|The Story||The Authors|
|Sweet, wholesome, innocent little Maryanne was so horrified by what Jake was saying that she threw the empty wine bottle at him and then threw him out of her house. And how they got to Maranne's house in the first place was a mystery to Jake but like so many other things that had been happening in his life lately, he just accepted his situations without question and dealt with it as best he could. So now he found himself locked out of Maryanne's house. He sat himself down on the curb with a deep desparate sigh. He didn't even know what city he was in. As he realized that he had no place to sleep for the night and no one to turn to, he felt a tap on his shoulder. A large man stood over him but because he was backlit by the street light, Jake couldn't see his face. The large man put his hand on Jake's shoulder and knelt beside him. "Santa?" Jake said incredulously. "Yes, Jake. It's me, Santa. Have you learned your lesson?" the jolly man asked Jake.|
"No!" sputtered Jake, "Indubitably, emphatically, without a doubt NO! No no no no no! What lesson, you overfed KMart Kris Kringle? The only lesson here is to say No to that last drink and mind the Welsh Rarebit, elsewise your nights'll be plagued by dreams so crazy, so utterly bonkers, it's like A Christmas Carol rewritten by Chuang Tzu on uncut DMT... This is, like, the Book of Job as interpreted by Francis Farmer... Lesson my ass, chubby -- the only lesson here is that you people, figments or otherwise, are fucking NUTS!!! Are you reading me?" |
"Are you quite finished now?" replied Santa with a jolly (and not entirely unsympathetic) litle ho-ho-ho. "All through? Good. Now: ridddle me this: There are three men in a boat. They have four cigarettes and no matches. HOw do they smoke?"
|"Huh?" Jake said with a severely raised eyebrow. "Three men, one boat, four cigarettes, no matches. How-" "I heard you the first time, Fatty. I'm trying to figure out what the fuck you are talking about!" Jake said, poking Santa in the chest to punctuate his statement. "You know, Santa don't appreciate your shitty attitude." The big guy in red said. "It's a simple enough question, man. What you need to know is that the wrong answer just might cost your life. However, the right answer might be your ticket home." Santa explained. "Jesus Christ, why the hell didn't you say that in the first place? Now what was that question again?" Jake said. "Forget it, pal. I don't like you and I'm not going to waste any more of my time on an asshole like you. Buh-bye." said Santa, and he lay his finger to the side of his nose and quick as a flash he rose over the roof tops and was gone. "Oh, Goddamnit!" Jake shook his fist in the air and stamped his foot and cursed the day he was born.|
But he would curse it with still-fouler epithets before the night was through.|
At this moment George Michael reappeared, half-formed, shimmering in the cold night air for just long enough to wag his finger coquettishly at Jake and announce, "Looks like somebody's due for their next visitor..."
"You told me only three, you effeminate, lying piece of Britpop excrement."
"Looks like somebody's not gonna get to hear the rough mix of my new album, either." He shook his head sadly and disappeared.
Jake fell into a Limbolike reverie which was only interrupted when the sound of those imminent boots began to crunch through the snow towards him. Lemme guess, thought Jake; the fucking Tooth Fairy...
A shadow fell over him, long and sinuous and lithely swaying. He looked up. "I knew it!" he exclaimed, a noticeable note of madness now gracing his laughter. "The Tooth Fairy..."
"Who you callin' the Tooth Fairy, sweet-pea? You lookin' at the one, the only, the original Tooth Bitch!
|Jake looked around frantically, there had to be a way out of this. His mind wandered back to the days of Dungeons and Dragons, how would he have escaped an impossible situation such as this. He tried to think but, he had always played the magic-user and as a consequence usually died early on in the campaign. He recalled all of the nerds and geeks at the table laughing their pathetic, superior little laughs. Jake had never fit in anywhere. The jocks, the nerds, the punks ... they all laughed at him. By this time the "Tooth Bitch" had removed the rusting dental hygienist tools from the doctors bag.|