Alright. Where to start..?
So, here's what happened.
Earlier tonight, I was sitting home, enjoying a refreshing beverage when I heard a knock at the door.
My initial reaction was to ignore it and just continue sipping my delicious drink, but the knocking continued for some time. I was getting a little annoyed, figuring it was that starving kid again. So I scurried under my bed, waiting for him to either collapse from a lack of nourishment or move on to the next house.
Then I heard a deep, musky voice call out,"I know when you're sleeping! I know when you're awake!". He then continued, "I know when you've been bad or good, so OPEN the @*$@&! for goodness sake!!!".
Hmmm, the starving kid sounded big. Mean too! "Perhaps I should go slap him about the brow and throat areas.", I thought to myself.
After draining the last of my lovely and fulfilling beverage, I threw on a pair of Speedos and my favorite suspenders and headed to the door.
I flung it open, expecting to find the hungry kid, whithered and frail as per typical, but alas, 'twas not! No sir! It was ol' Kris Kringle himself. Out of season, even!
He stood at my door, a musket rifle in one hand and several severed heads being grasped by their blood soaked hair in the other. His beard was stained red, and there were meaty remnants all throughout it. His eyes were glassy and sunken, and his teeth sharpened to a fine point.
Crap! This was NOT good...
His fanged teeth glistened in the glow of the porch light as he exclaimed, "I've checked my list twiiiiiiiiiice. It says you've been good this year.".
I stood, vexed at this entire scenario. "Ooooookay. Thanks. Gotta go now.", I said and began to shut the door.
Just then, he kicked the door back open! I screamed like a girl as he stepped across the threshold.
"Good enough to DIE!!!", he bellowed in a not very darn jolly way!
He grabbed me by the throat and started to choke me! He began muttering the name of nearly every Christmas gift he'd gotten me over the years. As he did, his jagged teeth moved ever closer to the tender, juicy meat of my throat.
It was then that I remembered the "Santa Claus: Kit O' Death" I always kept in my Speedos!
I reached in, barely able to breath, and pulled out a 27lbs. fruit cake and repeatedly bludgeoned the morbidly obese gift bearer with it. Then, once he'd released his death grip and fallen to the floor, I set him ablaze with my self-lighting yule log (which it is WAY too hot for)!
The house still wreaks from Santa's smoldering bones.
So yeah, sorry kids. I killed Santa Claus.
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