"Bandit is right," agreed Betsy, "Don't you see how we all just blindly followed whatever we each thought is right? You say you don't want other people to force their beliefs on you, so don't force your beliefs on others, even if it's just through passive aggressive remarks and sarcastic comments. Just don't. Let people enjoy whatever they enjoy. Whether it be a TV show or a way of life. Otherwise we'll end up all alone in this world, as you can see."
The 667ers realized their mistake.
And right at that moment a squealing electric guitar sound screeched through the sky.
Once again, the 667ers looked up.
"Ho ho ho!" a badass looking, bearded rock God on a large chopper motorcycle carrying a sleigh roared through the snowy sky.
"It's the REAL Santa!" exclaimed Pen.
"It's... it's Lemmy!" Terry recognized the figure.
Indeed it was me. I, Lemmy, hammered out the kickass Motörhead song called "Rock Out," which went all across the land and beyond, restoring everything the 667ers had eaten and destroyed, back to its former glory, including its good as well as its bad sides, because such is life, and that's what the 667ers knew now.
Santa Klaus Baudelaire moaned something about calling an ambulance.
"Haha, oh you," said Tryina.
"!!!YTRAP" exclaimed Teleram.
"Dammit, Teleram! That's a good idea," said Bandit.
And so, party they did. The 667ers all went back to singing carols, drinking Christmas punch and hot chocolate, and they danced like The Peanuts always do at the end of their movies, and had a jolly good time with a new sense of understanding and respecting each other.
THE END
(...OR IS IT??)
(...OR IS IT??)