Flame Damnation

Warrior Flame Pit => High Voltage Flame Forum => Topic started by: Damion Hellstrom on December 06, 2008, 09:20:49 pm

Title: A Christmas Tale: How the Sloane stole Christmas
Post by: Damion Hellstrom on December 06, 2008, 09:20:49 pm
This is a repost from somewhere else

How the Sloane Stole Christmas.

Every Schmoo down in BrokenArrowville Liked Christmas a lot...
But Burt Sloane, who lived just north of BrokenArrowville, Did NOT! 
The Sloane hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that he wanted to be a woman at night. A woman…like Burt’s wife, who kicked him out of the house for hanging out at the schoolyard after the kids got out.  But I think that the most likely reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But,whatever the reason, his heart or his gender, He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Schmoos. Staring down from Flame Champs with a sour, Sloaney frown at the warm lighted windows below in their town. For he knew every Schmoo down in BrokenArrowville beneath was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.

"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer, "Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his Sloane fingers nervously drumming, "I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!" 

For,tomorrow, he knew...All the Schmoo girls and boys would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their pc’s! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!  Then the Schmoos, young and old, would sit down to a feast. And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! Worse of all, they wouldn’t give Burt any of their barbacue.

They would feast on Schmoo-pudding, and rare Schmoo-roast beast which was something the Sloane couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN they'd do something he liked least of all! Every Schmoo down in BrokenArrowville, the tall and the small, would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing. They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Schmoos would start singing! 

They'd sing! And they'd sing! And they'd SING! SING! SING! SING! And the more Burt Sloane thought of this Schmoo-Christmas-Sing, The more the Sloane thought, "I must stop this whole thing!" "Why, for forty-two years I've put up with it now!" "I MUST stop this Christmas from coming—but how?”

"I know just what to do!" Burt Sloane laughed in his throat. Burt twirled his mustache, and he made a quick Mrs. Claus hat and a coat. Then he got out an old red wig and put it on top of his head.  “I’m Vixen Claus, he faggoty queen said.” 
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great gender bender”.

"All I need is a reindeer..." Burt Sloane looked around. But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found. Did that stop the old queen...? No! The Sloane simply said, "If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!" So he called his houseboy, fyxe. Then he took some red thread and he tied a big horn on the top of his head. 

THEN He loaded some bags and some old empty sacks on a ramshackle sleigh and he hitched up young Max. 

Then the Sloane said, "Giddap!" And the sleigh started down toward the homes where the Schmoos lay a-snooze in their town. 

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Schmoos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care when he came to the first little house on the square. "This is stop number one," the old Sloaney Claus hissed and he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist. 

Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch. But, if Santa could do it, then so could Burt Sloane. His fat gut got stuck only once, for a moment or two. Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue where the little Schmoo stockings all hung in a row. "These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant, around the whole room, and he took every present! Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags. Then Burt Sloane, very nimbly, stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney flue!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Schmoos' feast! He took the Schmoo-pudding! He took the roast beast! He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash. Why, that Sloane even took their last can of Schmoo-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee. "And NOW!" grinned the Sloane, "I will stuff up the PC!"

And the Sloane grabbed the PC, and he started to shove when he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Schmoo! Little Mark-Lou Schmoo, who was not more than two.

Burt Sloane had been caught by this tiny Schmoo son who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water. He stared at the Sloane and said, "Mrs. Santy Claus, why, why are you here instead of Santa?  And why is your hair read instead of white?  And why are you taking our personal computer? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Sloane was so smart and so slick he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick! "Why, my sweet little boy," the fake Mrs. Santy Claus lied, "There's a light on this PC that won't light on one side." "So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear." "I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here.  Want to come with me??"

 And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted his head and he got him a drink and he sent him to bed. And when Markie-Lou Schmoo went to bed with his cup, HE went to the chimney and stuffed the PC up!

Then the last thing he took was the log for their fire! Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar. On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.

 And the one speck of food that he left in the house was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then He did the same thing to the other Schmoos' houses

Leaving crumbs much too small For the other Schmoos' mouses! It was quarter past dawn... All the Schmoos, still a-bed, All the Schmoos, still a-snooze when he packed up his sled, Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. FlameChamps, He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it! "Pooh-Pooh to the Schmoos!" he was Sloane-ish-ly humming. "They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!" "They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!" "Their mouths will hang open a minute or two then the Schmoos down in BrokenArrowville will all cry Boo-Hoo!"

"That's a noise," grinned Burt Sloane, "That I simply MUST hear!" So he paused. And the Sloane put his hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at BrokenArrowville! Burt Sloane popped his eyes! Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Schmoo down in BrokenArrowville, the tall and the small, was singing! Without any presents at all!

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And Burt Sloane, with his Sloane-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?" "It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!" "It came without packages, boxes or bags!" And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore. Then the Sloane thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store." "Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And what happened then...? Well...in BrokenArrowville they say that the Sloane's small heart grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight, He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light and he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast! He took off his red wig, his fake Mrs. Claus suit.  And he...

...HE HIMSELF...! Burt Sloane carved the roast beast!

With apologies to Dr. Seuss.

Title: Re: A Christmas Tale: How the Sloane stole Christmas
Post by: caskur™ on December 07, 2008, 06:16:05 am
Wow, another year gone past.

They're going toooo quickly these days.