Christmas Bash
by Rick Tornello
No one but the
powers that be, know St. Nick gets retired and
replaced every 100 years. This year St.Nick XXVth
is conducting his last run. Age and technology
have taken their toll not to mention the changing
demographics that have discombobulated the usual
routes used for the last few centuries. His
replacement has been picked. He has no clue as to
whom. Like the pope, the selection is done in
complete secrecy
Nick’s
sled is fitted out with cloaking, shielding and
mass shrinking devices that allows for his huge
cargo, in addition to the Time Freezing Clock
that without, would in normal time, make his run
totally impossible.
Nick is
downing Baileys and coffee to stay awake. His
catheter is in place. Hey, when you gotta go, ya
gotta go and can’t stop at the nearest bar
or tree and take a leak. At the close of his
route, Nick has finished a bottle or two. He
isn’t keeping count. It’s his last run.
He was about
to head back to the Pole but chanced to look in
the freight box and realized that he missed a new
subdivision in NJ. “Damn, I hope the new guy
has an updated GPS and plotting. He’s going
to need it. AI,” he called out to the
Directed Encased Energy Ramjet, “fire up the
thrusters and come about 180, cloaking on,
running lights off, shielding on, tree top level,
utility pole avoidence.” He was sober enough
for that and 100 years of training didn’t
hurt.
“Yes sir,”
the AI responded. “Coming about 180.”
++++
His job
completed and always prepared, Nick pulled out
the reserve bottle of Baileys. He drank it down.
Then in a somewhat blitzed state noticed a sign,
Nick’s North’s Bar and Pole Dancing.
His brain only recognized Nick’s North’s
Pole. “I don’t ever remember putting
THAT sign up. AI , landsthere. Keep sloaked
and shrielded. I gottaseewhat’sgoingonhere”
he commanded in a very slurred voice.
The sled,
invisible and shielded, was backed into a number
of times by some of the more drunken bar patrons.
They of course saw nothing and gave it no
other thought until Christmas morning when
they viewed the ass end of their smashed
vehicles and wondered how that happened. Most
thought they hit a big pot hole at the time.
Christmas eve
at the bar was not that unusual to have a few
patrons come in dressed as Santa. Nick XXVth was
Greco-Roman wrestling big, about 6’13 ½ and
drunk. A waitress-elf dressed in mistletoe and
two strategically placed ornaments came over and
said, “Hey Santa honey, what can I DO for
You?” She looked him up and down.
Another
dressed in much the same outfit came over to the
big guy and said, “Santa baby, you bring me
my Bentley I asked for?” And kissed him on
his fire red cheek
“I don’t
ever remember seeing either of you at the shops,”
he said playing with the ornaments. “And You
two I would have remembered.” He sounded
sober then.
“Oh Santa, I’ve seen you before,”
they both said. “And I have been a very good
girl,” said the first one. She gave him a
big wet kiss and sat on his lap. “What will
it be? It’s Christmas and I’m in a
giving mood.”
Number two
came around from behind and gave him a big hug.
Nick, quite
drunk, placed a few gold coins on the table and
was about to take a bite of that forbidden fruit
when in came what can only be described as a
woman equal in height to Nick. She was visibly
pissed off and pointed to Nick. “Nick you
besotted bugger. You should be home by now. I had
to come looking for you.”
“Oh shit,
his wife,” said one dancer.
“Of
all the days to screw off, your retirement day.”
She knocked the first tart off his lap, flung the
other across the room and threw Nick over her
shoulder. She left 12 gold coins on the table to
cover any damages and lugged the big guy out.
“AI on!
Cloaking Off! DEERS ON, prepare for lift off,”
she commanded. The sled responded and lit up
appearing like a circus carnival. She threw Nick
in the back, covered him and got on to the
drivers seat mumbling, “I’ve been
following you for a while to get a feel for the
job. Then you began to wander and wobble and I
knew things weren’t right. I saw you land
here, a bar of all places. You’re totally
drunk on the job. You were about to be taken for
a ride by those two. You can hardly walk no less
fly.”
“Theyrerrr
my friens and theyerr, hic, our elvers, they told
me.”
“Right!”
“Id’s
the Nort spole. I wis one of my lobving elbes.
She told me so,” he managed to slur back.
“And who the hell,” burp, “are you?”
“It’s
not the North Pole, it’s a bar in NJ you old
fool. And I am your replacement. Now shut up, we’re
going home.” She was fuming.
“You’re
my replacement? You’rer kinda cute. What do
yu slay we do a mile sligh? Whattt’sss’s
you name?” He made a grab for her.
“Nicolina.”
Then she said, “I hate to do this but
…” Then she socked him and knocked him
out.
By the time
they returned to the factory at the Pole, Nick
XXVth was awake and hung-over. He looked at
Nickolina. “So you’re for real; not a
nightmare,” he said rubbing his jaw.
She laughed,
“Of course I am. I’m Odina Sinterklaas
the First. Santa to everyone else. You just have
to believe and have faith. Now I’m going to
get you to bed. It was your last trip and brother,
it was a dozy. You’ll sleep it off and
tomorrow no one will be the wiser. It’s my
present to you. Sleep tight and to YOU, a good
night.”
By,
RdotTornello © 20??/ revised 2018 & The
Village idiot Press
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