Sunday, 23 September 2007

The Boy Who Ruined Christmas

Jonathan S. Bedwetter was unable to sleep. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and it was too hot for a man who was used to comfort. He was a child prodigy, he was, although he didn't look the part. He was only six, but he had won 14 Nobel Prizes for his incredible contributions to the field of Literature, Science, and Mathematics, and he had successfully grown a french moustache. He hated Australia, but his parents forced him to move there because he had never got used to the accents. They wanted him to become more global, apparently.

Jonathan didn't know it, but it was Christmas eve. He didn't know, partly because of jet lag, but also because it was summer. He walked down the stairs to get a glass of milk, and maybe a little drink, when he saw him. He wore a red suit, and held a large sack on his shoulder. His beard was long and white, and he had a thick, flowing moustache. He wore a silly sort of hat with a bell on top, making him look rather obscure. However, the thing Jonathan found most suprising was how extraordinarily fat he was. Yes, this man would do just fine as a test subject. There was a lot of fat to be dissolved in him.

Santa Claus was terrified. This was the first time, in the last 3 years, someone had caught him in the act. When the little boy didn't cry out in joy and pull on his beard to see if he was real, and then yell out in joy till Santa knocked him on the head with his sack, he became wary. This boy was not normal. He would have to be cautious.

"Hello." said Jonathan.
"Why, hello little boy!"
"Don't call me that."
"You're going to be part of an experiment to lose weight. You will wait here, and I will return. Then, you shall have the pill I offer you."

As soon as Jonathan left, Santa ran for the door. The boy was retarded, and he would not be subjected to a retard's experiments. Not again, at least. Unfortunately, he was a very fat man, and he had not exercised for the past hundred years, and he had barely taken two steps when Jonathan reentered the room. Santa continued his little sprint, but had to stop when Jonathan stood him front of the fat old man.

"Here you go."
"Come on."
"Eat it. NOW."

Santa was now quite unnerved. The small boy's gaze was tranfixed on him, and it was not very easy to say no to him. He would have to agree with him. If he didn't, the consquences would be devastating. This was not a boy to be ignored. You had to obey his demands. If you didn't agree with him, he would bite you on the crotch, cry, and tell his parents you tried to molest him. Then you would be sent away in a little truck, to spend the next ten years in a place where you yourself would be molested, a place where biting somewhere on the crotch would result on his crotch being removed, re-made, and reattached. So, after much thinking, Santa took the pill, and much to his dismay, the effects were immediate. The fat dissolved out of him in an instant, and the suit fell off. Soon, he was nothing but a thin, hairy, naked man. He gave a little yelp, and ran out of the room, quite fast this time.

17 years later, on Jonathan's first visit to a bar, he found the same old man inside, drinking away, trying to convince the other failures he was once successful. Jonathan had a conversation with him about life, love,football, and how the dirt inside his belly button could be removed with this fabulous new soap. Santa, it turned out, had been fired because he had grown too thin. He had taken to drinking, gambling, and spending his gambling money on drinking. He was now a wreck, but he had gained a little weight. Who knew, maybe in a couple of decades, he would rise from the ashes, and "like a ghost from a tomb", christmas would be reborn.


blinknmiss said...

santa's a silly man... here's jonathon, regular genius and potential saver-of-the-world-and-all-fat-people-in-it, and santa thinks he's retarded... what a disgusting job, where you actually have to be fat... but as i was saying. not bad. not great, but pretty ok. specially jonathon, he's nice and creepy.

james said...

didnt you write a poem on this sort of thing once?

blinknmiss said...

months later, and it still makes me smile after a chemistry-induced headache.

magnifico, topshe.