Monday, December 6, 2010

The Baby Jesus vs. The Santanator

You've likely noticed by now that Halloween came and went without a final Frightening Friday post. And now it's December, and I haven't posted for over a month and you suppose I've abandoned you for something more fun, like clubbing seals and turning them into Christmas ornaments.

I thank all of you for not sending me emails asking why I was such a lazy jerk and did I care nothing at all for your need for amusement? I've spent the last three and a half months buried under freelance work. Which, as you can imagine, is very dangerous indeed, as freelance work has been known to suffocate the elderly and many small children. So, in the unlikely event that you find yourself in a room that is slowly filling up with freelance work, do not take it lightly. Find a ventilation shaft as soon as possible and climb to safety. Or you may end up like me, sporting bloodshot eyes and a mild case of alcoholism.

On the up side of all of this, I will have two books coming out in the next year. On the down side, I have been forced to neglect "Welcome to Bethville!" which is my baby. So, I'm going to attempt to rectify that situation right now with a jolly, and completely idiotic, Christmas story.

The Baby Jesus vs. The Santanator

The baby Jesus was hiding in his manger, his tiny, holy hand gripping a bazooka in hopes that the Santanator soon would be there. So that he could destroy it once and for all. For the birth of the baby Jesus had been foretold by an angel, and the Santanator was sent back through time to destroy him.

The baby Jesus could take no chances. He sent his parents, Mary and Joseph, away to a bunker in Bethlehem for their own protection, for there was no room left at the inn that night. And the bunker was safer anyway. The baby Jesus knew that the Santanator's sleigh had been outfitted with eight tiny cruise missiles.

"Hey, are you the king of the Jews?" said a voice in the darkness of the stable.

"Yes," the baby Jesus replied.

"We saw your signal flare in the east and followed it here. You see, we're your sworn protectors." And out of the darkness stepped three dark figures.

We're the wise men," said another voice. "Our names are Melchoir, Gaspar, and Balthasar. And we come bearing gifts." With them the wise men carried gold, frankincense, and many frag grenades.

"Good," said the baby Jesus, "We'll need these." He then hitched up his holy diaper (because although the baby Jesus was the savior and a great warrior, he still suffered from newborn incontinence) and began loading up his donkey with an arsenal of weapons.

"Wait, baby Jesus," said Gaspar. "You can't ride on the front of that donkey. Don't you know that babies should always be strapped to the back of the donkey in case of an accident?"

"Are you kidding me?" said the baby Jesus. "I'm the baby Jesus. The son of God. Those rules don't apply to me."

"Yes, they do. And we were sworn to protect you no matter what," said Gaspar, and soon the baby Jesus was buckled into a safety seat and securely strapped to the rear of the donkey, which made him very cranky, even when one of the wise men jangled some keys in his face.

"I'm the wise man with the cleanest donkey riding record," said Melchoir, "so I'll be the one to ride with the baby Jesus."

"But I am the wise man with the night vision goggles," said Gaspar.

"I am the wise man carrying the assault rifle," said Balthasar. And so it was decided that Balthasar would escort the baby Jesus because he was the most badassed-looking of all the wise men.

The caravan had not gotten far when suddenly out in the distance there arose such a clatter that it could only mean one thing. The Santanator was near.

"Quick!" shouted the baby Jesus. "Cover our flanks. And unbuckle this safety seat so that I can properly wield this bazooka!"

"Bazooka?" said Melchoir, "What does a precious baby need with a bazooka? Tsk tsk." And much to the baby Jesus's annoyance, the bazooka was pried from his adorable hands and put on a high shelf so that he couldn't reach it until he was older.

"I can't believe the three of you," said the baby Jesus, rolling his eyes in the most precious manner as he dislocated his shoulder so that he could escape from the harness that held him to the safety seat on the back of his donkey. And he leaped to safety just in the nick of time, as just then the donkey exploded, laying waste all over the new-fallen snow.

To be continued...

**I borrowed this image from Futurama. And here's this.


An unwise man said...

Does the Santanator have an accent?

Garrett W Vance said...

You are my favorite. May some kind of unholy Deathstar in the West shine upon you!

The Honorable Mayor of Bethville said...

@An unwise man: He speaks English with an Elvish accent.

@GWV: Thanks! And upon you.