Mystery Wrestling Theater 3000 Post 106: The Christmas Special! Original story "An Elf Maiden's Christmas" by PJ MiSTed by Alicia Ashby, aka Lynxara [Roll MWT theme song version 1.05] Guitar twang, and... [SON - Bridge. Nash, Bret, and Mark are sitting on a couch in front of a TV set up on the console, sipping on eggnog and watching television.] MARK [sniffing]: I'm sorry... this is just a beautiful story. I mean, the poor elf just wants to be a dentist. Is that so wrong? Is that such a SIN?! And why can't you have a Joe in the Box? It's original, dammit! And I for one would have been thrilled to have a cowboy riding an ostrich as a child! NASH: Um... Mark, dude, it's just a cartoon-like thing... MARK: *Just* a cartoon?! This story is the quintessential hope and dream of outcasts everywhere! When it begins, our hero is an outcast, excluded from all main social activities because of his physical deformities! But does he let that stop him? NO! He turns it to his advantage, becoming an indispensable part of the social order! It's just so damn *beautiful*!! [Mark begins weeping and goes for some tissues.] BRET: Mark, it's the Rankin-Bass version of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'. MARK: I know! To create this AND 'Thundercats'... my God, they were geniuses. NASH: Thundercats *does* rock... oh, and Bret, not that I'm complaining or anything, but why does this eggnog taste like beer? BRET: It's Canadian. NASH: Does that also explain why it's translucent, amber-colored, and carbonated? BRET [smirking]: Yes, Kevin. MARK: And now that damn Yeti comes to ruin things, symbolizing the world's oppressive forces! DAMN YOU, YETI! DAAAAAMMMN YOOOUUUU! [Nash and Bret stare on as Mark stands and begins hurling lightning bolts at the television in fury. Bisch, wearing a Santa hat, wanders by in front of the console, carrying a stack of presents. He smiles merrily at the carnage.] BISCH: God, I love this season! We'll be right back, folks. [Bisch taps the Commercial Sign light with one hand, as Mark begins kicking the television screen in.] [You've heard of Teletubbies, right? The darling little vaguely Satanic imps from the hit pre- preschool TV show? And you've heard of Furbies, right? The darling little vaguely Satanic tribbles that babble on endlessly and just so happen to be this year's hottest toy? Well, we've come up with something that EVERY stylish parent will want to give their child! Something better than either one of these toys! TELEFURBIES! Brightly colored babbling tribbles with vaguely phallic protrusions on their heads! Now, you'll flock to toy stores and demand them for your children! Otherwise, they won't love you! So give in to the forces that continue to cheapen and commercialize Christmas, and buy TELEFURBIES today!] [Reopen on SON - Bridge. Mark is standing triumphantly over the remains of the television set, while Nash and Bret stand in the background, calmly sipping their 'eggnog'. Bisch is in the foreground, piling the presents on the control console.] MARK: Take *that*, conformist beast! FEEL THE WRATH OF DARKNESS! BRET [calmly]: Hey Nash? NASH: Yeah? BRET: Tell me, do bumbles bounce if you power bomb them? NASH: Hmmm. Dunno. It's a good question, though. BRET: Hmm. BISCH: Guys, guys! It's time! BRET [brightly]: To give thanks for the blessings of the previous year? BISCH: No! Cindy Lou Who and all the Whos of Whoville are calling. [BISCH promptly hits the Mads Light.] [Titan 13. The entire underground vault has been festively decorated, with ROCKY is in the background decorating a Christmas tree. A fireplace has been installed, and a roaring, cheerful fire is going. Members of the Corporation (Pat Patterson, Gerald Brisco, Sargent Slaughter, Ken Shamrock, Shane McMahon, and Shawn Michaels) are milling about, chatting and sipping real eggnog. Rocky finally notices the guys and turns towards the 'camera'.] ROCKY: Merry New Hanukkah , Jabrones! The Corporate Heavyweight Champion of the World is King of the WWF Christmas Party right now, if ya smell what the Rock is cookin! [SON] BISCH: Actually we can.. [BISCH sniffs the air.] NASH: Sausage Balls... BRET: Cooked goose... MARK: And a hell of a lot of ham! [Titan 13] ROCKY: That's right. The Corporate Champ has been layin' the smack down in the kitchen. The Bossman's out choppin' wood and Vinnie's coming in with the Christmas bonuses. [SON] NASH: Sounds *nice*. Eric, what are we having for Christmas dinner? BISCH: Um... all we have is Instant Ramen Noodles and Canadian beer. But we've got the Christmas spirit! Right, guys? Right? Guys? [The others respond with less than total enthusiasm.] [Titan 13. Vince McMahon enters with a handful of thick envelopes, followed by the Big Bossman. The Bossman is carrying an armful of wood and wearing lumberjack gear, yet is still carrying his nightstick. Bossman carefully stacks the wood by the fireplace, then joins the others.] VINCE: Oh, greetings, Burl Ives and friends, and a Merry Corporate Christmas to you all. And, to show off how much Christmas spirit I have, it's time to present to my valued employees, right in this very room... your Christmas bonuses! [The various members of the Corporation applaud politely and gather around. Vince hands each of them an envelope. But instead of cash, each of them draws out a picture of Sable... in her birthday suit. Pat Patterson immediately tosses his into the fire; Shane is hopping gleefully up and down.] SHAWN: Ah, seen it. SARGE: At least it's better than those nude pictures of Sensational Sherri he used to give out. [Shawn winces and nods in sympathy with Sargent Slaughter. Rocky, however, seems confused.] ROCK: Um... no disrespect meant or anythin', Vince but... exactly what the hell is this? Vinnie, the Rock thought you were talkin' about greenbacks, here! [Brisco, Patterson, and Shamrock nod enthusiastically.] BOSSMAN: Oh, thank you, Vince! Thank you so much! Its gonna be a Merry Christmas in Cobb County Georgia *this* year! [Most of the others roll their eyes at the Bossman, save Shane, who is still grinning delusionally at his picture.] VINCE: Well, I like to think of it as a gift that keeps on giving. ROCK: Anyway, boss, me and some of the guys got together and bought you a little something, too... VINCE: You did? How thoughtful! [Rocky hands Vince a brightly wrapped package. Vince unwraps it, and removes its contents... a nice mahogany plaque.] VINCE: Oh. "World's Greatest Boss." How... typical. [Vince throws the plaque onto the fire, much to the discomfort of the Corporation.] VINCE: Now, Santa's Little Helpers, I suppose it's time for you to exchange what you might laughingly refer to as presents. SHAWN: Yeah! It's been awhile since I've seen how Some Midcarders celebrate this fine holiday. [SON. Bret has begun gripping his mug so tightly that it shatters into little pieces, his face twisted into rage. Nash is attempting to calm him down. Bisch smiles on into the camera, oblivious.] BISCH: All right! Finally! Well... here ya go, guys, and Merry Christmas! [Bisch gives each of the guys a present.] MARK: Even one for me? I don't even work for you! BISCH: Ah, it's Christmas! Peace on Earth, goodwill towards men! Go on, open it! MARK: Well, I... I don't know what to say! Thank you... [Mark pauses and twitches before he forces himself to say it.] MARK: ... Eric. [Mark then goes to open the package. He pulls out a big floppy black fedora hat and a long black coat, much like that of his original ring gear. Mark smiles slightly, and puts them on.] MARK: Very nice... *Eric*. The right size and everything. I did kind of miss these... BISCH: Yeah, I figure if you had something more like your old ring gear, you wouldn't have to come out looking like an evil Pope anymore. [Mark abruptly quits smiling and glares down at Bisch.] MARK: The hounds of Hell will devour your soul, little man. BISCH: Hey, at least I didn't give you that silly tie and purple gloves back. Now, go on, Kevin open yours. [Nash tears the paper off of his package, revealing a video.] NASH [reading]: "The Nitro Girls do Dallas." [A tear forms in Nash's eye.] NASH: Porn... you knew exactly what to get me. Thank you, Eric! BISCH: Aw, it's was nothing, big guy! [Nash and Bisch hug.] NASH: Now you, pink boy! Open yours! [Bret nods and opens his package pulling out what looks like... the WCW World's Heavyweight Championship Belt, complete with a nameplate reading 'Bret Hart'. Bret beams with joy.] BRET: Oh my God! The *title*...! Eric, I can't thank you enough! This is incredible! And I didn't even have to pin anybody! [Bret slings the title belt over his shoulder and smiles his trademark Hitman grin.] BISCH: Well, it's a replica of the title belt, actually. Hey, we both know you don't have a cold chance in hell of ever getting the real thing, so I thought this would be something nice for you! [Bret's grin abruptly turns into a dark glower.] BRET: Thanks a lot, Eric. NASH: Now, E, it's time for you to open up a little something from all of us. MARK: It seemed like something you needed. [Bret pulls a small brightly wrapped package out from under the console, and hands it to Bisch.] BISCH: For *me*? Oh, you guys are the best! [Bisch happily tears the paper off the package, revealing a paperback book.] BISCH [reading]: "The Tony Robbins Guide to Refusing to Hire Aging Wrestlers." [Bisch blinks.] BISCH: Well, it's a nice book and all, guys, but I really don't have any use for it... well, anyway, what did you think, sir? [Titan 13. Vince and company are laughing as the Rock begins serving Christmas dinner.] VINCE: ...so then I said, "Why don't you get some smoke and go to Atlanta, Jim!" That's how it all started. Oh, and hello again, Bob Cratchets. Now, it's time for me to give *you* a present... namely, your fic this week. I've decided to opt for a little change of pace and send you boys something in the true sprit of these wonderful holidays, a heartwarming tale of the true Christmas spirit. [SON] BISCH [stunned]: That's... that's great, Vince! What are you sending us? Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol'? 'The Nutcracker Prince'? Or maybe just a selection from the Bible, telling us all about the birth of Christ? [Titan 13. Vince is eerily grinning.] VINCE: It's a le... er, lovely tale called 'An Elf Maiden's Christmas'. So have your figgy pudding and SUCK IT DOWN, boys. Rock, send them the fic! [Rocky puts down the goose he's carving and is about to dash over to the control panel to push the button when Shawn stops him.] SHAWN: Rock, you work hard in here doing your best for Vince and the company all year long. So just tonight, why don't you sit down, enjoy this wonderful dinner you made for us all, and let *me* send them the fanfic. ROCKY: Why... why, thank you, Shawn. The Rock is touched, really touched. [Shawn smiles his trademark smarmy grin into the camera and then sends the fanfic] [SON. The buzzers and lights that signal an incoming fanfic are going off. Bret is now being forcibly held back from attacking the viewscreen by Mark.] MARK: Calm down, Bret. I'll visit him later and show him his future. NASH [examining his videotape]: Wow! Four stars from 'Lesbian Pile-Up Monthly'! They've got good taste, too... BISCH: I'm glad you enjoy it, Kevin, but you'll have to wait and watch it later... CAUSE WE'VE GOT CHRISTMAS SIIIIIIIGN! [6-5-4-3-2-1] [The guys enter the theater and take their usual seats.] NASH: Bret, you've really got to get over the whole Survivor Series thing... BRET: Oh, bite me, hip-hop boy. And I don't like this set-up... something's definitely not right here. MARK: I think you're being a mite to suspicious, Bret. Even Vince has a heart. BISCH: Yeah, and to think that even he can feel the holiday spirit... it's downright heartwarming! Man, I love Christmas! >An Elf Maiden's Christmas >by PJ BRET: Based upon an original story by Hans Christian Andersen. NASH: Screenplay by Michael Crichton. MARK: Directed by Quentin Tarantino. BISCH: Produced by Dreamworks SKG. > > >The spirit of Naar floated helplessly in the darkness of space, [The guys flail about helplessly in their seats.] ALL: Whooooooaaaaaahhhhhh! BISCH : Jane, stop this crazy thiiiiinng! >his soul a cloud of ethereal, black smoke. [Mark begins coughing very loudly and violently. He stops when Bret begins slapping him on the back.] BISCH: We need a smoke detector or something in here. > He watched angrily >as the universe was consumed by the Light of Ishir and Kai, NASH : Those Power Pests! I'll get them this time!! BISCH: 'Ishir and Kai'? Who the heck? MARK: Isn't this supposed to be a Christmas story? BRET: Umm... maybe they're elves. >their benevolent gazes bringing new life to the worlds he had >purified with fire and death. MARK: And dammit, there's nothing more annoying than watching people bring new life to stuff after you've gone to all the trouble of purifying it with fire and death!! NASH: Yeah, I really hate that. >At the Dark God's side floated >Gwena, an Elf girl who had succumbed to Naar's evil power. BISCH: Isn't Naar the sound a pirate with a swollen tongue makes? MARK: Not another Gwen Stacey clone! Damn you, Howard Mackie! Damn you *straight* to *hell*! BRET: See? Elves! Christmas! > >*This Light, this goodness sickens me,* BISCH : So go fetch me some dramamine *now*, wench! >snarled Naar mentally to his disembodied slave. NASH: How do you snarl mentally? MARK: Well, I'm performing several rude gestures at you right now, Kevin. Mentally, of course. BRET: And how much use can a bodyless slave be, anyway? BISCH: Well, they're easy to take care of, don't eat too much, don't shed... > >*Is there any way we can halt its advance?* asked Gwena meekly. BRET : Well, sure! There's plenty of ways to halt its advance! THAT'S WHY I'M JUST SITTING HERE BITCHING ABOUT IT, YOU TWIT! > >*Yes, we must purge it one world at a time, MARK: With fire and death, I assume. BISCH: Or Formula 409, whatever works best. NASH : Fire, fire! Nyeheheheheh... >weakening the Light >gods' power until we can emerge once more to claim what is >mine,* replied Naar. BRET : Yes... I *shall* be the sole lord and master of my sock collection once more! GYAHAHAHAHA! MARK: Sad thing is, for all we know, that's what it really is. BISCH: So where does the 'purging with fire and death' come in? BRET: Well, it's a really cool sock collection. > >*Where shall we start, dread lord?* inquired Gwena eagerly. NASH: CAPTAIN POWER, AND THE SOLDIERS OF THE *FUTURE*! MARK: Ah, sure, Nash... BISCH : We shall begin by creating a flaky crust! Then, we shall fill it with delicious apple filling and cover it with yet ANOTHER flaky crust! Our victory is assured! >*There, that little speck. I sense a great force of goodness >and peace at the planet's northern pole. BRET: Do you also sense a large rabbit laying eggs off somewhere? NASH: No! They're going after the Coca-cola polar bears! Dammit, they're too cute to die! BISCH: Wait a minute... our Christmas story is about some random Dark God of Evil trying to defeat the forces of universal peace and harmony by killing *Santa Claus*? MARK: Are you really surprised? BISCH: Well, at this point, no. BRET: Maybe Mrs. Claus will become Sailor Santa-sama and ass kicking will commence. NASH: Dude, I didn't need to picture an elderly woman in a fuku... >You will go there, >possess a vessel, and destroy the Light anyway you can,* >commanded Naar. NASH : Naaaaarrrrr, mateys! BRET: So Gwena's going to defeat the Light by possessing a boat? BISCH: And killing Santa Claus, yes. > >*I obey, master* acknowledged Gwena, MARK: ... who then folded her arms and sharply nodded her head, her form dissolving into pink smoke and flowing back into a bottle as Larry Hagman looked on. >her gaseous form narrowing >to a thin stream before it shot down to a blue-green planet >named Earth. NASH: Aerodynamic flatulence, cool! MARK: I wasn't really that far off... BRET: Geez, how many beans do you have to eat before *that* happens to you? > >Tifa straightened her slim shoulders back, BISCH: ... thereby giving horny gameplayers everywhere a nice view of her improbable breasts. NASH: So this Naar guy's from Final Fantasy 7, right? MARK: No. NASH: Then, um... BRET: No, Kevin, the fic still doesn't make any sense. >then adjusted her >green skirt and tunic one more time before leaving her new >quarters to assemble with the rest of the new toy assemblers. MARK: Avengers... ASSEMBLE! NASH: Tifa was a rather well assembled toy herself. BRET: Whose side are you *on*, Kevin? BISCH: Okay, so we're definitely *not* in FF7 now... >The young elf girl merged with the long line of elfin females MARK: ... to create the MEGA-ELF-GIRL-ZORD! >quietly rushing to the gathering chamber ahead. NASH: Magic: the Gathering? BRET: Dear *God*, I hope not... >Tifa brushed a >stray lock of red hair out of her lovely face, then moved into >place in the third row of the assembly. BISCH: Let the lesbian pile-up photo-shoot begin. NASH: I think I have this issue... MARK: 'Think'? >The group of elf girls >stood silently at attention, their green clothing spotless and >orderly. BRET : Atten-SHUN! Ladies.... CONFORM! >A tall elf woman entered the chamber, then walked >proudly to the podium placed on a raised dais in front of the >assembled girls. BISCH : Ladies of the press, I'm here today to tell you that I *did not* have sex with Monica Lewinsky. NASH : Well, does anyone have any more questions about America? >The woman was dressed in a neat black business >jacket, white blouse, and knee-length skirt. MARK: She's Sylia Stingray with pointed ears! NASH [grinning]: Syyylia..... BRET: Settle down there, Mackie. >Silky black hose >covered her long legs, while her feet were encased in polished >black stiletto heels. BISCH: And when the story says stiletto, it means it! She's killed several heads of state with those heels! BRET : Ey, Baroney... what's out next plan to capture Danger Mouse? MARK: Soon the heels revealed themselves to be an alien symbiote, and then proceeded to encase her whole body, turning her into a recurring Marvel character with waaaay too damned many mini-series. ALL: EXCELSIOR! > The elf woman slid her right hand over >her slicked-back raven hair that ended in a tightly coiled >ponytail. NASH: 'Tightly coiled'? The hell? BRET: Maybe that means it's braided, or in a bun, or... BISCH: ... or her hair is made out of snakes like Medusa's, and the one in her ponytail is ready to STRIKE! > >"Good morning, ladies. My name is Eva. ALL : Zankoku na tenshi no youni... >I will be your >supervisor as you begin your first day on the assembly line. MARK : I will be in charge of breaking your wills and destroying your creative impulses. >Our leader, Mr. Claus, has placed a great deal of faith in every >one of you. ALL : HEIL CLAUS! HEIL CLAUS! [All begin performing the 'Hitler salute'.] BISCH : The pure Elfin race shall conquer the world! >I expect you to live up to Mr. Claus' expectations >and perform your duties efficiently and quickly. NASH : So no sleeping on the job, Keebler! Little cookie-eating slack-ass... BRET : Those who fail to perform their duties efficiently and quickly will be shot in the head, and their bodies devoured by rabid reindeer. Thank you, and have a nice day. >Christmas is >almost upon us, we have to meet our production deadlines. MARK : Loss of human life is acceptable in the grand scheme of commerce. The Sales Quota must be met at all costs. > Now >go to your individual team leaders and make the best toys you >can," said the elf woman crisply. BISCH: I thought that last comment was more rich and moist, myself. NASH : Those who fail to make suitable toys shall be hung from the neck until dead, dead, dead. BRET: See, this is what happens when you don't let people join unions. > >The gathered elf girls broke from their orderly lines to proceed >to their work assignments. MARK : Happy workers... >Tifa left the chamber, traveled down >several long hallways, then descended one level to the >electronics assembly area. BISCH: On the way, Tifa confronted several kobolds and orcs, and gained several levels in experience. >The petite elf girl approached her >team leader, a stern old elf woman named Sharon. > >"Who are you?" snapped Sharon when she saw Tifa approaching. NASH : My name is Inego Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. > >"My name is Tifa. I'm a grade six assembler," replied the >fiery-maned girl quickly. BRET: In fact, Tifa's hair was so fiery that aqua-tressed Umi Ryuzaki had to be called in to put out the blaze. NASH: Man, Santa's workin' sixth graders? Aren't there child labor laws at the North Pole? > >"Grade six? A beginner, huh? BISCH : Look, head out onto the world map, fight some monsters, buy yourself some better armor and weapons, and come back here when you're about level fifteen or so, 'kay? >Go over to section thirteen to screw NASH: PILE-UP!! PILE-UP!! BRET: KEVIN!! Come on, a lemon in *Santa's workshop*? What the hell are you thinking? NASH: Well, yeah, you're probably right... >on case lids," ordered Sharon with an abrupt raising of >her right arm. MARK: GAH! She's having seizures! NASH : Oops. Sorry. I got me a touch of the rheumatism. > >Tifa nodded her acceptance, then hastily went to the indicated >post. BISCH : Must... conform... faster! >She picked up a motorized screwdriver from the small >worktable in front of her, then fastened screws into the case >holes of the VCR that rolled in front of her and stopped. BRET: Jiffy screw! Well screw up your caseholes in under an hour! MARK : That's one way of putting it. BRET: Hey... >Tifa >barely got all the screws in place before the VCR rolled away to >her left to be replaced by another unsealed unit. NASH: And Tifa was so *good* at *giving attention* to the *units*... BRET: KEVIN! BISCH: Actually, this scene is getting really darned symbolic, Bret... MARK: Lovely. It's a Fellini fanfic. >The beautiful >young elf girl screwed the second case into place, slowly >learning a style that allowed her to move smoothly from one unit >to the next. MARK: Man, give this thing a soundtrack and I think it might qualify as softcore... BRET: Er... okay, I think you guys might be right... BISCH: This scene is really starting to worry me... NASH: Yeah! Cut the innuendo and get straight to the *real* screwing! >Dozens, then hundreds of VCRs passed beneath Tifa, >the repetitive procedure making her mind fuzzy and unfocused as >she screwed the same holes again and again with her motorized >screwdriver. NASH: Wilt Chamberlain had a similar problem. BRET: Sony Entertainment brings you audio/visual equipment sooo good, it's erotic. BISCH: Next we'll go to a scene with detailed description of how they assemble the toys with *nailing* and *banging*... NASH: And then the suggestive scene where the young elf maids all eat bananas! > > >Gwena hovered invisibly over the assembly area, her gaseous form >so spread out that she was transparent. BISCH: Ew! Jeez, is Gwena *ever* going to lay off the lentils? MARK: Marvel's Vision in a role that *will* surprise you. BRET : I see right throoooough you... >She searched the >laboring elf workers until she found one particularly bored and >drowsy elf girl. NASH: She was a slack-ass elf who drank Starbuck's frappucchinos and watched the Real World all day. BISCH: Well, watching 'Real World' has been known to make me feel bored and drowsy. > The female's mind was open and unshielded as >Gwena poured down and engulfed the slim young girl. MARK: Gwena flowed right in through the giant hole in Tifa's skull. BRET: The Gwena doesn't just rain... it pours. NASH: Now Gwena can have fun doing all the screwing! BISCH: Kevin, come on... >Tifa >coughed briefly, then became dizzy, her thin body swooning next >to the rolling assembly line. BRET: The concept of the conveyor belt was too much for her! MARK: Run! The workshop has a carbon monoxide leak! >She missed one VCR, then two, the >line finally stopping when she failed to screw four cases. NASH: The line got impatient, as they were forced to wait for their screw. BISCH: Is it fair to do those when that's what the author probably had in mind? >A >nearby co-worker squeezed Tifa's right arm in concern BRET : Tifa, are you okay? MARK : Can't... feel... arm... blood vessels... bursting... >until team >leader Sharon marched forward to see what was amiss. NASH: : PYYYYYYLE!! BISCH: She arrived too late, as the co-worker had already crushed Tifa's arm into a gory mess, and was going to work on the other one. > >"What's going on? You failed to complete your work," admonished >Sharon crossly. BRET : Why is Bond still alive?! MARK : Why aren't you doing more *screwing*, young lady?! We have entirely too many unscrewed units laying around here! BISCH: Oh, not you *too*... NASH: Ahhh, screw it! > >"I'm sorry, I'm feeling faint," replied Tifa as she held her >left hand to her pale brow. BRET : Mooooom! I'm too *sick* to go to school today! > >Sharon yanked Tifa's hand away from her forehead, then touched >it herself with her own wrinkled palm. ALL: Ewwww. NASH: Sharon doesn't *like* it when the nubile young elf maids touch themselves. That's *her* job!! BISCH: Yeah, the spirit of Christmas is in your heart... MARK: At least it wasn't a hairy palm. BISCH: ARGH! > >"You do feel a little flushed. MARK: I'd like to flush this fic down the toilet. BRET: Hey! It's not that bad. >Go back to your quarters and >rest for the remainder of the work cycle. I'll check in on you >later to see if you can work a late shift," said Sharon with a >frown. NASH: With Conan O'Brien and Tom Snyder as your only competition, you shouldn't have a hard time. BISCH: So, if I understand this correctly, in order to spread joy and cheer to all the children of the world, Santa must be a ruthless taskmaster who overworks young girls in sweatshop conditions. MARK: Sure, where do you think Kathy Lee gets all of her ideas from? BRET [sighs]: Merry Christmas, Eric. > >"Yes, ma'am," agreed Tifa before she stumbled out of the crowded >assembly room. NASH : Hey, should we help Tifa out of here or something? BISCH : Look, dammit, I've got deadlines, and so do you! So get back to screwing units! NASH : Okay, whatever you say... >The young elf girl slowly went back to her small >room, then carefully locked the only door. MARK: Because she was about to do things not fit to be seen by a 'general audience.' BRET: So I take it there's a major problem with theft and crime in Santa's workshop. > >"A body, at last!" purred Gwena as she slid her small hands down >Tifa's flat belly to her graceful hips. BISCH : Thank you, Ultra Slim Fast! >The possessed elf girl >quickly took off her tunic and skirt, leaving only her white >cotton panties, ankle socks, and green shoes. ALL: O_O NASH: YEAH! Merry Christmas to *me*! MARK [smirking]: Well, someone has an interesting fetish... BISCH [shocked]: I... I... um... BRET: I stand corrected. Look like it *is* a lemon in Santa's workshop... BISCH [sighs]: Well, at least this isn't some lemony permutation of 'It's a Wonderful Life', I guess. >Gwena looked at >her new face from the mirror framed over Tifa's underwear >cabinet, NASH: And let me guess, her well-stocked underwear cabinet was right next to her stack of dildos, whips, and other assorted sex toys, right? MARK: Well, of course! All women have 'em, you know. >adjusting the green pointed cap rakishly over her short >straight red hair. BRET: Eric, is wrong to think lustful thoughts about one of Santa's elves? BISCH: Yes. BRET [sighs]: Dammit, now *I'm* going to hell too... NASH: Ah, Santa's Naughty Little Helper. >She squeezed her young, just budding breasts >together, then pouted her delicate, unpainted lips. [Nash sighs blissfully.] MARK: What's this? Oh, look! Nash, you want your jaw back? NASH: Nah, don't need it right now. > >"I'm hot!" smiled Gwena happily, [The guys begin snickering helplessly] BRET: Just like that, huh? BISCH: Well, I see *someone* has a well-developed ego... NASH: It's not her* ego* that's well developed, my friend. >her hands roving down to caress her own tight, small buttocks. MARK: So women just randomly fondle themselves whenever they are alone or in front of a mirror? NASH: Well, yeah. They be different from men! MARK: Of course. BRET: Well, it's what *I'd* do if I were a woman. BISCH [smacks Bret on the back of the head]: Dammit, you're becoming one of them! > The partially naked elf girl >leaned back against the wall, watching herself in the mirror as >she fondled her own tits, pinching the little pink nipples until >they hardened. MARK: She then proceeded to cut a smiley face in the glass of the mirror with them! BRET: Ah... ahem... [Bret begins sweating nervously and tugging at his shirt collar...] >Gwena licked her sensuous lips, then placed her >hands over her crotch, slowly rubbing her pussy until a small >stain appeared on the fabric of her panties. ALL: EWWWWWW!! NASH: Gwena wet 'em! BISCH: Or is it that 'aroused women produce gallons of fluid' thing again? BRET: Okay, I've been with it up to this point. How is staining erotic? MARK: Does she climax when she spills soda on the carpet? > Gwena moaned >softly, pulling the front of her panties aside with her left >hand as her right slid up and down her moist cunt, teasing it >into arousal. MARK: So her hand started calling her cunt crude names. NASH : You're stupid and ugly and you have to ride the short bus with the 'tard kids! BRET: At this point, I think her hand has transcended mere 'teasing'. > She gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes >narrowed and smoldering with lust while she fingered her own >pussy, made it hot with desire. MARK: You know, if she turns herself on this much, I'm not sure she'll ever even need a partner. NASH : Hey, I'll be her Huckleberry... MARK: *No.* BRET: I thought her being hot with desire was what made her put her finger there in the first place? BISCH: You're expecting logic from a lemon, Bret. BRET [shakes his head]: Right, right, don't know what I was thinking... >The elf girl inserted a finger >into her quivering vagina, NASH: Wiggle-wiggle-wiggle!! >pushing the digit deep into her >melting love tunnel. BISCH: So it's made of wax? MARK: Well, I could see a 'one' being useful, but any other digit would just be *painful* if you shoved it up in there. BRET: Talk about your *pun*-ishment... > Gwena gasped with remembered ecstasy, >every sensation from Tifa's body awakening a memory of a prior >sexual experience. NASH: Who the hell thinks about a past experience when you're in the middle of a *present* one? BISCH: Well, if it's not very *good*... MARK: Ah, I see you've experienced this with women before. BISCH: ... I hate you. > Gwena's finger moved faster inside her slit, >the member thrust in and out, honey dripping from the pumping >digit. NASH: Talk about a honey of an oh! ZING! MARK: Well, she does seem to have a very sweet *cheerio* there... BRET: Okay, do we have a member or a digit in there? I thought she was alone. MARK: Maybe her fingers deformed. I saw this tape of Kevin's once... BRET: AAAGH! NO! > The elf girl shoved a second finger inside her twat with >the first, BISCH: Twat was that she shoved? NASH: I twought I saw a putty twat. I did! I did! MARK: Oh, you mean you saw a pussy? BRET [turning as pink as his ring gear]: Guys!! >both probes moving together, rhythmically fucking her >clenching hole. BRET : Captain, the probes show the wormhole is collapsing in on itself! NASH : Ensign Crusher, set a course into the hole! WE MUST FIND THE G-SPOT! BISCH: Yeah, I thought I'd go take a dive in the old clenching hole... MARK: Ew... > Gwena's hips gyrated erotically, BRET [blushing slightly]: So she *knows* we're watching her?!! NASH: Real nice of her to put a show on for us like this. BISCH: Yeah, well, I'm not a paying a cover charge, no matter what. >her small, >round ass smacking the cement wall of the bedroom as she groaned >with each shove of her long fingers. MARK : Oh, wall, wall! HIT ME HARDER! >Gwena's legs became weak, >she shuddered as an orgasm built inside her stomach, BISCH: Orgasms are built in the stomach, then exported to other parts of the body via road and rail! >expanding out to pour from her trembling cunt. MARK: Pour yourself a piping hot cup of orgasm every morning. The right way to start your day. NASH: Made from the finest of trembling cunts! > >Sharon the team leader crashed through the door just as Tifa >climaxed, MARK: Sharon is *Superelf*! BRET: Oh God no! It's the MASTURBATION POLICE!! BISCH : I w-wasn't doin' nuthin'!! TURN THE LIGHTS OUT! >her closed lips shaking while a thick stream of pussy >juice poured down her bare thighs. MARK: Is she a woman or a geyser? NASH: Heh, more like a faucet. BRET: But if her lips were closed, then where was all the juice coming from? BISCH: I don't think he meant *those* lips... >"So this is what you're doing!" snarled Sharon, her grey eyes >burning with fury. MARK : Uh... if you don't tell anybody, I'll let you join in! OTHERS: Ewwwww!! > >Before Gwena could spin a lie, NASH: What?! What kind of lie could you come up with to explain being naked with your hand up your crotch? BRET : Well, you see, I lost my keys, and... >the old elf woman grabbed Tifa's >left wrist and dragged the bare-breasted girl to her small bed. BISCH: Oh, God no! She *is* joining in! MARK: Er... sorry, didn't think the author would take that literally... >Sharon sat down heavily, draped Tifa over her legs, then began >spanking the elf girl sharply across the buttocks. NASH : A spanking! A spanking! BRET : Yes, you shall give us all a spanking! BISCH: I'm sensing another fetish scene, here... >Tifa >squeaked with each skin searing slap, MARK: No wonder! Sharon was using a 'burning hands' spell! [The others all wince in sympathy.] >but Gwena reveled in the >pain, the old woman's punishing touch sent shivers of delight >over the elf girl's ass and up her spine. BRET : Over her ass and up her spine, to grandmother's house we go! MARK: I don't understand delight at being hurt. I've had my head rammed into turnbuckles plenty of times, and never once did I go '*Ooooh*, that was good...' NASH: What scares me is that some guys used to actually *request* a Bronco Buster before they had a match with Waltman... BISCH: I didn't need to know that... BRET: So by the 'pain is pleasure' logic, Mick Foley is king of the masochists... and he gets PAID for it! >Fresh juices slid out >of Tifa's pussy to fall against Sharon's upper legs. MARK: Everything from Tropicana to Snapple! NASH: Made from the best stuff on Earth. BISCH: Wonder if she has any fruit punch... > >"Wicked, lustful child!" exclaimed Sharon, her eyes shocked and >dismayed at the sight of Tifa's continued arousal. MARK : Teaching my wall such bad ideas! BRET : But the wall came onto me! It did! > The old elf >woman redoubled her spanking, her palm lashing out to smack >Tifa's lovely ass until it glowed cherry-red with abuse. NASH : Tifa, with your ass so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight? BISCH [weakly]: Kevin... MARK: Exactly how do you get your ass to glow, anyway? BRET: Well, I guess you've got to clench just the right muscle... > Tifa >writhed under Sharon's ministrations, her cries barely >disguising Gwena's erotic bliss. NASH : Oh, oh, I'm suffering *sooo* much... *please* don't keep spanking me... >Sharon ripped off Tifa's >drenched white panties, then renewed her correctional onslaught. BISCH: 'Correctional onslaught'? What's that, having sex with Ray Traylor? MARK: Or using a nightstick in a highly creative way, I'd guess. BRET: Marvel's must be trying to appeal to a *different* audience with this Heroes Reborn version of Onslaught. >The spanking dragged on for ten, then twenty minutes, Tifa's ass >becoming purple with bruises while an increasing torrent of >vaginal fluid spurted out onto Sharon's lap. BISCH: How much liquid can come out of one woman? NASH: Did you ever see that film where the woman gives birth in health class? MARK: Ah, I see. It's pleasurable because she's being injured. Thank you, story! > >"Disgusting little whore!" spat Sharon before she yanked >painfully back on Tifa's short red hair. BISCH: Spanking is one thing, but snapping her neck is just gonna kill her! BRET: Maybe Sharon's into necrophilia. NASH: Look, that scene with Sailor Pluto was bad enough...! > >"Mistress, please!" begged Tifa, MARK : I told you never to call me that in public! >tears glimmering in her wide >green eyes to contrast the wanton smile adorning her full lips. NASH : Ground me like there's no tomorrow! No televison, no phone calls, oooooh! >"Master Claus will sort you out, evil child!" threatened Sharon MARK : ThE mAsTeR wOuLdN't ApPrOvE oF mAsTuRbAtIoN... >before she pushed Tifa off of her cum-stained skirt, then bent >down slowly to retrieve the young girl's discarded skirt and >tunic. BISCH: This author really seems to have a thing for stains... BRET: Keep him away from spaghetti sauce! NASH: Sharon felt a strange reluctance to cover up Tifa's nubile young body... > >"Cover yourself up before you go to see our master," ordered >Sharon, disgust blatant in her sharp gaze MARK : Master Claus requires his sex slaves to be far more well-endowed! >while she guarded >Tifa's preparations. Gwena gloated at her victory, BISCH : All right! Masturbated, got busted and spanked... I'm doin' pretty good for myself! >now she >would encounter the source of the Light and destroy it for her >Dark Lord. NASH: By doing what? Staining everything in sight? BISCH: No, I fear the worst it yet to... oh, *no*... BRET: You don't mean... I mean, a lemon with... with... MARK: At long last, the Undertaker knows fear. > >"Master Claus?" inquired Sharon respectfully from the open >doorway. "May I trouble you for a moment?" BISCH : NO! Go the hell away! > >"Come in, team leader Sharon. NASH : So, what has the Science Ninja Team been up to today? > I just need to finish one more >database update," replied Santa Claus from his desk, BRET: Damn, not even Santa can resist those Office Max sales! BISCH: Wonder if he uses Windows or a Mac? NASH: Puh-lease. Santa would use Linux. >his elderly >face bathed in the light of a computer monitor. MARK: Santa's zooming chatrooms, telling people he's a handsome slim guy lookin' for cyber- lovin'! BRET: Too bad everyone's put him on auto-kick. >Sharon pushed >Tifa forward, then followed the girl closely from behind. NASH: Owing largely to the girl's behind. MARK: ZING! > >"Margaret Weis, nice. Christian Slater, naughty. Nikki Dial, >very naughty, but I'll give her a present anyway," chuckled >Santa while he tapped computer keys swiftly. BISCH : I kill me! Ha! BRET: For Christmas, I'd like to see a good three-fourths of Hollywood dropped into the Pacific Ocean. Is that too much to ask? > >"This low grade worker has been engaging in activities >unbecoming of an elf in your service," reported Sharon >indignantly. NASH: : She was having sex by herself and not sharing with the other elves! "I respectfully request that she be discharged and >sent back to our homeland for re-education." MARK : A few hours with the Elf Gestapo, and her spirit will be utterly broken! > >"This must be serious," frowned Santa just before he saved his >work BISCH: Unfortunately, Santa was using Windows 95, and a massive system crash caused the whole thing to be erased. BRET: Bill Gates was later prosecuted for being an accessory to stealing Christmas. >and swivelled his large, cushioned chair around to face the >two elfin females. NASH : To solve the problem I shall spin! Wheeeeeeeeeee! >"May I present my case to you in private, master?" requested >Tifa hesitantly. MARK : Why, yes... I'm sure we can work something out once I've seen your shapely young... *case*... >"There are extenuating circumstances >surrounding my recent behavior." NASH : I was horny and alone and for some reason that caused me to masturbate. Go fig. >"Very well. Mistress Sharon, you will return to your work area >until I summon for you," commanded Claus with a nod. MARK: Yeah, Santa usually calls for her by tracing a circle of salt on the ground, burning a few candles, sacrificing a goat... > >"As you wish," replied Sharon with a low bow before she >retreated from the room. BISCH: So Sharon is Darth Vader now? BRET [shaking his head]: Lucas has taken these special edition changes way too far. >"Sit, child. Tell me your side of the story," invited Claus >with a beckoning gesture to one of the chairs facing his >polished oak desk. NASH : You see, sir, I'm really innocent. The real culprit is this one-armed man... >Tifa sat carefully within the chair to Santa's right, then >crossed her slim legs delicately. MARK: For if she crossed her legs with too much force, they would shatter to pieces. > >"Master, ever since I arrived here, I've begun feeling things, >things I've never experienced before," said Tifa in a soft, >confused voice. ALL: O_O BISCH: You have *got* to be kidding me... BRET: Santa's *married*!! The author can't have him fall for this! > >"What kinds of things?" probed Santa, his fingers steepled >together over his immense belly. NASH: I wonder how often Santa probes his elves? BRET [burying his face in his hands]: No, no, please no... MARK: There is much bad ju ju on the way. >"When I first saw you, when you addressed the newly arrived >workers, I felt something I'd never felt before, a warm, >fluttering heat in my stomach," replied Tifa with a bright red >blush. MARK: : Ho ho ho. My dear, that's just Taco Bell you're feeling. Makes me run for the border, too. BISCH: She has the hots for SANTA? I mean... *SANTA*?! BRET: How do you even *fake* having the hots for Santa? I mean... he's *Santa*! NASH: Maybe it's that whole 'sleeping with celebrities' thing. You gotta admit, Kris Kringle would be one hell of a notch on a girl's bedpost... >Santa coughed in embarrassment, his own white skin flushed under >his large beard and thick white eyebrows. MARK : Ma'am, you are aware of the fact that I'm completely sexually unattractive, correct? I was just checking... > >"As I saw you again and again, heard your voice addressing us >all, the feelings grew, until I felt a nice warmth between my >legs," admitted the young girl, BISCH : Of course, it turned out that I had a hot water bottle down my pants, but still... >her gaze focused on the rug >under her small feet. BRET: So she's drawn by Rob Liefeld, then? NASH: Nah, then she'd also have giant boobs, a pencil-thin waist, AND her feet would be hidden by convenient ankle-high hills. > >"When Mistress Sharon found me in my room, I was touching my >special place, thinking about you, how I wanted you to touch me >there," whispered Tifa, her lips trembling with guilt. MARK: Hey, Tifa, want some wine to go with that *cheese*? BISCH: Could you at least give us the dignity of Tifa seducing Santa Claus *plausibly*? BRET: Exactly what would that *be*, anyway? NASH: Ahhh... stuffing milk and cookies up her... MARK: No. NASH: Look, I was just *saying*... > >Santa coughed again, perspiration gathering on his forehead. BISCH : Just remember what they're paying you. Don't think about the script, just remember what they're paying... > >"Uh, my dear, these feelings are normal in a young girl like >yourself. BRET: So all young girls go through a phase where they want to boff Santa? MARK: Well, it *would* explain a lot about the feminine psyche. >You are young for an elf, you still have much to >learn and experience about life. NASH: Like the disappointment of losing your virginity in the back seat of a car. BISCH: The subtle joys of getting knocked up by the guy that works in gift-wrapping and being forced into a loveless marriage. BRET: Bleeding out your life working in a dead-end job to pay off the mortgage on a house you don't really want. MARK: And let's not forget dying young, never getting your pension, and getting all your survivors into debt just to have a decent burial. > If you promise not to let >these feelings of yours interfere with your work, I think that I >can let this incident pass. NASH : If anything, these new feelings of yours should only increase your unit-screwing proficiency! >I need all the able bodies I can find MARK : Very able bodies, yes... >to get the toys ready for Christmas, I need you to focus on >your job," said Santa, his eyes fixed on Tifa's. MARK : I shall cure you of your lustful thoughts with my Santa-hypnosis! Gaze deep into my eyes... BISCH [very bitterly]: Yeah, and in this story, I can tell exactly what kind of job it'll be... BRET: Eric, come on... NASH: Yeah, it could be blow OR hand. We'll have to watch and find out. > >"I will if you do something for me, master," purred Gwena within >Tifa's luscious body. "Make love to me, just once." MARK: Wine and *cheese*, anyone? BRET: Oh, there's plenty to go around. BISCH : But I'm the manifestation of the purity and innocence of Christmas! A hero to all children! A Christian saint, for cryin' out loud! NASH : But for an ass like that, I'll make an exception *just* this once. >"What?! Impossible! I'm married!" choked Santa. MARK: Oh, like *that's* ever stopped a lemonwriter. BRET: Trust me, St. Nick, in about 90 seconds, your brain will have melted into jell-o. > >"Just once, master," smiled Tifa seductively as she pulled off >her tunic, then slipped off her green skirt. MARK: 'Master'? Did John Norman write this? BRET: If so, I'm throwing myself out the airlock. BISCH : ThE mAsTeR wOuLd NoT aPpRoVe oF cAsUaL sEx... NASH : No... can't... moral scruples and responsibilities... holding me back... oh, what the hell. Let's fuck. Beats the hell out of eating cookies every year! >Santa's eyes >bulged with the sight of Tifa's small, tempting breasts and flat >stomach. MARK: In fact, a blood vessel in his head burst, causing his immediate and painless death. A replacement was quickly found. BRET: And there was much rejoicing! BISCH: Yay... >Gwena took off her panties, then threw them onto >Santa's gaping face. BRET: When did Santa's face become a bottomless void? MARK : He's got you and me, sister, in his mouth... NASH [wearing much the same expression as Santa]: Uuua gahhh... BRET [smirking]: Oh, I see. > The underwear fell onto Santa's nose just >before Gwena crawled onto the desk and sat down on her tight >ass, spreading out her legs to bare her red-bushed pussy at the >sweating fat man. [Bisch unceremoniously takes the Santa hat off his head, pulls out a lighter, sets fire to it, and throws it on the floor.] BISCH: Well, that's it. All light and goodness in the universe... gone! Kaput! Hello, forces of despair! BRET: Look this is bad enough without having to deal with the idea that his *nose* grows when he's aroused! MARK: I wonder if that happened to Pinocchio... BRET: Mark, don't give Vince ideas. > >"Lick my cunt, master. Stick your wet tongue into my hot fuck >hole," begged Gwena huskily, her tits pert and firm. MARK: We'll be right back with more of Things Women Never Really Say after these messages. [Bisch stares at the screen for a few minutes, then lays his head on BRET's shoulder and begins weeping like a broken man.] BRET: It's okay. C'mon, we've riffed lemons before, and you can't let Vince win... NASH : Santa Claus is comin' to town... >"N..no, put your clothes back on," groaned Santa, the scent of >Tifa's panties still lingering within his nostrils. MARK: All who second that motion, say 'Aye'. BRET: AYE! NASH: Well... I dunno... it's porn, which is good, but it's Santa porn, which is less good. I'll abstain. BISCH: AYE! In the name of all things sweet and pure, AYE! > >"Please, fuck me," pleaded Gwena, NASH : Well, since you asked so nicely... >her thin arms wrapping around >Santa's bulging neck while her long legs pressed against Claus' >ribs. BISCH [bitter]: She strangled him, and he died. The end. NASH: Oh, come on! That wasn't even a *good* dark riff. BRET: Now his neck is bulging! Every part of him is reacting to this except the one that should. MARK: I dunno, Santa could be having a full-body erection. [The guys ponder this for a moment.] ALL [horrified]: AAAAHHHHH!! >Santa inhaled the rich musk coming from Tifa's open pussy, the >folds of cunt flesh slick with her sweet juices. BISCH: 'Cunt flesh'? BRET: Well, yeah. You know Paul Bearer? BISCH: Yeah? BRET: There is a man made *entirely* of cunt flesh. BISCH: Bret, *no*... NASH: So Santa has a naked girl spread eagle in front of him, and he's sniffing her like she's the cork of a wine bottle, huh? MARK : Hmmm... say, this slut must be a '75 vintage! That was a good year for hos. > Her cunt >begged to be sucked, to be devoured by a hungry mouth. NASH: It has its own voice? "Come here fat man! Suck me!" BISCH: And if it can talk... that means it has *teeth*! Santa, RUUUUN!! BRET: Her vagina's a Jim Henson Muppet! MARK: More like a Peter Jackson puppet. > The >naked elf girl pressed her young tits against Santa's face, the >flesh soft and warm with the heat of her sensual body. MARK: Then Santa's mind trails off, and he starts thinking of muffins. NASH: Santa's kooky like that. BISCH: Yes, story, we know she's jail bait. We can move on now. > Despite >his conscious decision to reject the horny elf girl, Santa ran >his tongue up the cleft between Tifa's breasts, BRET: And why? Because Santa apparently had the willpower of an anemic gerbil. >his teeth >nibbled on her little pink nipples until she panted with lust. MARK: She didn't realize that Santa was thinking of M&M cookies at this point. NASH : No, those aren't the red ones! THOSE AREN'T THE RED ONES! AIEEEE!! >"Yes, suck my titties," encouraged Gwena as she searched the >desk with her eyes, seeking anything that could be used as a >weapon. MARK : I'll annoy him to death by smacking him with a floppy disk! BISCH: Yeow. She literally *does* mate and then kill. > >Santa sucked wetly on Tifa's small breasts, his lips latched >onto her silky flesh and suckled the little mounds until they >dripped with saliva. BRET: EWWW! Santa's a *drooly* kisser! NASH: Yeah, but somehow I think Tifa's still having herself a merry little Christmas. >Gwena moaned deeply, urging the fat man on >as her green eyes focused on a shining, silver letter opener. MARK : Yeah, go on, you fat tub, slobber on me some more... hey, look at that! I can clean under my nails now! >Smiling cruelly to herself, Gwena began reaching out with her >left hand while Santa licked down her bare stomach to her musky >crotch. BISCH: Musky? So she's got a bottle of Brut shoved up there? BRET: Would you *want* that to smell like a man? NASH: Ten bucks says it's Old Spice. MARK: Or maybe it's deer musk! She's going to attract a ten point buck! NASH: That's one way of putting it. > >"I haven't tasted a young pussy in decades," growled Claus BISCH : The only Thai restaurant here closed last year... BRET: Guess they don't have any Sushi restaurants there, either. BISCH [glaring]: And just what the hell does *that* mean? BRET: Oh, erm... nothing, nothing... >before he pushed his hairy face into Tifa's pussy, his tongue >sliding obscenely within her moist vagina. MARK: Obscenely? As opposed to a nice, polite, how-do-you-do way of putting your tongue there? NASH : Pardon me, madam! Might I place my tongue in your vagina for a spell? > >Gwena groaned with feigned pleasure, wriggling her cunt against >Santa's mouth BISCH [stands and points at screen]: DAMMIT, if you're going to seduce Santa Claus, YOU SHOULD AT LEAST ENJOY THE SEX!! MARK: Sit down, Eric. [Bisch meekly sits down.] BISCH: Man, she's gonna yiff the Easter Bunny next... >while her hand inched closer to the sharp opener >lying on the desktop. BRET: But she grabbed the stamper by accident, and viciously stamped VOID all over Santa's face! > >Santa pushed Tifa back onto the desk, prying her thighs apart so >he could lick her inner flesh, then suck lewdly on her dripping >slit. MARK: Santa! Jeez! You don't have to take a crowbar to her! BISCH: Leave John Hurst out of this! BRET: His tongue was in her vagina two paragraphs ago! You can't get much more 'inner flesh' than that! NASH: He should be tickling her tonsils by now... > Gwena cursed as she lay on her back, her fingers >desperately grasping for the unseen weapon. BISCH: No, no! Not a Santa Money Shot! Leave *something* sacred! MARK [growling]: By all the powers at my command, Santas *weapon* had better remain... UNSEEN! [A bell inexplicably tolls in the background. The guys look around, puzzled.] BRET: Remind me to check the sound system after this... > The old man slid >his tongue up and down Tifa's cunt, circling her clit until it >grew hard and glistening. BRET: The clit then stood at attention and saluted! NASH : And now the old man circles her clit, still in first place... but Labonte is coming up from behind! MARK : Meanwhile, Lance Hooper in the WCW car is stuck back in thigh country! BISCH: This week in WCW Motorsports! > Gwena gasped despite herself, waves >of lost ecstasy washing over her mind. NASH : So *that's* where my ecstasy has been all this time! Oooooh, this is *wonderful*! >Tifa's pussy trembled >under Santa's oral attentions, honey flowed freely from her >young womb, quickly lapped up by the sex-crazed fat man. BISCH: Santa Claus = sex-crazed fat man. Thank you, story. BRET: Honey was flowing out? So... so *BEES* built a *NEST* in there?! MARK: Either that, or she has very odd notions of where to keep an apiary. NASH: Look on the bright side, guys... this could've just as easily been a *Winnie the Pooh* lemon. OTHERS: KEVIN!! >Gwena >pinched her right nipple with her right hand while her left hand >finally found the letter opener. NASH: She can grope herself *and* do office work. Whatta gal! BRET: Yeah, but how many words a minute can she type? >An orgasm built within Tifa's >naked, quivering body just as she raised the opener over her >head and prepared to plunge it into Santa's skull. BISCH: Who wants to bet that the author broke the pause button on his VCR while watching Basic Instinct? MARK: Well, he's definitely got the implicit connection between sex and violence down... > >"Santa! You're late for the inspection!" declared Mrs. Claus as >she charged into the dimly-lit office. BRET: Ooooh... Ms. Claus is going to be *pissed*! NASH: Either that or join in. BRET [horrified]: Dear God... >Her eyes widened in >surprise at the sight of her elderly husband eating out a young >elf girl's cunt upon the desktop. BRET: Since she used to him having his face shoved into a pile of ham. MARK: Also, Santa usually ate out young elf girls in the reindeer stables. >Santa's head shot up from >Tifa's crotch, his lips and chin stained with her clinging pussy >fluids. NASH : I saw Mommy boffing Santa Claus... right on top of Santa's desk just now... BISCH [enraged]: Well, there goes my childhood! Just friggin wiped the hell out! Thank you very by God much, Mr. Author! BRET: Come on, Eric, it's just a story... BISCH [begins quietly weeping]: When this is over, I wanna watch 'Ernest Saves Christmas'. BRET [patting Eric on the back]: I think we can do that. >"Mr. Claus, you march right out of here!" ordered Mrs. Claus >sharply, acid dripping from her voice. BRET: What *is* this guys obsession with dripping, drooling, and staining? MARK: Actually, now that I think about it, a lot of lemon authors seem to have fluid obsessions... NASH: That acid was dripping out of Mrs. Claus for a reason... she was actually an *Alien*!! > >"Yes, ma'am," nodded Santa hastily before he grabbed his red >snow hat and waddled out of the sex-reeking office. BISCH: Sex. A new fragrance by Calvin Klein. MARK: Waddled? NASH : I just got some *big time*, Batman! Uagh uagh uagh... > >"Ah, another young elf bitch who thinks she can move up in the >organization by having sex with the boss," said Mrs. Claus with >a mournful shake of her gray-haired head. ALL: *ANOTHER*?!! BRET: So Santa does this on a *regular basis*? BISCH: Jeez, he makes some of *my* people look bad!! MARK: Damn. When they said 'Right Jolly Old Elf', they *meant* it. >"When will you little sluts learn?" NASH: It's by cooking for the bastard that you get to the top! BWAHAHAHA! >"It's not what you think," retorted Gwena hastily while she >prepared to throw the letter opener at the old crone's head. [The guys all snicker once more.] BRET: You know, to be evil, Tifa *really* sucks at lying. BISCH : You see, I lost my keys, and Mr. Claus was helping me *find* them, and... MARK : Well, Mr. Claus *told* me that he had a degree in gynecology, and I knew I was due for a checkup! I'll admit, I'd never been examined like *that* before... > >"I suppose I'll just have to make another example," shrugged >Mrs. Claus as she withdrew a silenced pistol from her apron and >aimed it at Tifa's bare chest. BRET: So now its Pulp Fiction, I guess. MARK: This fic is definitely a Royale with Cheese. BISCH: Of COURSE! Mrs. Claus packs heat and is a hardened killer! That's brilliant! THE ENTIRE FIC MAKES SENSE NOW! NASH: I'm guessing North Pole juries are either really lenient or really easy to buy off. > >"Oh, shit," murmured Gwena just before a bullet smashed into her >lovely chest, ripping an ugly hole into her heart before it >exited out her back.. BRET: It then turned back around and went through Gov.Connolly's shoulder. MARK: So what's the moral of today's story, kids? BISCH: I know! Never get dizzy while screwing units or you'll be possessed by a lustful evil elf-spirit and killed by your boss's vengeful wife! NASH: Words to live by. >*You failed me, again,* said Naar softly, his glowing red eyes >locked on Gwena's free-floating essence. BRET : Now I'm freeeee... Free floating... NASH:: Curse you, He-Man! I *will* have the secrets of Castle Greyskull! > >*Forgive me, lord! Let me try again!* begged Gwena >pathetically. MARK : Please, Skeletor! Let me be the one to capture He-Man! BISCH : Please, sir, can I have some more? > >*No,* replied Naar before he invoked a spirit wrack, ripping >Gwena's essence into minuscule little shards of vapor. MARK [snickers]: Spirit wrack? So Naar has a cosmic version of Luger's finisher? BRET: It is official. That move is *universally* lame. NASH: Yeah, you'd think a Dark God of Evil would at least do something cool, like a cosmic Mandible Claw! BISCH: With a cosmic Mr. Socko! ALL [chanting]: SOCK-O! SOCK-O! > The elf >girl spirit's screams of agony soothed Naar's troubled mind as >he slowly floated away from Earth, back to the empty void of >outer space. MARK: I dunno... I know these Windham Hill CD's are supposed to be soothing and all, but this one just weirds me out. > >*We failed to destroy the Light here, but there will be other >opportunities, other worlds to purify,* mumbled the dread god BRET : I'll get you next time, KRIIIINGLLLLE!! >as >he dragged Gwena's splintering spirit after him, sending bolts >of purple lightning into her consciousness, making her beg for >release. BISCH: What a cheery, nice, happy way to cap off a VERY MERRY GODDAMN CHRISTMAS! ARRRRGGHHH!! NASH: Cool! Eric's in the zone! [Mark baps Bisch on the back of the head.] MARK: Oh, stop ripping off Ken Shamrock. That's Goldberg's job. >The End. BISCH: What?! That's it? No copyright? No explanation of who the hell this Naar person was? And who the hell is Gwena? And what did any of this have to do with Christmas?! BRET: You know... before I read this fic, I thought Christmas was a happy time full of peace and light. NASH: Nope, now you know better. It's a twisted time full sex, guns and staining. MARK: For some reason, an infinite sadness weighs upon my soul now. [There is a pause.] MARK: I could really go for a beer right now. BRET: Yeah, and some Instant Ramen! NASH: Well, then let's get out of here! [All exeunt.] [6-5-4-3-2-1] [SON, Main Bridge. Bret, Mark, and Nash have all acquired some frothy mugs of beer and some steaming bowls of instant ramen. They're all discussing the fanfic while Bisch sits in a corner, slouched over ala Raven, dejectedly contemplating a Santa cap.] BRET: You know what the weird thing about this lemon was? MARK: The Santa sex? BRET: I meant besides that. NASH: The Dark Evil God Naar? BRET: Well, and besides that... MARK: Um... what's left? BRET: Well, this lemon really wasn't that bad. I mean, it's probably the most well-written thing Vince has ever sent us. NASH: That's true... MARK: But still, there was the Santa sex. And just look at what it did to Eric... BISCH: Snow falls as innocence fades. The gift Santa gave me was not a train or a dolly. What Santa gave me for Christmas I'll carry forever. As children unwrap their gifts in joy, I sit under the falsehood of the Christmas tree. I am stained. [Everyone stares at Eric for a few moments.] BRET: Poor guy. NASH: Oh, hey, Scrooge and Marley are calling. [Nash absently hits the Mads light.] [Titan 13. The Corporation has just finished Christmas dinner, and they're all chatting around the table. ] VINCE: Here at this very table tonight was a wonderful dinner. Thank you Rock. ROCKY: The Rock thinks ya need some more yams sir. VINCE: Why thank you, Maivia. And now, a toast, gentlemen to a very merry, *corporate* Christmas. [The Corporation nod and agree docilely, and begin to raise their glasses. That's when a zamboni comes crashing through the big window in front of the dinner table. Stone Cold is in the drivers seat. The zamboni plows into the table and knocks it over as the corporation scatters.] STONE COLD: Happy Hanukkah, you sons of bitches! Vince, there'd damn well better be some turkey left, or it looks like I'm gonna have to whoop your ass! [Stone Cold jumps out of the vehicle and swigs a Steveweiser, while he examines the ruins of the table.] STONE COLD: Just as I thought! Ya ate it all, ya greedy bastard! Looks like its time for my foot to meet your ass! BOSSMAN: Don't worry, Vince, I've got ya covered! [Big Boss Man moves protectively in front of Vince, and he and Stone Cold square off. But before anything happens, Shane screams as an axe hacks down the door, and Mick Foley in a Santa costume and his Mankind mask steps through.] MANKIND: I'm making a list... I'm checking it twice... and I know who's been naughty and who's been nice! Come here, dad! SANTA SOCKO'S GOT A GIFT FOR YOU! [Mankind brandishes his axe at the Corporation, making them back away. Seeing an opening, he them drops his axe, pulls Socko on his hand (adorned in a Santa cap and fake beard), then tackles Vince to the ground and plunges Socko down his throat. Stone Cold and Bossman begn brawling, and Ken Shamrock immediately begins trying to pull Mankind off of Vince.] ROCK: Damn you jabrones!! You're ruining the Rock's beautiful dinner! I *slave* over a hot stove all day... [Rock's rant is erupted when jets of flame explode upwards from the four corners of the room. The remaining members of the corporation back away in horror, and even Stone Cold and Boss Man pause as Kane walks into the room.] SHAWN: JR ain't here, so I'll say it for him... MAH GOD! It's *KANE*! BRISCO [Fearfully]: The Big Red Machine! PATTERSON: The carnage! The carnage! [The room stands still, paralyzed by fear. Kane cocks his head to one side, tightens his glove, and lumbers over... to the Christmas tree. The Corporation stares as Kane then gently picks up the star and places it on top of the tree. There is a pause, and then...] ALL: Awwwww... STONE COLD: Goddamn son, he ain't here to hurt nobody! He wants to help! VINCE [smiling]: To think that even Kane can be moved by the spirit of Christmas... [Vince and Stone Cold stare at each other from across the room, and then.] VINCE: Oh, what the hell! STONE COLD: Come here, you bastard! [Vince and Stone Cold smile, then embrace each other in a friendly, manly hug! The spirit of Christmas then washes over the room... Shamrock, Boss Man, and Stooges graciously help Mankind up while Shawn makes his way penitently over to the Viewscreen.] KEN: You okay, Mick? BOSS MAN: Want some egg nog? BRISCO: I have to admit, that's a fine sock puppet you have there... MANKIND [smiling beatifically, almost on the verge of tears]: And all the wrestlers down in Titan say that Vince McMahon's heart grew three sizes that day...! SHAWN [quietly]: Bretski, I just have to say... sorry about all the 'midcarder' cracks. I'm just kiddin' around and stuff... it's my character. Listen, you want me to send you guys some eggnog? Here, I'll do it anyway... [SON. The guys now inexplicably have their real eggnog (save Bischoff, who is still moping in the background), and are staring dumbfounded into the Viewscreen.] BRET: Um, thanks, Hickenbott... er, Shawn. [NASH takes a sip of his eggnog, then abruptly spits it out.] NASH: Jeezus!! This stuff tastes *disgusting*! MARK: Yeah, that's why you only have to drink it once a year. BRET: Um... guys... Down in Titan 13... they're getting ready to, um... [Titan 13. Everyone has gathered together, clasping each other about the shoulders, even Kane. Then...] ALL : HARK, THE HERALD ANGELS SING... GLORY TO THE NEW-BORN KING! [SON. The guys put down their eggnog and turn away from the Viewscreen.] BRET: Guys, I'd just like to say, from the bottom of my heart, that this has been one severely screwed up Christmas. NASH & MARK [nodding]: Yup. BISCH: Elves...innocent little creatures, or so they want you think. Pointy-eared sex crazed sin is the burning truth that melts the snow of innocence. All that is left is the cold, wet, ....stained ground. Everything... stained... WAAAAAGGGGHHH!! [Eric immediately begins sobbing uncontrollably.] NASH: Geez... Eric's been scarred by this one! BRET: Come on... [Bret and Nash walk back to the corner Eric is slouching in, with Mark trailing behind.] BISCH: Christmas is *dead*, Christmas is *dead*... BRET: Eric, buddy, come on! Don't let that story get to you! Don't you realize, Christmas isn't *about* Santa or Elves or cookies? NASH: Most of Western culture tells you otherwise, but they're lying! BRET: Right! Christmas is about *togetherness*, about enjoying the company of your friends and family! NASH: But in our case, we'll take what we can get! BRET [oblivious]: It's about celebrating peace and love, and all that's good in the human spirit! NASH: And in lieu of that, really cool toys! BRET [still oblivious]: And there's no fanfic that can take that away from us, Eric! Not a one. BISCH [sniffling]: You... you're right! You're absolutely right! What was wrong me? I... I feel so happy now...! OTHERS: MERRY CHRISTMAS, ERIC BISCHOFF!! NASH: And look, it's snowing outside! MARK: And is that... sleigh bells? [The guys go to look out the mysteriously convenient window. Beautiful white snow is pouring down in defiance of all laws of physics. A sleigh flies by, being pulled by a fat toothless guy in a short white T-shirt that exposes his gut, and driven by a blonde young wrestler in a santa cap.] JERICHO: Merry Christmas to all... and to all a Heavyweight Title push! Onward, Ralphus! [Jericho then cracks the whip at Ralphus, who smiles and waves to the camera.] [Titan 13. The Corporation, Stone Cold, Mankind, and Kane are all watching Santa Jericho too, through the Viewscreen.] SHANE: Dad, this has been the best Christmas ever! VINCE: Yes, son... yes it has. Could someone hit the Button? ROCKY: Gotcha, Boss... STONE COLD: Hold it, jackass. *I'll* handle it this time. ROCKY: Why, thanks, Steve... [Stone Cold takes a final swig of beer and then pushes the button.] PWOOSH! STONE COLD: And a Happy God-Damned New Year, too! __________________________________________________________________________ LEGAL STUFF: As usual, all the wrestlers used within are TM & C themselves. The fic in question is property of PJ. No licenses were given or should be implied in the making of this MiSTing, and I certainly won't be making money on this. Please, please don't sue me. NO INSULT is intended or implied towards the author, PJ. This was actually a truly well- written fic, and an obvious parody. Simply look upon my MiSTing as a form of humorous C & C. :) LYNX'S NOTES: I know, I know! I promised a Kefkafic for this time, but I really wanted to get this out in time for the Holidays. But I promise, I'll get to 'Endless Night' next time. I'd like to take this opportunity to give major thanks to my editor/contributor Matt Linkous for his invaluable help in making this MiSTing. I'm not sure I could have made it without him. And of course, I have to thank everyone who's shown their support for MWT. Until next time, all, Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/ Kwanzaa/Et cetera, and a Happy New Year! E-mail me and tell me what you think! Lynxara@hotmail.com Mystery Wrestling Theater 3000 can be found at: Shinji's Vault of Anime MiSTings: http://lefty.simplenet.com/svam/ El Nino's Wrestling Zone: http://www.geocities.com/~silvertooth/El-Nino.html Web Site Number Nine: http://neylonpc.engin.umich.edu/mst3k/mistings.shtml David Pisani's Mystery Wrestling Theater Shrine!: http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Portal/5821/MiSTings.html ___________________________________________________________________________ > The underwear fell onto Santa's nose just >before Gwena crawled onto the desk and sat down on her tight >ass, spreading out her legs to bare her red-bushed pussy at the >sweating fat man.