Couldn't sleep last night. Hate-wrote the following. Don't know if it makes sense. Bye!
Starring levelly at the elderly and altogether frail woman before him, as he had been doing for several minutes now, Mr. Andy Dixon was oblivious to the nervous mothers skirting around him, finishing the last of their Christmas shopping or frantically begging their children to shield their eyes from the sight of him. With uncharacteristic sobriety, he slowly lowered one hand below his frayed elastic waistband.
In the fragile calm spanning the space between last peal of a jingle bell rung by venerable hand and the screams of women and children, Dixon could be heard to intone one thing:
“I got your donation right here.”
Elsewhere, a young man thundered up stairs, out of breath and frantic. Without pause, he kicked through the poorly built door of the room at the top of the stairs and threw himself inside. His fevered eyes fell upon the occupants and he raised his voice to them in urgent plea.
“Guys, something’s happened to Santa. It’s Christmas Eve and there’s no word from the North Pole. You have to save him! You’re Canada’s greatest heroes, right?”
CelicaCrazed, Funktastic, and Kraid looked at each and, in unison, nodded with determination.
“You’re probably looking for the Canada League
,” Kraid helpfully supplied. “They have Elsa and Om Nom On Souls and Scotty G and Robotbebop and just a ton of talent. We’re the Canada Team
“Oh,” said Rex with poorly masked disappointment. “Hey, out of curiosity, which one is Beyamor on?”
Cued by his name, the three team members spat at the ground and glowered violently. Rex briefly feared for his life.
“So, uh, guys, will you do it? I mean, the characters have already been established here. You’re pretty much committed to it.”
“Sure, we weren’t doing much anyway,” said Celica cheerfully. “But why did you come all the way to Canada for this? Couldn’t someone else have taken care of this? Hamza probably could have done it without leaving is couch.”
“Well, the North Pole is about a five minute walk from anywhere in Canada, isn’t it? It just seemed simpler. Besides, the rest of the world is off solving real problems.”
“Fair enough. Will you come with us, Rex?”
“No, I can’t. I liked Kirby’s Air Ride
“Oh. Good luck with that.”
The trio left without looking back. Just over four minutes later, they were walking through a trail of broken candy canes and unconscious elves.
“We must be close :D,” reasoned Funk. “Keep your guard up, yo. Something isn’t right. Oh, hey, look, it’s Santa.”
And there, conveniently bridging the plot, sat the great altruist. His hands were bound behind his back and his face was bruised, but he was alive. The heroes immediately rushed to his aid, but as they approached, a great wall of fire erupted before them, lighting up the dark night. As the flames subsided, the source of the North Pole’s trouble stood before them.
“Och, it was I, Stevil, who kidnapped your bonny Saint Nick.”
“Oh, ay, and there was nothing ta be done ta stop my plan, faith and begorrah.”
“And now, zis looks like zee end for you, mon petit cheri.”
At this point, realizing that the reader was starting to suspect that he had no idea what a Welsh accent sounded like, the narrator stopped trying to fake it and let Stevil talk like a real person. Unfortunately, it would turn out that he only had one more line in the entire story. Stevil would be bitter for years.
“Stevil! You can’t get away with this! The Canada Team won’t let you ruin Christmas,” cried Celica, unsurprised by the choice of villain. Stevil was kind of a curmudgeon. “Come on gang, we’ve got to take on our power forms to stop him!”
He spun and furiously bro-fisted Funktastic. “Shape of, a dinosaur on a basketball!” he shouted. His skin coalesced into scales. Claws burst from his hands. His new tail lashed. An overlarge basketball appeared.
“Form of, Domo!” Funk yelled in turn. His body erupted into a brown bulk. Sturdy trunks stomped the ground. A wide grin of knifelike teeth spread across his face.
Kraid was already wearing a top hat. He was a classy sort of dude.
Courage coursing through their veins and Christmas spirit kicking their endorphin production into high gear, the heroes readied for the biggest fight of the holiday season, not counting the last-ditch rush for presents raging through late-night drugstores and gas stations. They struck suitably dramatic poses, then leapt into action. This was going to be a battle whose terrific scope could only be captured by the most talented of writers.
“Hey,” said Mr. Andy Dixon, utterly ruining the flow of the story, “that thing I said before, about the donation? I was referring to my boner. I don’t know if you got that.”
“It was my boner.”
By the time the narrative made its way back to the heroes, it found them sharing a plate of milk and cookies and laughing easily with Stevil and the now-freed Santa Clause.
“Good work, boys,” Santa chuckled jollily, “You’ve saved Christmas! And a special thank-you to you Funk. If you hadn’t stocked my sleigh with goodies from your own swag, we wouldn’t have had any toys for all the good little boys and girls in the world.”
“And it barely dented his collection,” Stevil quipped, “I’d also like to thank Kraid, who showed me the error of my ways through the power of hip-hop.”
“And let’s not forget Celica, who was also there,” said Santa, wiping a tear from his eye and laying a hand on the shoulder of the basketball-clutching raptor with a look of pride.
“Alright everyone, I’ve got to go deliver those presents. Thanks for everything and have a merry Christmas. Ho ho-“
They laughed long into the night.
LOOK WHO CAME: