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 JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre

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In Memory of PD


Posts : 51
Join date : 2008-11-14

PostSubject: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:00 pm

Originally Posted: Sat Dec 02, 2006 9:59 am

I plan to have chapter 1 up tomorrow night. This time's gonna be a little different too. You'll see. I have a few things up my sleeve. For now, here's the promo ad.

if its not flashing right, right click > properties
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In Memory of PD


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Join date : 2008-11-14

PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:09 pm

Originally Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2006 7:12 am


Darkness. In the beginning it is always dark. Noises start filling in from the distance as this broken and beaten man opened his eyes. He saw a trash can on the middle of the parking lot and it was on fire. Then one kid of maybe 17 yells triumphantly, smashing a half pint of 151 into the trash can just to watch it roar.

The old man then heard some chuckling nearby as another boy or roughly the same age had his arm wrapped around a girl as he watched the other boy. They leaned up against a 2002 Escalade.

The old man layed in the alleyway next to a dumpster watching these rich kids play grown-folk not 40 yards away. He pulled a pint of Southern Comfort from his inside jacket pocket and took a sip, returning it to his pocket afterward.

He kind of grunted toward himself and closed his eyes again.

"BURN, MOTHERFUCKER, BURN!!" shouted the dateless boy. Unless she was both of their dates. Never know these days.

It was probably 1:30am on this cold night in early December. This story takes place in West Craven, IL. West Craven is about a half hour east of Shermer.

The old man begins humming quietly to himself trying to drone out the future of America in the hopes of catching a little more shuteye before the smell of commerce turns this sparsely populated alley into a haven for blood thirsty maniacs come day break. He would have to be prepared if he was going to eat.

He hummed until everything became a dull murmer until he drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, he felt an unsettling quiet surrounding him. He opened his eyes to see that the modern Cadillac SUV was still parked in the same place, but the teens weren't there. Smoke slowly smoldered from the trash can that was an inferno of cinders no so long before. After looking about for signs of life, he slowly shuffled onto his feet and made his way over.

The teens were nowhere to be found as he opened the door to the Escalade, climbing in to the passenger side. He started rifling through the console finding loose change and some cds and dvds. He opened the ash tray looking for a snipe, finding half a joint instead. "Well, this will have to do, um-hmm." He said, pushing in the lighter and putting the joint in his mouth.

Not wanting to be caught in the rich man's car, he gathered the discs and the loose change and vacated the vehicle. Something seemed odd to him about the situation, but he was too cold and too poor to stick around to find out.

Something still bothered him about this though. He turned and looked back and saw something just under the escalade. He reluctantly went and picked it up.

It was a fuzzy santa hat. He shrugged and put it on as he returned to his dumpster. As he closed his eyes again, he heard an agonizing scream fill the air. He started humming and chanting "Minding my own business, yes I am" as he stood and hobbled from the place altogether.

Opening credits role.

Chapter 1:

The music fades as we see the Main entrance to the Spielberg Mall. Fusty disables the alarm and unbolts the main doors to allow the gang inside along with the other workers and a few freezing mallrats. It was time to make the doughnuts.

"You're lookin' spiffy in that security uniform, Mr. Fustyruk." said Vegas as he walked through the doors.

"The job's got its perks." Fusty said, shrugging. "It's a chick magnet. It's almost too bad I'm spoken for."

Vegas merely grinned as he proceeded past him. Redbob quickly followed with his uniform on, all neatly pressed and tucked in. He nodded to Fusty, the corndog on his hat shaking a little as he did so. Fusty grinned a little holding a chuckle as he nodded in return. "Morning, Bob."

In a matter of moments, the ghost town of a mall came to life with the sounds of the metal cages being raised at the various stores and the Jay & Silent Bob types making themselves at home in the food court.

Bob returns from the bathroom and finds a fellow employee of the fine dining establishment known as Hot Dog On A Stick. He is pulling out cups and various other things in preparation. Bob greets the man saying "Hi, I'm Bob. I start today."

"I know who you are, sperm bank." The man said to Bob turning around.

Fuckin' Steve.

"Blow me." Steve grunted before Bob could speak. "Now I think fast, and I talk fast, and for the love of Sebastion, I don't always make sense."

"Who's Sebast--" Bob tried.

"Keep up, Noob. Now Shirley, --"

Shirley?" Bob started again.

"Pay attention, Denise. Now I need you here.... ON TIME... from now on. I've already started the fryers, normally that's your job. First day and you're already slippin'. Now take a look at this:"

Bob follows Steves glance down to his hands where he's holding his exposed cock and balls. Bob shrieked and looked away.

"Made ya look." Steve said, lightly smacking him on the face with the same hand. "Now get back to work Sarah Michelle. Oh, one more thing, Buffy. Untuck that damn shirt or people will actually think you're happy with your station in life. Unless you are, in which case just shoot me now." he said walking away.

"This is gonna suck. What would Anakin do?...." Bob said, starting his shift.........
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:09 pm

Originally Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 6:08 pm

Chapter 2

The mall was in full swing now. Stores were opening, the muzak was filtering in through the public address system, and teenagers were looking at high end merchandise so fashionable and expensive that it requires a second mortgage for their fathers just to prevent them from screaming like Veruca Salt.

In the center of the mall, visible from 37% of the mall at large, Santa Claus was settling himself in his big wooden throne, his elves making every effort to be seen and not seen at the same time. scurrying here and there. Over at Hot Dog on a Stick, Steve stared half asleep, completely unfazed by the big bearded set up operation. How could it? It had been like this every day since a week before Halloween. A tap on his shoulder finally brought him out of his trance.

“Look, Steve,” said Bob, shit eating grin stretching from ear to ear, “I made my first hot dog on a stick.” He held aloft a corn dog, stuffing it in Steve’s face as if he was about to knight him.

“Good God, newbie, I can already see that my destiny is to shove one of our respective sets of genitals straight into the deep fat fryer, and while the searing pain would most likely be enough to dull the constant agony I feel at hearing your voice and looking at your face, I’m nevertheless afraid it would at this point be your balls that I turn into hushpuppies so for the love of God, get back to work and leave me the fuck alone!”

The only store that had yet to open was the Sam Goody. A line was forming back to the food court filled with girls looking for the latest Justin Timberlake and guys who thought that buying it for them would get them laid.

“What the hell is taking so long for this place to open?” asked a random girl, crossing her arms impatiently.

An approaching whistling sound signaled the answer to her question. PatDaddy strolled casually toward the door, singing to himself.

“My love for you is ticking clock, Berserker!” he hummed, opening the metal grate and unlocking the store. “Would you like to suck my cock, Berserker!” As he clicked the lights on, he lifted his head and announced to the crowd at large, “I have personally burned every single pop CD in the store, so unless you’re here for real music, get the fuck out.”

The teenagers dispersed, most looking disappointed and haughty. A few of the boys turned back to him, mouthing, “Thank you,” while pretending to comfort their girlfriends. He walked inside the store, turned on some King Diamond, sat down behind the cash register, and promptly zoned out.

Fusty strolled down the second floor, twirling his whistle on a chain like a friendly Irish cop of the 19th century. Passing by “Cuddles to Cobras” pet store, he heard a mild disturbance, and ducked in to investigate.

“No, not again,” cried Goddess. “I’m not selling it.”

“Come on, lady, I need you to do this for me,” he yelled.

“What seems to be the trouble, here?” asked Fusty.

“The bitch won’t sell me a cat!” yelled the irate customer, who Fusty just now noticed was squirming in place as if he had an especially bad case of hemorrhoids.

“There’s no need for profanity, sir,” said Fusty. “This here’s a family shopping center. Now Ms. Goddess, why won’t you sell this man a cat?”

“Because he’s already bought two, and they both died, suffocated because Walt here stuck them up his ass!”

Fusty stared at the man, incredulous, completely in shock. He stopped squirming long enough to look up innocently. “How else am I supposed to get the gerbil out of there?”

Fusty quickly escorted him out of the mall. Once outside, the man called Walt wandered through the parking lot. Squirming uncomfortably due to the scratching of the frightened gerbil stuck up his ass, he made a sort of dance around the side of the mall. Digging his hand up his pants, trying to grab the small rodent, he hopped along until he reached the truck loading dock toward the back. There, he found a stray cat. He bent over.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Back in the mall, Vegas was arguing with Whammon at the ticket counter of the third floor movie Cineplex.

“Will you stop it already? It’s bad for business.”

“Hey, if they really wanted to see these shit movies, I’d let them in. They just have no commitment. Excuse me.” He turned to a teenage couple. “Can I help you?”

“Can we get two tickets to ‘Black Christmas?’” asked the guy, while his girl was kissing him on the cheek.

“Aw, dude, why even bother? Honestly, how retarded are you? It’s a cheap fucking remake. Why don’t you take your money, go to Blockbuster, rent the original, take it home and watch it, and when you realize how shitty it is, you can fuck your girl instead, which you can’t do here in the theatre.”

“Uh, okay,” and the couple left.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” yelled Vegas, brimming with rage.

“I told you, no commitment. Besides, it’s just a shitty remake. We’re an ‘Alice’ and a ‘Last House on the Left’ away from remaking every single horror movie of the 1970s.” Vegas walked away, rather than strangle Whammon on the spot. Wham continued his point, unabated. “And aside from the chicks having bigger tits, nothing changes with these remakes. They’re still just pointless slasher flicks where anscillary characters are killed off early on so we can have five minutes to care about the others before they’re offed, have a gratuitous sex scene or two, then kill all but one person.” Finally through with his diatribe of the moment, he turned to a mother and her small child, who were waiting at the ticket counter while this rant was going on. “And what can I get for you, you little porch monkey?”

Back outside, Walt massaged his backside, while the stray cat ran off into the nearby woods, carrying something brown and furry in its teeth. He was filled with relief at last. As he lit a cigarette, he heard an odd noise, like the tinkle of a small bell.

“What’s that?” he asked to the air.

The jingling got louder, and there appeared to be more of them.


The ringing stopped. Walt shrugged it off as imagination, and continued dragging his ciggy.

“Last time I take a five dollar dare,” he told himself, remembering the gerbil. But that was his last thought. Despite the surprise, he was able to see a set of bauble Christmas bells for a brief moment, attached to the cord that strangled him.
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In Memory of PD


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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:10 pm

Originally Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2006 8:46 pm

Chapter 3

The center section of the mall was by far the busiest one. It wasn’t just because Santa was sitting on his wooden thrown surrounded by elves (and rather ugly ones at that), drawing a seemingly endless line of impatient children hopping up and down and squeezing through others trying to get a glimpse of Santa, joined by their worn-out and exhausted parents examining the nearby stores in search of some item that wasn’t taken in the early-morning rush.

No, Santa and his line of on-lookers was surrounded by various mobile carts selling crap ranging from t-shirts with bumper-stickerish sayings to pins and magnets that no normal human being has ever had an incentive to purchase. The only thing that was selling was the occasional 2007 calendar that they would need in just over a week. Various dazed and tired people were standing about holding out fliers for charities, coupons for nearby stores, and trying to get people to take random surveys. All of this busy activity was accompanied by the sounds of “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” originating from the nearby DJ booth.

In this booth sat a tired Narrator, doing his best to keep his stupid painted-on smile for the kids despite playing the same eleven Christmas songs since he got here this morning. He had an opportunity to do a double-shift and earn some extra cash, and he figured why not, he wasn’t getting laid tonight.

But all the extra work, the crappy music, and the forced smile was starting to get to him. A little girl of seven years came up to the DJ booth and declared in giddy enthusiasm that she was going to ask Santa for a puppy.

“Puppies die,” said the irritated narrator. As the girl ran away crying, he figured this was a sign that he needed to take a break. After all, it has been a full twelve minutes since his last break.

“I need some coffee,” he said to himself. “That will calm my nerves.” He switched CD’s to play “Jingle Bell Rock”, got out of his seat, and took a stroll through the mall.

Meanwhile, Fusty the security guard was strolling through the mall still playing over that incident at pet shop in his head.

“Sheesh”, he said to himself. “What kind of freak shoves gerbils up his ass? Now hamsters on the other hand, that’s more cushion for the pushin’!”

However, his personal reflection was disrupted when he noticed an odd-looking blonde kid wearing sunglasses, a derby hat, and clutching the sides of a trench coat as he was looking suspiciously all around him. This thief was so fucking cliché that it made Fusty want to mace him right there.

“FREEZE, ASSHOLE!” yelled Fusty toward the walking cliché down the hall. The thief looked at him with a moment of shock and took off. Unfortunately for him, the dumbass didn’t make it very far as he tripped over a chair after no more than 3 feet of running for his life. Fusty pulled him up by the shoulders, and was surprised to discover who this punk was.

“FF7?” said Fusty in surprise. He’d recognize this little blonde bitch anywhere.

“How’s your father-in-law? Still dead?” said the little punk who clearly didn’t realize what he was getting himself into.

Fusty decided to teach this punk a little respect. FF7 learned at that moment that nothing clears the sinuses like a nightstick to the bridge of his nose.

“What you got under that trench coat?” questioned Fusty, in a more chipper mood after his little happy swing.

“None of your business” wheezed FF7 through his good nostril.

Fusty ripped off the trench coat to discover several items in his possession. In one bag he had a number of swastikas, Hitler mustaches, and other Nazi memorabilia courtesy of Spencer’s Gifts. In the other bag were two self-help books entitled “Face It, You’re Not Funny” and “Why Mommy Has a Dick”.

However, the most unusual thing in his possession was a little pink dress, which he didn’t even have in a bag, he was wearing the dress with the tag sticking out.

Fusty paused for a moment, taking in the situation with a mixture of confusion and gleeful amusement.

Finally Fusty looked him in the face and said “What’s with all of this?”

“I needed a new one,” said an embarrassed FF7 still using his best poker face to display confidence. “On Fridays the group of sailors that cornhole my mom go into my room later and start feeling around. Last time they ruined my dress, I needed to get a new clean one.”

This could only happen to FF7, which was the reason Fusty found this so utterly amusing. Fusty took the bags of stolen items and grabbed the little fruit cup by the arm.

“C’mon, we’re heading down to security” said Fusty.

“So this is what you do now? Pushing shop-lifters for minimum wage at the mall? You’re father-in-law would turn over in his grave.”

Clearly the punk wasn’t very smart, as Fusty decided to match his eyes with his nose via a can of pepper spray.

“Merry Christmas!” grinned Fusty as he dragged his blind little ass off to Security.

Meanwhile, Narrator approached a nearby coffee cart.

“Good morning!” said Baseballmom, in as chipper a mood as ever. Narrator ignored the fact that it was in afternoon and she has been saying “Good Morning” the first 9 times he went to her cart. Instead he decided to just greet the ladies politely.

“Thanks Baseballmom. Hey Ready.”

Ready didn’t respond until two seconds later, as her gaze was off in the direction of a Hotdog on a Stick across the hall.

“What are you looking at?” asked Narrator, who couldn’t help but notice.

“Redbob and H-Town over at that restaurant.” She said pointing at them, who were clearly engaged in conversation, waving their arms, throwing fists into the air, and even flicking their tongues. Well H-Town was, anyway. Redbob just seemed to sit back with a dull and tired expression on his face.

“Those guys are always talking about something” said Ready. I wonder what they are talking about.”

“My member is 16 inches, Abigail May!” yelled H-Town with an unrealistic sense of pride.

It seems that over time H-Town had started to take a liking to Redbob. Unfortunately, as Redbob discovered, H-Town’s idea of warming up mean ranting about his dick, his over-exaggerated opinions on bands and movies, and telling him jokes and insults he hasn’t heard since he was 11-years-old.

“My old lady LOVES dick! I get poon every night. Can you say the same, Carle Beth? DIDN’T THINK SO! I made my wife SCREAM last night, AND she slept on the wet spot! Plus Rocky Balboa is the dumbest fucking sequel EVER! HANDS DOWN!”

Redbob wished he had a nickel for every Steve ended one of his GENIUS critiques with “hands down”. When he started working here, he did his best to just put up with the bullshit because he knew all jobs suck and he needed the money. But after just a few hours with H-Town, he couldn’t even fake a smile anymore. He just stood there with a dull look that read “Just kill me now.” Luckily for Redbob, the clock told him that he didn’t have to put up with H-Town anymore today.

“Look, I need to head out early today,” said Redbob with relief. “I gotta go wait in line with my cousin so he can ask Santa for a PS3.”

“The fuck you are,” said Steve with unwelcomed surprise. “You’re staying here until I run out of shit for you to do.”

“It’s just a little earlier, and I can’t leave him standing there alone.”

“And you think I’m going to be the one to clean all this shit up? That’s bitch work, that’s where you come in!”

“LOOK,” said Redbob clearly with frustration in his tone, but doing his best not to get fired. “I’m not going to leave him in there, I’m leaving now. Goodbye.”

“Fine, go then. But then you won’t be getting your Christmas present.” Said Steve trying to bribe Redbob to stay and clean up.

“You got me a Christmas present?” said Bob in surprise.

“Fucking right I did, and unless you want it scrapped you better know your place.”

“Let me guess, it’s a lump of coal.” Said Bob, thinking about what Steve would get him.

“FUCK NO! Do you know how much coal costs?! It’s like five bucks a ton! I’m not spending that much on you, you fucking loser.”

“Well what is it then.”

“You like CD’s?” asked Steve. Redbob quickly saw where this was going, as Steve has been saying that stupid joke all day.

“See these nuts in your face!” said Steve. Although he noticed that Redbob had already turned around and started walking away as he said it.

“FINE! I’m sick of looking at your self-sucking ass, anyway! All I need is my job and my dick! That’s all I have and that’s CERTAINLY all I need!”

Redbob strolled down to the main center of the mall in search of his cousin. He couldn’t seem to find him in line, although his attention was focused on how nasty the elves looked. Their hair was wild, their teeth looked disgusting, and they looked like they haven’t bathed in weeks.

“Good-looking midgets are hard to find, I guess” he said to himself.
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:10 pm

Originally Posted: Sun Dec 24, 2006 2:38 am

Chapter 4.

Steve stood angrily frying corndogs with that stupid weeny bouncing around on his hat. ”Fuckin’ Newbie, takin’ off like that, leaving half way through his shift. That boy’s gonna clean the latrine with his fuckin’ tongue, I tell you what. Leaving to go have gay sex with his fuckin’ cousin.His dick won’t be fit for ant holes when I get through with him....”

PatDaddy strolled through the mall carrying a half empty soft drink, making his way back to Goody. He whistled a familiar tune as he strolled. It was Santa Claus is Coming. There were a gaggle of pierced up face painted weirdos collecting dust in front of his store as he returned from his lunch at 4:21 p.m. He looked at all of these kids and busted out: ”You’re gone, you’re gone, you with the mohawk, you’re fuckin’ gone.”

”What??” asked one of the pale shaded youth.

”You heard me. Get you wrist cutting crybaby ass away from my store. I burned the shit you want.”

”You don’t even know wh---”

”Burned it.” PatDaddy cut him off, heading in to the store. ”Let’s see here, I’m in the mood for something festive yet vibrant.” He said to himself, flipping on all of the monitors and turned the stereo to 11.

* * * * * * * * *

”Oh just quit your squirming. You act like I’m taking your soul away.” Exclaimed Gene as he painted Vegas as a superhero with a super enlarged package.

”Hell Gene, you’re the best! We all know this, it’s just that I have work to do. Running this mall for 30 days so we could all hang out together is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.” Vegas said as Gene nodded and scribbled away.

”Juuuuuust... onnnnnne... mooore second..... and here we are!” Gene said as he finished his portrait. Vegas had a long blue cape and a giant head like the poster boy for Mad Magazine. It was quite comical actually.

*Blaring music from just down the corridor*

”That’s great! What do I owe you?”

”Seventy-five bucks, my good man.” Gene replied with a straight face.

”Sevety-five, no shit? Damn, no wonder you’re always smiling when you close up shop.” Vegas said, paying the extremely talented Gene The Spleen.

”Oops! One more thing!” Gene said, taking the painting back. He pulled out a silver paint pen ans scribbled his signature on the bottom right corner. ”There ya go!”

”Thanks Gene. This is going to look great hanging in my office.” Vegas said, becoming angered by the blaring music coming from Sam Goody. ”Uhh, I’d like to stay and chat, but you know...”

”See ya, buddy!” Gene said as Vegas stormed away. Gene already had another customer.

* * * * * * * *

Vegas stormed in right as the music was reaching its end, bringing it to a grinding halt as PD and crew were caught in mid mosh. It made a horrible noise as vegas jammed buttons until it quit.”HEEEEEEEY, WHAT-A-YA TRYIN’ TO DO! YOU’LL RUIN MY DVD, MAN! I JUST BOUGHT IT!




”.....Uhh, this conversation just went somewhere it shouldn’t.” PD returned to a frazzled Vegas.

”You know what I mean!”

”I hope so...” PD said.

”Now, damn it Pat Daddy! How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not the heavy metal Randall. You don’t get to set your own hours and kick out the emo kids.”

”Ah, man! The’re music is 3-chord bullshit!”

”I don’t care! You sell it!” Vegas said, now making his exit.

Pat stood shaking a little as he shrugged it off. ”What are you looking at, butt head? I rule.” PD said, selling a Jay-Z cd to this white kid that looked like he had a load in his diapers.

* * * * * *

Meanwhile down at B. Dalton Books Sassenach was opening her third box of Martha Stewart’s new book “How I Fucked The IRS”. Sass turned to Coops who was on the lap top humping his vampire. “I can’t believe so many of these books are selling.”

”Well, I talked a few into getting some Hunter S. instead. It was Fear and Loathing, but still. Any Hunter is good hunter.” Coops said, gloating to himself.

It was then that their attention was directed just out into the lobby as this small child sobbed quietly. Sass dropped everything and went to the little girl. ”Are you lost? Where’s your mommy”

”My mom-ma (sniff/choke)--”

”Here, let’s get you inside and wipe your tears away. Sass said, walking her into the store by her little hand. She sat the girl on the counter as Coops fetched some tissues from behind the counter. ”There now. Blow! ...Ok, now where’s your mommy?”

”My momma was s’posed to take me see Santa.”

”OK, that’s probably where she is.” Sass said, looking out into the lobby. At this time, one of Santa’s elves was walking by. Sass called to him, and he turned. He smiled huge when he saw the sad little girl and went into the store. “This little girl has lost her mommy. Can you take her to see Santa? She’s prolly there and frantic.”

The elf smiled and bowed to them. ”Sweet heart, would you like to go see Santa?” He said in this almost synthesized but soothing voice. They little girl smiled and off they went.

”God, those midgets are ugly.” Sass said after they were gone. ”They really go all out with the costume though.”

”Steve had unprotected relations with them.” Coops said matter of factly, his nose buried in the laptop again.

* * * * *

The electronic door of the handicapped entrance whined as they slid open, hefting a huge blast of arctic like air into the mall as the small cart carrying a bitter old prune through the archway. He drove into the mall, entrance closing behind him as he not only failed to avoid people but appeared to be gunning for the people in his way The battery operated Rascal hummed as he had it maxed out, cruising at a speed of 1. He drove up to and in the security station where fusty was napping. The old man began flailing his arm in the direction of fusty’d head, missing him altogether. Finally Fusty is struck by the past. He woke up rubbing his head.

”Boy, I should have never let you out that celler.” he said, whacking him with a rubber mallet.

”Grampa! Who let you out of Shadey Brooke?”

”Dag-nabbit!, Just never you mind, boy. RESPECT! In my day we knew respect! Albeit I had to be tied to the business end of a Model T a few dozen times naked for what dad called the sunday drive, BUT I LEARNED IT, BOY! You kids with yer baseball cards and yer matchbox racers.....”

”Grandpa, you’re rambling!”

”SPOILED BRAT!” Grandpa shrieked, striking Fusty again with his rubber mallet.......

* * * * * * * *


“I’m telling you, man. You don’t want to see Black Christmas. Just go home, put on some Gremlins, smoke a fat bong, yo, and call it a day.”

”Yeah, that’s not gonna work, Wham. I am so seeing this movie. I saw the previews, and this fucker looks mad wicked. Plus its got Buffy’s little sister in it, if you know what I’m saying.”

”So? It’s not like you’re gonna see that flat chested bitch do anything. Get real! This is corporate regurgitated garbage! And IN SPITE of it beng a highly billed horror flick, they’re not going want to actually offend anyone with a topless 95 pound reject from the Dawson’s Creek auditions. GO TO HELL, PACEY!” Wham shouted at Pat Daddy.

”I’m still seeing it. Remake, shmemake. One please.”

Fuckin’ burnout.” Wham sulked in defeat.

The whole mall was lit with yuletide cheer as Narrator signed off.
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:11 pm

Originally Posted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 11:06 pm

Chapter 5:

Narrator returned from his coffee break a few minutes earlier than he had planned. He sipped his expensive Starbucks double tall mocha frappe cinnamon Al Pacino for a moment or two, relieved that he had temporary peace, before noticing a small slip of paper on his desk. He picked it up, scanned it, and heaved a deep sigh.

As the most recent song finished, he went back on the air. “We have a special Christmas request on mall radio coming at you. This one goes out to Bob from Steve, who writes: Dear Sally Jesse. Get your significantly widened by Wham’s cock ass back to your post immediately or I’ll give you AIDS and rape your mother in front of you. I don’t care if Santa molests your cousin while Pat whacks off. Whatever I say goes, newbie. Now get back here and fry up these delicious hot dogs on sticks. That’s Hot Dog on a Stick. It’s like a hot dog, but on a stick.”

Narrator finished the dedication and turned on the next song.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”

Narrator leaned his head on his fist in boredom. “It’s looked like Christmas since about mid-April.” He then picked up his phone and dialed.

“What up cockstain?”

“Are you happy, Steve? I put out your stupid request. Children are crying all over the mall, and any chance Wham had of getting a chick in the next year has been dashed.”

“That about covers it. Later, bitch.”

Upstairs at the theatre, Whammon was busy trying to change the name on his badge as a small child and her father approached.

“We’d like two tickets to ‘Charlotte’s Web,’ please,” the father asked.

Wham hung his head in shame. “Dude, seriously?”

The father implored. “Come on, man. It’s for my little girl. It’s all she’s talked about for weeks. I know it’s gonna suck, don’t make it any worse for me.”

“Fine,” said Wham, unable to resist a small child’s smile. He printed up the tickets, and handed one to the father, the other to the girl. “Here you go, you little porch monkey. And just remember, five years from now when Dakota Fanning is sucking daddy’s cock for crack money, think back on this moment and remember the sacrifices he made for your happiness.”

Vegas was strolling through the mall, enjoying the smell of commerce, when Fusty and Grandpa approached.

“Well, what have we here?” asked Vegas, with a falsely sweet accusatory tone. “Surely my head of security isn’t abandoning his post?”

“No sir, just letting grandpa tag along as I do my rounds, sort of a mini tour.”

“Boy, did I ever tell you about the time I cornholed a moose while listening to hits from the 70’s?”

“Yes, Grandpa, you told me about last weekend over the phone yesterday, now let’s keep moving."

Over at Bethany Sloane & Co. department store, LakeRat was looking forlorn. Goddess came up to her from just outside the store.

“Why so glum?”

“I once had a beautiful singing voice,” she replied, in a Sunset Boulevard tone of melodrama. “I could have had a record contract. I could have been a star. Instead I’m here, selling fucking perfume to idiot teenagers who think Britney Spears actually has a hand in fragrance evolution.”

“So just the normal stuff then, right?”

“Pretty much.”

A young couple walked into the store, looking about, not really paying attention to anything. LakeRat pulled a random bottle from a glass case, and sprayed directly into the woman’s eye.

“AAAAAHHHHHH! What the fuck?!” She screamed.

LakeRat held the bottle in her hand, showing it off like a Barker Beauty. “Skanque, by Lindsay Lohan. That’ll be eight fifty.”

“My eyes!”

“Why are you charging us when you just assaulted my girlfriend?” the man asked, more than annoyed.

“This stuff ain’t cheap. It’s $75 an ounce. Samples ain’t free these days.”

“We didn’t ask for any fucking sample,” the girl yelled, running out of the store. Her boyfriend made to follow her, but LakeRat grabbed his arm.

“I can have you arrested for shoplifting, you know. So how about that eight fifty?”

The young woman ran up the hallway of the mall, sprinting for the ladies’ restroom in the food court, cause for some reason, in gigantic malls, the only bathrooms are in the food court. As she passed Hot Dog on a Stick, Bob returned. He glared at Steve, rage in his eyes.

“Just what the hell was that about?” he screamed. “My cousin was so confused by what you said that he actually asked Santa to give me AIDS for Christmas.”

“Get this through your skull, Shaquanda, you’re my bitch. You do what I say, and whenever I’m in the room, you’re definitely not allowed to talk. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, dropping his pants, “I need to make more secret sauce.”

Back at the department store, the boyfriend was putting his wallet away.

“Did you see where she ran to?” he asked in vain.

“Like I give a shit,” LakeRat replied. The boyfriend dashed off in a random direction.

“Why do you do that?” asked Goddess.

“Cause one, getting to mace these foo-foo kids is one of the few joys I have in life. And two, that eight fifty will pay for my lunch. Later.”

In the ladies’ rest room, the girlfriend was washing her eyes out at a sink. Finally able to open them without feeling searing pain, she looked in the mirror. Seeing the beet red her eyes had turned, she muttered, “Fucking bitch. I’ll sue her.” She heard a stall door bang behind her, but couldn’t see anyone.


Her next thought was mingled fury and terror as she struggled against the plastic garbage bag that had just been pulled over her head and body. Her muffled screams could barely be heard over Narrator’s music as she was carried out of the bathroom, struggling for freedom.
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In Memory of PD


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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:11 pm

Originally Posted: Tue Jan 02, 2007 2:56 pm

Chapter 6

Outside the mall, a car screeched its way through the parking lot and out to the back. Treesa searched frantically through her snow-covered windows in an effort to spot what she was looking for. As she made the left turn to the back behind the mall, what she was seeking was right in plain site. The mechanic’s garage she was searching for was so easy to spot it was as if it was sending her signals. Smoke signals to be exact, as smoke was pouring its way out of the garage and into the cold air.

Treesa pulled her car into the garage and into the thick cloud that billowed from it. She opened her door to the strong smell of weed and various garage odors. It smelled like Patdaddy spilled a can of motor oil. Her eyes managed to see figures through the cloud, and after a few minutes they were focused enough to make out a friendly face.

“Hey, Outlaw,” said Treesa. “Something’s wrong with my tires. They’ve been making this awful screeching noise.”

Outlaw didn’t answer for a few seconds, as he was still holding it in. Finally after exhaling, he gave Treesa his undivided attention.

“Have you checked your brakes, lately?” asked Outlaw.

“Honey, I’m from New Jersey. I can’t even pump my own gas.”

Most mechanics would jump for joy at the sound of those words. Nothing says “ka-ching” quite like that. But Treesa was a friend, and he wouldn’t rip off a friend like that. Plus he was stoned out of his mind, and failed to realize what he could do in this situation.

“Alright,” said Outlaw. “Come back in two hours and tell you what’s wrong.”

“Two hours? What am I going to do for two hours?”

“You’re in a frickin’ mall. Find something to do.”

Treesa shrugged her shoulders and paced away through the thick smoke and toward the door into the mall. She had shopping to do, anyway. Outlaw slowly got out of his seat and looked around for his tools. Realizing they were nowhere to be found, he called out to his assistant, Ted. Ted was even more stoned than he was, and probably shouldn’t be in a place with lots of power tools. Outlaw couldn’t make see him through the smoke, but he knew he was there.

“Ted!” yelled Outlaw. “Go into the back and get the tools.”

“Okay, Felon.”

“It’s Outlaw, retard.”

“Sorry, Gangster.”

“Just get the fucking tools.”

Ted walked toward the back of the garage and toward the shelves. After some searching, he found the toolbox he was looking for. Just as he turned around, he could’ve sworn he saw someone move past him. But with all this smoke, he couldn’t see anything. He then walked to give Outlaw the tools, but couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. As he was walking, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure run in the opposite direction and then disappear into the smoke.

“Dude, someone’s watching me, Fugitive!” he yelled in some hope that Outlaw would come to his rescue.

“My name’s Outlaw, you unfortunate result of your dad’s poor aim. Stop smoking this shit, it’s making you paranoid. Now get over here and give me the goddamn tools!”

Ted slowly walked toward the sound of Outlaw’s voice, trying to tell himself he only imagined what he saw. Outlaw was already under the car by the time Ted got close enough to see him. It would be the last thing he would ever see. For as he laid the toolbox beside Outlaw’s legs, a large candy cane materialized through the smoke and grabbed him by the neck. The candy cane pulled Ted by the throat back into the all-consuming smoke and out of sight. Outlaw could hear the choking gargles coming from Ted, but when he got out from under the car to look, he couldn’t see a trace of him, only hearing his muffled choking sounds.

“Seriously dude,” he said. “You’ve had too much of this shit. I don’t need to hear you coughing like that while I’m trying to work.” Ted’s coughing soon stopped after that, and all that Outlaw could hear was silence. “That’s better,” he said as he went back to work.

Meanwhile, after much shopping, Treesa decided to take a breather in the food court and get back some energy. She headed over to Ready and BBmom’s coffee cart for a jolt.

“Good morning!” said BBmom, looking even more chipper than before. She was actually shaking violently, looking like she was going to burst. Treesa looked over and Ready was shaking, too.

“Are you okay?” asked Treesa.

“Yeah, we’re okay,“ said Ready. “We’ve just had a little too much coffee.”

“We’re taking a sip of coffee every time Steve talks about his 16-inch member,” said BBmom, ending her sentence with another really big smile.

“I think you two have had enough,” said Treesa attempting to persuade them.

“YOU’RE NO FUN!” yelled BBmom. She just stared at Treesa for what seemed like a good 15 seconds, before finally giving her another really big smile, and turning her attention back toward the Hot Dog on a Stick.

“I’m gonna sue that cell phone-driving cunt back to the Stone Age!” yelled H-Town loud enough for the whole food court to hear. “But until that day comes, I still work here, which means I still get to treat you like the little bitch you are.”

“And I’m still going back to wait in line!” yelled Redbob. “So until this big pay day comes, you can keep doing this shit.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking back to me, Mary Ann? One more word out of you and it’ll be muffled by my 16-inch member down your throat!”

“Jesus Christ, your dick isn’t that big, you deluded fuck!”

“Seen enough in your day, have ya, you pickle-kisser? I DO have a 16-inch member, ask Spleen, ask Vegas. EVERYBODY knows about my 16-inch manhood, just listen to those two old bitches cheer about it every time I bring it up. Look at them, they’re shaking!”

Meanwhile, Gene the Spleen was tending to his long line of customers eager to have some of his artwork. A young woman was next in line, all eager to have a beautiful portrait of her drawn. Normally, Gene would draw the picture, and then hit them with the high price once they were hooked. But this one was pretty good-looking, so he decided to give her the price up front.

“Want your portrait taken?” he asked her. “It’s seventy five dollars.”

“Are you shitting me?” said the woman.

“Hey, this is quality stuff. If you want a quality portrait, you pay up. If you want a cheap one with your head all goofy and nine times as big as your body, go to some other loser.”

“Well I’m not spending that much on a portrait,” said the young woman. Her attention than shifted to something else Gene had on display, something no woman can resist. Jewelry.

“Excuse me, how much do those medals cost?” she said, pointing at a collection of medals showing various images, most of them a tad dark, but damn impressive.

“Oh, those?” said Gene. “They’re not for sale. You have to EARN those medals.”

“Earn them?” said the woman, surprised, but a tad intrigued by the idea. She pointed at one in the shape of a red tear drop. “What about that one?”

“You have to drink 150,000 liters of blood to get that one.”

“Oh sick! What about that one?” she said pointing at a bat.

“Not unless you’ve been in 1,000 fights.”

“Well, kinda.”

“Arguments don’t count.”

At that moment, JBcoops walked by and waved to Gene.

“Hey, Gene.”

“Hey Giggler.”

“Wait a minute!” said the young woman. “How come HE gets all those medals and I don’t?”

“Look, did YOU kill 1,000 werewolves? I don’t think so.”

At that moment, JB walked over to her and gave her the special Giggler medal.

“What did you do that for?” asked the Spleen.

“Trust me, bro. She earned it.” Coops replied with a wink.

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In Memory of PD


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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:12 pm

Originally Posted: Sat Jan 27, 2007 5:12 am

Chapter 7:

December 24. 2:00 p.m.

The mall was packed with last minute shoppers scurrying like rats to find that not-necessarily-perfect gift for the not-so-special people in their lives. The line to see Santa was backed up all the way to Buy Me Toys. Bob and Steve had gathered quite a crowd as they had developed some Tom Cruise wannabe Coctail shit, all battering the dogs and throwing them behind the back to the other, all while juggling sodas and napkins and pulling fresh corndogs out of the fryer.

”Come on, Betsie, push it!!” Steve yelled at Bob who was struggling to keep up.

”Damn it, Jack-ass! My name is BOB! B-O-B!”


”Frankly, Steve, I don’t give a damn! I don’t know this gay Cabaret shit you got me doing!”

They continued to bicker as the 300 pound baby’s mommas drooled over the performance. Over at the coffee stand, Sass and Lakerat had arrived in dire need of coffee.

”What’s with Steve and Bob?” Lakerat asked Ready and Mom, who were totally geezed on coffee as usual.

”I don’t know, but there’s never a dull moment with those two.” Mom said, smiling.

”....What the hell are those two up to now?” Narrator asked, purchasing his usual 2 o’clock double mocha latte.

”What you see is what you get.” Ready replied to him, sipping her coffee.

”Well I gotta get back to the booth. It’s gonna take me 10 minutes to wade through the crowd. It’s worse than trying to squeeze through the crowd returning to the front row of a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert with the beer your girlfriend just had to have. Freakin’ packed.”

”When did you get a girlfriend?” mom asked but he was gone.

”OHHHHH!!” the crowd moaned as Bob dropped a fresh battered corndog. For that moment, silence.

Steve then smacked Bob on the back of the head. ”Damn it, newbie! I coulda been a contendor!”

”Oh, blow it out your ass, Steve.” Bob said rolling his eyes.

Steve stood silent for a moment, then tackled bob into the slushee machine, holding his head under, then bringing him up from the freezing red slush. ”Who’s yer daddy, newbie! Say uncle, Bitch!” Steve dunked a flailing Bob back into the slush again. There was red slushie ice spilling all over the floor. ”WHO’S, YER DADDY, BITCH!”

Bob flailed helplessly under the agression of Steve’s power play, tip toes dragging the floor with each dunk. Bob tried to resist but couldn’t.fight aainst Steve’s tall lankiness. Bob managed to grab the deep fry basket, yanking it out of the hot grease, smacking Steve in the arm with it. Steve dropped Bob and slipped in the slush. Bob then lorded over a burnt and bewildered Steve and started yelling: ”DON’T YOU EVER FUCKIN’ DO THAT TO ME AGAI----”

Steve grabbed Bob by the nuts bringing him crashing down to the floor where they both gasped with fatigue. ”You done, Lucy?” Steve said, panting.

”Me?! It was YOU----”

”Let’s not split hairs here, newbie. You fucked up and you’re sorry. Apology accepted.”

”THAT’S NOT-----”

”Shh-shh-shhh. Let’s not ruin the moment.” Steve said, shushing Bob with his finger on Bob’s mouth. Bob sat there puzzled for a moment. ”....Can you smell that, Clarise?” Steve asked, relishing the moment. ”That finger was just IN MY ASS CRACK!! Swish! I win!” Steve announced, scrambling to his feet. "THANK YOU, EVERYBODY! NEXT SHOW AT 5 O’CLOCK, HOUSTON TIME.” Nevermind the fact we’re in Illinois.

Treesa was now sanding at the coffee stand as Outlaw approached. “Hey T, your car is ready to go.”


Narrator sat in his little booth after swimming the sea of idiocy. He looked out the glass as Santa was just coming off break Narrator squinted as Santa came out of the back. For a brief second, Narrator saw what looked like dozens of elves. He wiped his eyes and looked again only seeing 5 or 6. He shrugged and took another sip off of his coffee. ”This job will be the death of me.” he said to himself, sighing with boredom. He had several songs set on a loop so he didn’t have to speak anymore than he had to. He rested his head on his hand, closing his eyes for just a second. Next thing he knew, his head slipped off his hand crashing into the desk. He heard loud screams as he looked up to see hundreds of elves violently herding the children and their parents like cattle. The emergency lights began flashing and all of the exits simultaneously sealed shut as Narrator stood up, grabbing the microphone.

The whole gang looked around in shock as a sea of people came screaming down the corridor followed by hundreds of the green midget like creatures that screeched and squeeled as they tore the flesh from those too slow to flee.

”WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN’ ON!” Outlaw shouted as they fled towards Sam Goody which was just around the corner. Steve and Bob scaled the counter and tried to follow but we’re derailed into Exotic Pets along with Coops, Grandpa, and Fusty. Vegas came running down the corridor, desperately trying to escape the blood thirsty creatures that were on his heels. Steve and Fusty grabbed him as he was running by, dragging him in to the pet store where Goddess was already shutting the gate.

And in an instant, the mall plummeted into darkness.....

Outlaw, Mom, Ready, Lakerat, Sass and Treesa were all crammed into the store room of Sam Goody, listening to the screams of all the shoppers that weren’t able to escape. The store room reaked of pot. ”So, What’s going on now?” PD asked through the smoke.


Steve sat on an empty dog carrier, still catching his breath. He lights up a cigarette.

”You can’t smoke that in here.” Goddess informed him.

”Oh yeah? What am I doing now?” Steve said, taking a big drag and blowing it in her face.

Goddess tore over towards him ready to whoop his ass but Vegas stopped her. ”We’ve got bigger problems!”

”What the hell is going on here?!” Bob demanded.

”All I know is all hell broke loose, so I got the fuck out of dodge.” Steve said

”I wonder if everybody else made it.” Fusty asked.

”Sounded like Narrator burnt up like a pack of Luckies, a-la Johnny Crunch.” Steve said.

”Who?” Bob asked.

”Hit pay dirt with K-DRT.” Steve said.


”You really need to see better movies than Hobbit porn.” Steve said.

”THEY’RE NOT GAY!” Bob yelled.

”That’s enough, you two.” Vegas said finally. ”I hope the others are ok.”
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In Memory of PD


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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:12 pm

Originally Posted: Wed Feb 14, 2007 4:24 am

ch 8

Darkness surrounded Gene the Spleen as he crawled along the tiled mall floors. This was no small task, mind you. He had to remain silent, even though he felt like screaming every time he touched a bench or a plant, thinking the inanimate object he couldn’t see would be his demise. Every few feet his hands would feel the sticky grime of a puddle of congealed blood. He half panted, half cried silently as he plugged along as best he could. After what seemed like hours, he stopped, having reached a body. He could not tell in the darkness who it was, or if it was alive at all. He tentatively placed his hand on what he felt was a pair of denim blue jeans, and gave a start that nearly put his already palpitating heart out of commission.

“Uh, Gene, I’m flattered, but I don’t think this is the best time for a reach-around,” whispered Whammon, who Gene could now see was leaning against the inside of the ticket counter.

“What’s going on, here?” asked Gene, trying to calm his ticker.

“Beats the hell out of me, and not in the fun way like those S&M hookers Pat likes so much.” Even in the darkness, Wham could see that Gene had the trademark what-the-fuck-does-that-have-to-do-with-anything stare that was usually reserved for Steve. Wham dropped the charade. “All I know is that about a half hour ago, the lights went out, the alarm went off, a bunch of people started screaming, and I, being smart, got the fuck out of sight.”

“What do you think is gonna happen?”

“We’re probably gonna die, which sucks because I won’t get to die the way I’d always hoped: mid-coitus, so I can cum and go at the same time.”

Gene gave him the Steve Stare again.

“Don’t look at me like that. I tell jokes as a defense mechanism. It helps me cope with our impending fate.” He sighed. “I wish I had my magic remote again. That was cool. I could change the channels, or better yet, find some reinforcements.”

“Um, dude, that was in a story you wrote a year ago. Stuff from the stories doesn’t come back. That would be just, well, retarded.”

Wham merely shrugged.

“How about we go look for the others?” suggested Gene, partly to be helpful, partly from the desire to not die, especially with Wham as his only deathbed companion.

“Find who?” asked Wham. “If our friends were smart, they’d be long gone by now.”


“I’m telling you, right here, right now, fifty bucks says Anna Nicole Smith is dead before Valentine’s Day,” said Steve.

“We’re trying to make sure that we’re not dead before Christmas Day you braindead fuck!” exclaimed Bob.

“Listen here, Victoria, if you’re not a gambling man, that’s fine. But at least be a man. Grow some fucking stones, Geri.”

“Victoria? Geri?” pondered Goddess out loud.

“I’m in Spice Girl mode,” Steve answered. “I’m that bored right now.”

“Well, if you want some activity and excitement, you’re more than welcome to go out there and deal with those…things,” said Fusty, rather sternly at that.

“Fuck you, dude,” said Steve. There was really nothing more that needed to be said at that point.

“Can I say something?” asked Coops, breaking the awkward silence.

“Free country,” said Steve, dismissively.

“This ain’t no free country,” interjected Grandpa. “Why I remember back in nineteen dickety two, that’s what we called twenty, anyway back in nineteen dickety two, I learned as a young Grandpa that nothing’s free. Sodey ain’t free. Two ain’t free, neither is four, chewing gum flavored tobaccy ain’t free, freedom ain’t free, and freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose….” Grandpa then began snoring.

“Anywhoo…” continued Coops. “We have to figure out some way of getting out of here. This mindless bickering back and forth isn’t going to solve anything. If we keep this up, the only screams we’ll be hearing are our own, as we’re picked off one by one like some stupid b-slasher movie. We’ve got to work together people.”

“Spoken like a true educator and leader,” said Bob, momentarily filled with renewed hope, until…

“Yeah, teacher, so use your fancy, shmancy, while I call Bob ‘Nancy’ brain of yours to figure something out,” said Steve, making Bob wish instead, for a slightly faster death for them all, save one.


The store room in the Sam Goody store was a bit cramped, but all things considered, the small collective was able to maintain some modicum of comfort. After they had all calmed down a touch, Treesa pressed her ear to the door, listening for any signs of life, even if it meant the lives currently causing death, if that makes any sense.

“It doesn’t,” said Pat to no one in particular. The others stared at him for a moment, wondering if there was something a touch illegal about the substance he was smoking. He decided to break the silence that was more awkward than the fat guy who had crashed into a ladies’ dressing room earlier in the day.

“I got fifty bucks that says Anna Nicole Smith is dead by Valentine’s Day. Who’s in?”

Mom raised herself to her feet, and started passing out packets and cups. “Here, guys, take these, and go get some hot water from the sink in the bathroom. We’re going to need as much energy as possible if we’re going to make it through this, and I don’t think it’s a good idea if we all go to sleep, either. So, best to have some coffee, it’ll soothe our nerves a little bit."

Sass and Ready were the first to fill, and drain their cups. Outlaw decided to nurse his for a while, but over the course of the next half hour, it started to get cold, so rather than drink cold coffee, he downed it in one. With a grimace on his face, he went to refill, muttering something about how this would have never happened if he had just taken that left turn at Albuquerque.

Treesa filled her mug, and one for Pat as well, who took it with thanks, and threw his blunt into it by mistake.

“You idiot, it’s not an ashtray. You were supposed to drink that,” groaned Treesa.

“See, this is why you haven’t made your movie, yet,” said LakeRat. “You’re such a burnout.”

“Hey now, I resent that. Weed has not hindered me in any way. Hell, it’s even given me, and other great artists, their best inspiration. Look at Dave Matthews. He smokes more blunts than a little bit, and it inspires him to write songs that appeal to college aged stoners like myself who like to think we have a clue about Woodstock.”

“It also inspired him to dump fecal matter off a bridge onto a boat,” said Outlaw.

“Yeah, that was funny as shit,” said Pat, giggling.

“No, it was funny AND shit,” said Outlaw, grinning back. The two continued to laugh like Beavis and Butthead for the next several minutes.


Back in the theatre, Wham and Gene remained huddled together, attempting to devise a plan to escape the third floor multiplex before it became their tomb.

“But how will we see?” asked Gene. “It’s so dark out there.”

“Don’t worry. I have excellent night vision,” said Wham, with uncharacteristic confidence. “I’ve worked a lot of jobs that had night hours, even had to commute home by bicycle in the dead of night. Just stick by…”

The lights in the theatre came back on. Wham began to rise, but Gene pulled him back down.

“Are you insane,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “It could be a trap.”

“It’d be a pretty stupid trap.”

“Excuse me,” came a young girl’s voice. “I’d like two tickets to see ‘Dreamgirls’ please.”

Wham couldn’t help himself. He rose to meet the customer, sarcasm coursing through his veins. “Oh, of all the crap. You would honestly pay to see this self-aggrandizing piece of Oscar-fishing tripe about, but somehow for legal purposes not about, Diana Ross with shit music that sounds nothing like Moto-AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!”

Wham was face to face, to face, with the most horrific sight his young eyes had ever seen. It was an elf, but it wasn’t an elf. It was ugly beyond words. The evil grin on its face was a mixture of delight and malice. In its hand, the face of a girl no older than ten years, the back of her head hollowed out like some ungodly sock puppet.

“Hee hee, gotcha,” said the elf, still in the girlish voice. Thankfully, that bit of pint sized gloating was the chance Wham needed. He hurled himself over the counter and knocked the elf to the ground. He pulled Gene out, and they began to run for it. The elf gave chase, keeping pace with the pair, who were slightly hobbled by restless legs. See your doctor today. Side effects may include a slight tingly feeling, and death at the hands of an evil elf.

As they ran, they saw that the whole third floor was lit again, but nothing below it save two stores. If they could just get some separation and make it to the second floor, they might have a chance. Wham’s night vision could guide them the rest of the way. Then, they saw it. A small dog was skipping happily along the floor, without a care in the world, singing to itself.

“Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff. I’m a happy ruff pup. Gonna take the copyruffs, all the way back to Z-ruff.” Wham gunned for Davis McPuddles, scooped him up, and hurled him like a football back toward the elf, knocking it over. Gene and Wham ran for it as the elf looked at the Ruffster with hunger in his eyes.

“Ruff, first AllWhite’s spooge, now this. Life sure is ruff!”

Down on the second floor, in the darkness, Wham thought he heard the distant yelp of a newly deceased dog. He put it out of his mind, and pulled Gene close to him.

“Stay with me. We’ll sidle along these walls. I see some light in the Sam Goody store downstairs.”

“You think some of the others might still be alive?”

“Possibly. We won’t know until we get down there,” said Wham, and with a smirk, added, “Nothing from the other stories ever comes back, eh?”

“Is it just me,” said Gene, “or is this turning into some fucked up war movie survival storyline?”

“Nah, that would require one of us to die, and forgive me, but I don’t plan on letting that happen.”

They crept along, reaching the ground floor within fifteen minutes. Wham kept his eyes peeled for movement. Every time something caught his glance, he put his arm across Gene, willing them to almost blend into the wall. After a moment or two, when he thought that whatever might have moved was away, they’d press on.

The Sam Goody was within sight, only a few more feet, but Wham stopped short. There, in front of the door, was the elf who had been chasing them. Staying in the darkness, Wham stared at him, at least, what he assumed was a him. For all Wham knew, they were androgynous, but that was a discussion for another time. The fortune, meanwhile, was that the elf didn’t seem to be able to see them, even though they were less than twenty feet away.

Wham gave Gene a silent signal, and they crept along the wall, sidling ever so slightly, whenever the elf looked in a direction other than their own. As the pair came close to the arc of light at the Sam Goody, Wham took a risky step, knowing before he saw the cause of the sound that the elf would notice them now. He chanced a look down, and saw his foot step on a small skull, shaped like a dog’s, with most of the fur gone.

The elf looked at the two of them, grinning broadly. He then opened his mouth to scream. In a voice much more raspy and masculine than the small girl he had impersonated, although still high pitched, he yelled, “Two more…”

But two more what, no one ever heard. Gene rushed forward, grabbed the elf, and snapped its neck CIA style. Wham had little time to be impressed. They scooped up the elfin corpse, and made a mad dash for the back store room of the record store. Once at the door, they pounded furiously, screaming at those inside to let them in.

“What’s the password?” said Pat.

“Fuck you and your password, Pat!” screamed Wham. “We’re trying not to fucking die here. Let us in.”

".......That's not the password."

Treesa opened the door, although with some difficulty, as it appeared to Wham and Gene that some in the room had tried to stop her. They scurried inside and Treesa closed and relocked the door. Once inside, Gene threw the body onto the floor. No one could suppress at least some noise of fear and disgust.

“What the hell is that?” asked Outlaw.

“What we’re up against,” said Gene. “God only knows how many of them there are.”

“Yeah, I’m sure God had a hand in this one, huh?” said Wham, who couldn’t contain his snarkiness any longer.

“Oh yeah, then what, pray tell, did this thing evolve from, science boy,” said Gene.

“Enough, you two” said Mom, coming between them, arms unnecessarily outstretched. “The more important question is why you brought it here.”

“It tried to call out to its buddies that we were here,” said Gene. “We couldn’t just leave the body there for the others to find. It’d lead them straight to us.”

“Plus, as Gene demonstrated, they can be killed,” said Wham. “Their bodies are just as frail as ours. This means we have a chance to survive.”

“So what do we do now?” asked LakeRat.

“Can we make a bong out of its head?” asked Pat, hopefully.
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:13 pm

Originally Posted: Tue Mar 20, 2007 2:35 pm

Chapter 9

Tension started to build amongst the James Gang holding up in the Sam Goody. It wasn’t just the fear of being discovered by a bunch of evil elves, but now there was a dead one hiding with them. These nasty little things smelled terrible enough when they were alive, they were even worse dead.

“Can someone please get this thing away from me?” said a frustrated Lake Rat.

“We need to study it some more,” replied Outlaw.

“What studying?” said Sass. “We’ve just been looking at this corpse lying on the ground for the past 15 minutes. What have we learned, that they shit their pants when they die?”

“Well what the hell do you want me to do?” said Wham. “We can’t throw it back outside, or its buddies are gonna see it and know where we are.”

“Um, I have a suggestion,” interjected Patdaddy.

“For the last time, no you cannot make a bong out of its head!” yelled Lake Rat with clear signs of pent up frustration.

“You jump to conclusions,” said Patdaddy, “I was going to ask if we could just make some pipes out if its ears. They’re pretty long, and I think they’ll do fine once the flesh dries up.

The gang all looked at him with a mixture of startlement and confusion.

“Boy, you really are a morbid fuck,” said Outlaw after a brief period of silence.

At this point, Ready decided to display her leadership skills, what with being the Queen and all.

“I think we can all agree that this corpse isn’t helping our situation,” she stated in calming and persuasive tone, “We’ll just move it to the back of the store and try to calm down. We need to remain calm, keep our heads on straight, and try to think of a solution.”

“You really are the Queen,” said Treesa.

“Quit being a kiss-ass,” replied Ready.

“OK then. Wham, go dump this thing somewhere.”

“Why do I gotta dump it?”

“You brought it in here, you deal with it.”

“Fuck that, you get rid of it.”

“Well I’m not touching it!”

“I’LL take care of it!” exclaimed Gene, in an attempt to keep the peace.

Gene grabbed the elf by its little green neck (which was broken courtesy of the last time he grabbed it) and dragged his limp little ass around to find a suitable dumping spot. He looked around the storage room, unable to find an appropriate place to dump it. He glanced and saw a crate of American Idol CD’s, still in huge piles as its fans only watch the show and never by the actual music. Gene then buried the elfish corpse in the crate, figuring it to be the perfect place for something that stinks so badly.

“So I said to her ‘Read it? I already ruined it!’” said Steve.

“Gross,” replied Goddess.

Back at the pet shop, the rest of the James Gang was still contemplating the situation, except for Grandpa, who was muttering something about the time he, Dick Cheney, and Grizzly Adams were doing the ROTC Jackhammer under the Brooklyn Bridge.

“I still say we need to hook up with the others,” said Vegas, “We’ll need their help if we’re ever going to get out of this alive.”

“We can’t go out there,” said Redbob, “not until we have a better understanding of the situation outside”.

“Here’s the situation, Blanche”, Steve interjected, “They’re out there, and we’re in here. That’s all I need to know, Dorothy.”

“No, that’s the only thing you DO know,” replied Bob, “We can’t leave right now, but we can’t stay in here forever either.”

“He’s right,” said Fusty. “Either they’ll search all the stores and find us, or we’ll run out of food.”

“You’re going to listen to Sophia?” yelled Steve. “Look around you. We’re in a pet shop, we got PLENTY of food. I don’t know about you, but I’m prepared to do what it takes to survive.

“Gross” said Goddess again.

JBcoops couldn’t help but point out Steve’s new choice of names. “Blanche? Sophia? You’re doing the Golden Girls now?”

“And just how the hell would you know that, ferret boy?”

While Steve was denying his latent homosexuality, Goddess couldn’t help but focus on his comments about the animals. She looked around the shop, some of the dogs were barking and playfully wrestling, the birds were chirping and flapping their wings, various rodents were playing on their little climbing equipment. She then realized they had another problem.

“The animals are making a lot of noise,” she said. “If we don’t keep them quiet, they could give away our location.”

“Great,” said a relieved H-Town. “Let’s do the dogs first, I feel like Chinese tonight.”

“No, butt-for-brains,” said Fusty. “We’ll just feed them for now.”

“I’ll do it,” said Redbob.” I’ve been sitting next to Steve for the past six chapters. I could use a break.”

Goddess took Redbob into the back, and instructed him on the food the animals would need. The two then headed off in opposite ends of the store to feed the pets. As Redbob opened the cases to feed the dogs, they barked with excitement about their meals, much to the distress of Redbob, who was seriously starting to consider Steve’s idea and shutting them up for good.

He got to the last doggie case, only this dog wasn’t barking like the rest of them. This one was LITERALLY saying “Bark Bark! Ruff Ruff!” Bob was confused by this unusual dog, but then it became clear once he opened the case. An ugly green head emerged from underneath the dog’s head. The elf inside had hollowed out the dog and was wearing it like a coat. Bob turned around to warn the others, but not before the little bastard jumped onto the back of his head.

“GET THIS MUTHERFUCKER OFF OF ME!” yelled Bob as he ran screaming down the isle. The elf was pulling his hair hard, its claws and teeth scraping Bob’s scalp, giving a whole new reason to call him Redbob. The others ran over to help him, but the elf attempted to bite and claw any hand that got near it.

In the midst of all this turmoil, Redbob barely noticed to flying rubber mallet soaring toward him. Bob ducked and the elf took the hammer straight into the face, flew back down the isle and landed into a dog kennel. JBcoops quickly ran toward it and locked the elf inside.

“Thanks Grandpa,” said Redbob trying to slow down his heavy breathing and get his nerves under control.

“Boy, why did you duck?” questioned Grandpa. “You needed to be taught some respect.”

“You were trying to hit ME?!” yelled Bob so loud having completely forgot he was supposed to keep a low profile.

“You showed nothing but disrespect toward Master Yoda. A real Jedi controls his angers. You were about to turn to the Dark Side.”

“What the hell did you expect?! He was clawing at my scalp! It hurt!”

“That is why you fail.”

During ol’ Grandpa’s shenanigans, JB couldn’t help but notice the unconscious elf locked in the dog kennel.

“Everybody calm down,” said Coops. “What are we going to do about the elf?”

“Is it dead?” asked Vegas.

“No, just unconscious.”

“Let’s kill Gizmo right now before he pulls any more bullshit. Rose is MY bitch, nobody else’s.”

“Wait a minute, I got a better idea,” said Fusty, although having a better idea than Steve didn’t take much effort. “Let’s try to get information out of him. Then we can get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.

“What if he won’t talk?” asked Vegas.

“Then we’ll MAKE HIM talk,” said Fusty with a disturbing smile etching across his face.

Some time later, the elf woke up feeling like it just got hit in the head with a rubber mallet. Once it cleared its head, it looked around to realize it was inside a dog kennel. It peered out through the cage to discover the kennel had a dog leash attached to it, suspending the kennel over a large fish tank. All those years of living with Grandpa had taught Fusty a thing or two about torture devices.

“Well well well, look who’s up?” said a still smiling Fusty.
Back at Sam Goody, the rest of the group was still having trouble dealing with the smell of the dead elf, despite the fact that they removed it from sight.

“Jesus, it still smells awful!” exclaimed Treesa.

“Well, there’s not much space in here, there’s not much more we can do,” said Gene.

“Is there anything we can do about the smell?” asked Sass. “Can’t we try to mask it with something else?”

“If we do that, we’ll just have two smells bugging us instead of-“

“GOOD MORNING!” interrupted BBmom with a beaming smile across her face. The others looked at her with confusion. After a moment’s pause BBmom said, “What? I haven’t said anything in awhile.” She gave another big smile and the group went back to their original discussion.

“Well I don’t care,” said Lake Rat. “The smell is driving me insane, it’s like someone set a fish on fire!”

It was at this moment that Outlaw had a disturbing realization.

“Oh my God….” said Outlaw. “What if THEY can smell it, too?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ready.

“What if these things have a good sense of smell? They’ll smell the corpse and be all over us.”

A chill filled the room over this possibility.

“Oh man, that means we gotta think of something to do and fast,” said Ready.

“But what are we going to do?” asked Wham.

Patdaddy brought up an idea. “Maybe we can use its nose to make a-“

“NO!” said the gang.
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:14 pm

Posted: Tue May 22, 2007 2:27 am

chapter 10. - a few hours of bullshit arguing and speculation later....

“......Alright, that’s enough!” Yelled PatDaddy, who’d been a withdrawn smart ass until now. “That fuckin’ ....THING stinks to high heaven. I don’t know what the fuck these “elves” are, but they’re not Santa’s butt buddies, that’s for damn sure. What do we know? One, they’re like cockroaches. I guarantee we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. Two, they’re highly predatorial. Very aggressive. And they have an extremely potent scent when they bleed. That means they can infact smell their dead. Its a warning to all of the others. It’s safe to say that it’s not safe to stay. Follow?”

“.....well Dr. Watson, where the fuck did you get all that?” said Outlaw after a few moments.

“.....Animal Planet. What?” Pat Daddy shrugged
a look of shock and terror crossed all their faces as the stereo in the store powered up. The “elves” laughed in mockery as they heard the news broadcast that came over the radio. The gang listened in gut aching panic to the bulletin. No one spoke for several minutes.....

“We can’t stay here.” stated Wham.

“No shit, Sherlock. What do you reckon we do?” Pat Daddy said.

It was then that a loud, wood-cracking pound hit the door.

“We gotta get out of here!” yelled ready.

“Here!” said Outlaw, yanking off a duct screen.

One by one they all piled through the narrow opening of the vent..... until they came to Pat Daddy. He simply was too large to fit through the opening.

“We can’t leave him!” insisted Sass.

“....GO! Fuck it. I’m dead weight.” Pat Daddy yelled, all pun intended. “In a matter of seconds they will be through that door, now GO!”

“....You’re a good man, charlie Brown!” Outlaw exclaimed after a thoughtful pause. He bro-shaked his hand and made strong eye contact. Outlaw pulled his hand away and there was a plastic bag in it. “I won’t be needing it where I’m going.” PD said. Outlaw nodded affectionately and crawled back into the hole, with Pat Daddy barely jamming the screen shut before the door was open. They were only a few yards in when they heard PD yell “YOU UGLY FUCKS CAN SUCK MY FAT COCK!”

....The sounds that followed were not pretty. The gang hurried down the shafts hoping to escape.....


meanwhile at Exotic Pets....

“WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF DECEMBER 24, 1976!!” Steve yelled at the elf.

“That’s not going to help.” stated Vegas calmly.

“Awww, did you not get your wittle toy?” Redbob taunted.

“It was more than a damn toy, newbie. It was the Evil Kenievel stunt cycle thrash’em and crash’em stunt bike!” yelled Steve.

“What, were Ken and Barbie at the free clinic?” taunted fusty.”Grampa, he plays with dolls!”

“ACTION FIGURE!” Steve yelled.

Steve then felt a solid whack in the back of the head.

“Will somebody take that fuckin’ thing away from Grampa? Can’t he go drool in the corner?” exclaimed an annoyed Steve.

“Are we gonna interrogate this thing, or what?” yelled Bob.

“EAT PEE-PEE!” screeched the mutant, laughing hysterically.

“Well we’re not gonna get anywhere like this! What the hell are we gonna do? Thes things are all over the fucking mall! We’re all gonna die!!!!....” Bob ranted uncontrollably.

“Newbie.” Steve said, ranting continues.

“Bob!” exclaimed JB. Ranting turned to shrieking. It rose to unbarable decibal levels as he was nearing a break down”

“Geez.” Goddess said, rolling her eyes. She then stepped in front of Bob with her back to the others, where she raised her sweater up over her head, flashing young Bobby. It only lasted a moment then it was over. Bob stared like a deer at headlights, frozen in awe.

“Ah, man! This is such bullshit. I’ve remained calm and in control, face it, you fuckers worship me, and Bob gets the boobs. This shit ain’t right!” Yelled Steve.

“Can it, Steve.” Goddess barked at Steve.
Bob still frozen.

“Well now that that’s over, what do we do now?” asked Fusty.


Deep in the guts of the mall air ducts...

“.....Shhh, there’s a screen just ahead. I’ll check it out.” Wham whispered to the others. He slowly and quietly made his way forward. The screen was now directly in front of his face as he peered through the holes. It was quiet. No light. No sound. Wham then back-crawled to the group, accidentally giving Gene a moon pie in the face. “Sorry” he said. “It looks ok, but its dark. Maybe just a couple of us should check it out first.”

“I’m tired of being on my knees. I gave at the office.” Said mom. “I’m going.” They all exclaimed agreement on this. Wham quietly jimmied the screen off and exited the shaft, followed quickly by the others.

“It’s so dark in here, I can’t tell anything. The floor feels.... kinda sticky.” Lake Rat said.

Gene pulls out a zippo he’s had for years. It was a gift from his squad when he was discharged from the military. It was priceless. He flicked and flicked and it wouldn’t light. “This thing is priceless and it won’t light!” he cursed.

Wham then pulled out a bic and flicked it. It lit up first time. “99 cents.” He gloated. He held it down to the floor and there was all this mucous like stuff everywhere. It covered the walls, everything. He slowly studied the room and then he saw a face in the sludge. A human face. He panicked and dropped the lighter into the ooze. “This is a food storage!!” he exclaimed as he ran his hands all through the naty shit searching for his lighter. When he retrieved it, it wouldn’t light. He began to lose feeling in his hands and he was getting drowsy.....
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:14 pm

Originally Posted: Tue May 29, 2007 1:51 am

The Proverbial Chapter Eleven:

…Whammon awakens in a pool of sticky funk, feeling like he’d been on a week-end bender after a night at the Highway road-stop. “Zip-ah-doo-da, Zip-ah-de-day; What the fuck happened yesterday”?, he ponders. He sits up, and lights his .99 cent lighter to gather his bearings. To his dawning horror, the memories of a few hours ago come flooding back at him.
“Aw Fuck”, he croaks. “Fucking PatDaddy, you glorious bastard.” He then begins thinking about the BIG PICTURE. WHERE the FUCK is everyone else? Using the “Sports stats” section of his brain, he takes a mental inventory:
Ready, Bbmom,….check
Only PatDaddy didn’t make it.
Okay, tough guy, next question:
Where THE FUCK is everyone else?

Using the weak light of the Bic, he realizes with a growing sense of doom he is alone.
“Well, fuck it.”
“I only carry a lighter for no reason”, he scoffs. He reaches into his wallet, and pulls out his trusty glass pipe and crack-rock. About five minutes later, after singing “Hey, Hey, We’re The Monkees” 1000 times, his senses awaken, and again returns to Whammon-hood.
“Mental check—STATS: Bonds needs TEN. Biggio needs 26. Clemens can’t help the Yankees-DONE”

Finally feeling like himself, he again starts to assess his situation.

I’m alone. I’m sticky. There’s yuck everywhere. PD is dead. Countless others are dead.
Wait….what happened to the others that came in through the duct? Is this a meat-locker?
Is there a light switch around?
In full-on Tweaker-mode, Whammon turns up that little dial for full-on flame. Using his combined night-vision and 7-inch flame, he finally pieces up everything that happened:

EVERYONE that came thru the duct is dead. Their bodies are flung around the storage room like crumpled papers. His throat produces a dry Whooping noise normally reserved for Redbob when he sees scrambled porn. The ceiling drips, dousing his lighter. After he re-lights it, He looks up, only to see Spleen staked to ceiling, alive. Apparently It was a payback for killing the other. Whammon asks, futilely, if Spleen is OK. “Get those bastards”, Spleen whispers. “Kill them all.” Whammon then spots a ladder, and attempts to save Spleen. After removing the stake in his mid-section, the entire course of Spleen’s anatomy (including the spleen) come showering down on Whammon’s head and Torso. After screaming weakly for three minutes, Whammon reaches for a rag or towel, and wipes his face. He looks up, and The Spleen is entirely gutted. Wishing harder than ever for his friends, AND, MOSTLY, his fucking remote control, he ponders his next move. Suddenly realizing he hasn’t eaten in hours (and he’s in a food pantry), he spies a bag of food. Tearing at it ravenously, he starts slamming it like it’s a Heroin needle. All of a sudden, It dawns on him…..This is Fucking Dog Food!

After another hit from the Crack-Pipe, Whammon realizes that he is in the Dry-food locker of the “Cuddles to Cobras”. He spots the REMOVABLE EMERGENCY HANDLE on the inside of the door, and carries it like a shot-gun. He takes another hit, and gets ready for what is awaiting
Him on the other side. His Friends? Goblins? More crack? Whammon does not know. He steels himself, and opens the door.

Upon opening, It’s fucking World War 4. Death, Blood, and carnage everywhere.

Inside the “Cuddles to Cobras”, Strange Things are afoot at the C and C.
Fusty, being the security Guard, has his Mace raised. The others are ready to make a break for it. Redbob objects, of course. After Htown calls Redbob his assortment of “Josie And The Pussycats” names (Josie, Melody, Valerie, etc), Redbob snaps, and slams a 20-LB bag of Chinese-infected dog food over Htown’s head. Redbob’s swing is impressive.
“FUCK YOU, MOTHER FUCKER! FUCK YOU! Who’s got the 16 inch cock NOW Motherfucker! FUCKING ASSHOLE! I got yer 16-inch cock RIGHT FUCKING HERE!”

Htown looks up, in love, and says, “You Had me At Hello, are you hiring. Be-otch.”

At this time, the door crashed open. The fucking Mutants piled in.
Ready (as always) took charge. GET TO THE BACK ROOM, she commanded. Once there, they found animal-tranks and trank-guns.

Fucking trank-guns. Put down a racehorse in 20 seconds.

As they retreated to the back room, the fucking STORAGE room burst open. Out of it came Whammon, covered in Spleen’s blood and Vital organs.

Whammon’s death was short, and sweet. Fucker was covered with Spleen’s intestines and shit.
Realizing that Whammon wa an EMPLOYEE, Fusty anmd Vegas stood up.


That’s mother-fucking Whammon!

Whammon’s view fades out……..

Fustyruk and Vegas fade out….
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:15 pm

Originally Posted: Wed Jul 25, 2007 10:48 pm

Chapter 12

Light begins to fill his vision as Whammon blinks, trying to refocus. He feels the soft, cool dab of a wash cloth on his face. Slowly, he struggles to find his voice.

“What happened?” he garbled. “It’s like I haven’t done anything in two months.”

He blinked again, getting a bit more of the scene around him. Metal bars surrounded him in every direction. He felt newspaper and gerbil pellets against his bum. In front of him, just outside the cage, Treesa and bbmom were delicately sticking their fingers through the grates, dabbing him with wet cloths. Between them, Steve was squirting him with the hamster water bottle.

“We were about to ask you the same question,” said mom. “When your lighter went out, you started feeling around in that goop, then you started freaking out.”

“We got you back into the air duct, but you wouldn’t stop screaming,” continued Gene. “We had to gag you while we got to the pet store.”

“But how could you have gagged me. None of you have bandanas or anything. How---“ Wham trailed off as he saw Outlaw zipping up his pants. “Dude, not cool.”

“Will you let him out already,” yelled fusty. “You’ve hosed him down, he’s obviously got his wits about him again. Get him out of that awful cage.”

“Yeah, I need to get back in there to go nap-nap,” yelled Grampa, to no one’s surprise.

Slowly, and very cautiously, Coops and Bob opened the cage, and, giving him some room in case he lashed out, let Wham back into a state of semi-freedom. He staggered out and stretched his limbs. Walking about, he regained his balance after a few moments, and with a few more blinks of his eyes, the room came into total focus.

The scene about him was wretched. The Gang stood around him, each looking at him as if he were diseased. For all he knew, they were right. Sitting against the wall was a severely beaten, yet still conscious elf, human and shit-eating grin lining his face, almost as if he had won the battle, despite his current situation. A pile of vomit was visible, and quite smelly at the barred door, and looking up, he knew why.

Pat’s head was stuck on a pike, his body gutted beneath it. His massive ribcage was split open and splayed wide. Resting on it, the menu from the Italian Bistro up on the third floor. The menu items were all crossed out, and drawn in shoddy handwriting was one word, “You.” Upon seeing this, the vomit pile became larger and more odious.

“So what was it like?” asked Bob, turning Wham’s attention away from the horrid display of death that only Pat could have appreciated.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we said, touching that stuff made you freak out,” answered Treesa. “It got all over you, and you went into a conniption fit, screaming bloody murder, and something about a God-awful ‘Hairspray’ remake.”

“It was weird and scary, like I was in another world. You were all dead. You guys ever see that movie, ‘Jacob’s Ladder?’”

“No,” said Grampa




“No,” said Grampa again.




“Don’t think so.”

“Yes,” said Grampa. “Oh wait, no.”

“Nevermind. Just think acid trip with monsters and the occasional hot latin chick.” Vegas, fusty, Coops, and Outlaw all nodded in agreement. Bob began to as well, until Steve slapped him in the back of the head. “Knock it off Elizabeth. The only thing you’ve ever smoked is my sausage.”

“Oh will you lay off the dick jokes already?” screamed Goddess.

“What? He did. He took the kielbasa and slow roasted it to give it a nice smoky flavor before he put it on the stick. It was the one thing Jezzie did where I wasn’t ashamed to have him suck my dick.” Bob seriously considered releasing the elf.

“So what now?” asked Bob, deciding that untying the elf would cause more harm than good. “What’s left of us are all here, so we need to figure out how to keep the rest of us alive and get out of here.”

“Okay, newbie, thank you for pointing out the patently obvious. And while I’m sure somewhere deep in the heart of your mother’s cornhole while uncle Jed is having his way that she’s proud of you for coming up with that much, it doesn’t really help.”

Everybody looked at Steve in anger, not noticing that Grampa actually came up with that little gem. That truly, truly, truly outrageous gem.

“It seems we have two choices,” said fusty, attempting a leadership role yet again. “We either stay here and fight these things, hoping to defeat them, or we attempt to escape.”

“I vote for getting the hell out,” screamed Gene, raising his hand.

“Second,” said Gene, raising his other hand.

“No,” said Wham, turning on his pseudo-heroic voice. “We have to fight. You hear those radio bits. This is happening all over, not just here. Even if we escape, they’re still out there. We have to take them out here, so we can fight them out there. We have to do it, to avenge our friends and our neighbors. We have to fight for brave men like Pat back there.” Wham pointed behind him, several looked, all vomited. “We can’t give up. We’re probably all dead one way or the other, so I say fight! Who’s with me?”

Sarcastic clapping could be heard from outside the mall door.

“Ho, ho, ho,” came a derisive voice.

“Hey, don’t talk about the ladies like that,” said Wham, turning around. He vomited yet again, but it wasn’t because of Pat, but rather the large being standing next to him, clad in red, with an evil smile of victory over spread across his demonic face.

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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:15 pm

Originally Posted: Fri Oct 12, 2007 2:27 am


An eerie silence filled the room as the James Gang stood face-to-face with the evil demonic Santa and his hideous band of elves. He wasn’t a jolly and loveable fat guy like John Goodman, but instead a horrible and disgusting behemoth that seemed to suck all joy from the room, like Tom Arnold. The James Gang stared at the not-so-jolly ol’ elf through the bars of the store, wondering if they’ll do any good at holding him back. They expected the mob to try and break in, but they just stood there staring at the James Gang.

“What do we do?” whispered Goddess.

“Maybe you should show your tits again,” whispered Redbob, to which Goddess slapped him across the face.

“Smooth, newbie,” mocked Steve.

Just when it seemed the breaking point had been reached, Santa and his elves turned around and walked away without saying a word. The James Gang stood there alone, confused and tense, not sure what had just happened, or what was about to happen. Then one elf re-appeared in front of the store, and slid something through the bars, and then left once again.

A few moments passed as the gang stared, wondering what the elf had slid into the pet shop. Finally Gene managed to show his courage, and approached the object with caution. He examined it for a moment, and then showed it to the gang. It was another menu with all the items crossed out and the word “You” crudely drawn on it.

“What the hell?” said Sass, breaking the silence. “Santa had a whole army of elf warriors, and he turned and left? If we’re on the menu, why doesn’t he just kill us now instead playing these stupid games?”

“Um,” Lakerat interjected. “Are you sure those elves were warriors? They aren’t very strong.”

“Maybe they’re hunters.” said Redbob. “Hunters are lousy with melee.”

“Nah,” said Lakerat. “I didn’t see any ranged weapons or pets.”

“They could be Paladins.”

“Elves can’t be Paladins!”

“I was talking about Blood Elves.”

“Oh really? I don’t have the Burning Crusade, so-“

“JESUS CHRIST! Will you two save the RPG bullshit for the Vampire Clan?!” yelled a frustrated Coops.

“So what do we do now?” said Ready. “These things know where we are now, we need to act.”

“I say we stay here” said Outlaw. “Those bars have kept them out of here so far, so I say we stick with what works, at least for the time being.

“Those bars aren’t going to hold them forever” replied Vegas. “There are hardware stores here, they can easily get the tools they need to break in.

“If that’s the case, we need to make a run for it before they come back.” said Fusty.

“Where the hell are we going to run?” said Treesa. “They know where we are, and even if we escape, these things are all over the country, we have nowhere to turn.”

“Which is why I still say we fight,” said Wham.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” said Gene. “We can’t just run out there like Leeroy Jenkins. It could be an ambush, we need a strong defensive strategy.

“Which is why I still say we stay here” replied Outlaw. Right now, those bars are our only defense. If we go out there, we’ll end up as elf chow like those poor bastards in that storage room”

Hearing those words made Bob realize that they weren’t alone in this mess. He looked at his bracelet for guidance. He asked himself “What Would Anakin Do”, and at once he knew the answer. Redbob stood tall and proud, putting his voice-over talents to good use.

“We need to save the people trapped in the storage room,” said Bob, totally stealing Wham’s spotlight. “While we sit here bickering over the proper course of action, those people are alone in the dark and the muck, terrified of what their fate holds. Wham’s right, we need to fight, but we can’t hope to win against their sheer numbers. Treesa’s right, there’s nobody who can help us if we were to escape. Right now, we are the only ones who can help those people who are trapped. If we don’t help them, nobody else will. You all do what you want, because I’m not running away like a coward. If I’m going to die tonight, I’m going to die doing the right thing. We gotta do it for those poor people! We gotta do it for 9/11, for freedom, for baseball, for ostrich burgers, for SPARTA, and for the last season of The Sopranos!!!”

“Alright, you fudge-packing drama queen,” said H-Town. “We’ll do it if it’ll shut you up.”

The James Gang all nodded in agreement with H-Town, shocking but true.

Suddenly, the animals were acting weird again. The dogs started barking angrily, the cats backed against their kennels hissing, the birds flapped frantically in their small cages, and the rodents went and hid in their little structures.

The source of their behavior presented itself shortly later. The ceiling crashed open as a dozen elves landed in the center of the room. The James Gang quickly moved out of the way before the elves landed on them. Except for BBmom, who had to be pulled out of the way while she stood there attempting to wish the elves a good morning. The James Gang was now split between the gang of elves. The gang scattered as the little bastards started smashing kennels and aquariums in fits of anger. Goddess gasped as she saw them breaking the tanks and kennels labeled EXOTIC and DANGEROUS.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Goddess. "Those dangerous pets are loose!"

"Wadya know," said Redbob. "Maybe they ARE hunters. ...I still say you should have shown them your tits." To which Goddess gave him another smack.

“...Today seems like a good day to die” said Coops.

“Oh jeeze,” said Whammon. “Why do I have to die listening to old fucking cliché’s?”
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:16 pm

Originally Posted: Wed Feb 20, 2008 1:31 am

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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:17 pm

Originally Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2008 9:46 am

Chapter 14

The pet shop was a scene of chaos. The James Gang members, a dozen elves, and a bunch of dangerous/exotic pets were wreaking havoc in such a relatively confined space. The James Gang thought the bars over the entrance would be their defense; instead Santa and his elves made it their prison. What’s worse is that the gang was split on either side of the shop, which gave the elves the ol’ “divide and conquer” advantage.

Redbob, Vegas, BBmom, Sass, Steve, and Lakerat took refuge behind the service counter. While Goddess, Ready, Fusty, Wham, Treesa, Outlaw, Jbcoops, and the Spleen backed away from the elves and pets along the 3 hallways toward the wall.

The elves backed the isolated members back toward the wall with their crude candycane-striped prods and batons. 2 of the elves ganged up on Coops, jumping on him and forcing him to the ground. Wham ran towards Coops to help him, but a third elf leapt in front of his path and blocked him. One of the elves was holding down Coop’s legs, while the other had pinned down his arms. The evil elves laughed in evil delight as they watched Coops struggle and squirm. The elf closest to his face slowly raised his bladed candycane, ready to thrust it into his face. The elf paused for a moment, curious as to why Coop’s gaze wasn’t fixed upon the elf, but rather behind him. Unfortunately for the elf, he had no time to turn around to see the monitor lizard’s jaws clamp down on his skull, shaking his head violently. The other elf rose up in surprise, watching his nasty green comrade being eaten. Without hesitation, Coops reached his arms toward the little bastard’s neck, and the two rolled around on the floor, Coop’s choking him while the elf clawed and bit at his hands.

Meanwhile, Wham stared down the elf in his path. The elf thrusted his weapon in the direction of Wham as a threatening gesture. But Wham wasn’t in the mood for this shit anymore. In an ESPN moment, Wham ran down the isle and yelled “Muthafuckin’ BOOTS!” as his foot collided with the elf, sending it flying toward the ceiling and crashing into one of the hanging lights.

However, Goddess had already arrived by the time Whammon was finished with his little green football. She was holding one of those poles with a collar at the end used to subdue violent dogs. With it, she got the collar around elf’s neck and choked it hard until it released its grip from Coop’s hands. She then proceeded to beat the elf against the floor repeatedly until it was too soggy to be a threat.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the store, the other half of the James Gang hid behind the service counter, using whatever defense it had to provide. They had a few moments to spare, as an irate pit bull outside the counter was focusing its attention on a few nearby elves.

“Anyone got any ideas?” said Sass to anyone who would listen. “Are there any other ways out of here?”

“Only through the vent,” said Vegas. “And that’s on the other side of the- SHIT!” he exclaimed as he smacked one of the nasty green fuckers off the counter.

“Are they even at the entrance anymore?” asked Lakerat.

“Hang on,” replied Vegas. “I’ll check”.

Slowly, Vegas lifted his head above the counter. His eyes just above the flat surface, scanning what lay beyond the bars. After a few seconds, his field of vision was suddenly blocked by the clawed feet of another of shop’s exotic pets.

“Oh no! A velociraptor!” cried a startled Redbob. An action which resulted in H-Town Steve smacking him in the back of the head.

“No fucking way, Pamela!” Steve exclaimed with another smack to the head. “The H-Town ain’t starring in any second-rate writing shit!”

“First of all, ‘starring’?” said Redbob. “You’re not a big-shot in this story. You’re not even a fucking medium-shot. And second, I thought the raptor fit the “exotic pet” thing in a funny way.

“Yeah, but seriously Bob, a raptor? That’s a bit of a stretch, even in this kind of story,” criticized Lakerat as the raptor stood there on the counter, confused at the debate about his existence.

“We already have Santa and elves,” argued Bob. “I don’t think a dinosaur is too much of a stretch.”

“That only works in Leslie Nielson movies, Bob,” replied Vegas.

Suddenly an elf jumped on the counter screaming “Fourth wall! Fourth wall!” To which Redbob punched in the face and knocked off the counter.

“Stay out of this, non-factor! Anyway, this story could be could going a lot faster if you’d stop arguing over this.”

“I kinda agree,” said BBmom. “It could be worse; at least he didn’t pull out a lightsaber.” Redbob’s eyes shifted as he stopped reaching into his pocket.

“Seriously, don’t put this shit in, newbie, “said Steve. “It sucks, YOU suck, and the Mars Volta is fucking ORGASMIC, HANDS DOWN!!!”

Frustrated at this constant bitching, Redbob conceded. “FINE! Jesus, I’ll change it!” The velociraptor sighed as it disappeared in a cloud of re-write.

“Did you see anything” asked Sass to Vegas.

“It looks empty on the outside,” said Vegas. “Looks like it’s our best chance at escape.”

“So how do we get to that big storage room and rescue the people?” Bob asked.

Vegas hesitated for a moment. “Uh……..I don’t know where it is.”

“You don’t know?!” exclaimed BBmom. You’re the manager of this mall!”

“They don’t train you to know the location of pitch black, slime-covered rooms navigated only by ventilation shafts.”

“Point taken.”

“So the only way to get there,” said Lakerat. “Is back through that vent.”

“Fuck that shit!” exclaimed Steve. “The H-Town ain’t crawling through that again! That place was almost as slimy as Gene’s nuts after I slathered them with my man yogurt. Go ahead, ask him, ask ANYONE about my –“

“I’LL go!” Redbob interjected.

“We all can’t fit through that vent anyway,” said Sass. “In that narrow space, they’ll be sure to catch up with us. Half of us are going to have to run out the door, and the other half are going to have to go through the vents to make a rescue.”

“Fine then,” said BBmom. “But how are we going to get passed that?” She pointed to the pit bull that looked as though he was running out of elves to chew on.

Redbob stood up over the counter and called out to everyone on the other side. “Hey! Listen, we’re gonna open the gate and escape on our end. You guys head out through that vent and try to rescue those people in the room. Wait for me though, I’m coming with.”

“Here!” yelled Goddess. “You’ll need these.” She promptly through the keys to the gate, as well as the staff she used on the elf.

“Everyone back to the vent!” yelled Fusty, pulling out his nightstick, and mace.

The James Gang members closest to the vent started retreating into the vent as Vegas managed to snare the pit bull around its neck. Red leapt over the counter experimented with the keys on the gate, as Vegas forcefully shoved the angry dog toward elves to keep them at bay. After a few tries, the right key opened the lock, and Bob threw open the gate.

“All your mall are belong to us!” Bob cried with nerdish enthusiasm.

“Everyone move out!” cried Vegas.

Sass, BBmom, Lakerat, and Steve leapt over the counter and ran out the front entrance into the empty mall. At the same time, the remaining members of the James Gang were getting into the vent with Fusty guarding their exit. The only one left was Outlaw, who was hesitating moving toward the vent, despite Fusty’s urging. After about ten seconds, Outlaw ran as fast as he could away from the vent and out of the entrance. He ran right passed the group outside, ignoring their yells that he was running the wrong way. Vegas then stepped outside, slammed back down the gate, and jammed the staff into one of the gate’s small rectangular gaps, making the pit bull a decent guard dog to prevent any elves chasing after them.

Bob locked the gate from the inside and handed Vegas the keys through the gate.

“Remember,” said Bob. “We don’t know exactly where this storage room is, but we DO know it’s somewhere to the left of here, and probably one floor down. We may not be able to unlock it from the inside, so try and find us.”

Vegas paused for a moment before saying “Just hurry up and finish the fucking story.”

“Hey, you said I could take my time.”

“It’s been two years, time’s up.”


And with that, Vegas and his crew turned left and ran out of sight. Bob turned to see Fusty waving him over by the vent. Bob bolted toward the vent as fast as he could while yelling “Leeroy Jenkins!” He dove through the air and banged his head on the upper edge of the vent.

“Smooth.” said Fusty as Bob crawled slowly into the vent with a hand on his forehead. With everyone else gone, Fusty needed to block the vent somehow to slow down the remaining elves from following. He then wheeled a snoring Grandpa in front of the vent. “Sorry Grandpa. When I get your inheritance, I’ll buy a shiny new Porche in your honor.”

The vent-crawlers eventually made their way back to the slimy, dark storage room. They were all very careful not to directly touch the slime, especially Whammon. Fusty flicked on his security guard flashlight, which allowed a much better view than the lighter. It was a scene of horror as the circle of light passed over the slime-covered faces scattered around the room.

“Which store is this place?” asked Ready.

“Oh my God, you finally said something!” said a surprised Treesa.

“So did you!” replied an equally surprised Ready.

“I know!”

“I know, I know, oh my God!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” muttered Coops to himself.

Fusty shined his light toward the bodies, checking to see if there were any survivors. On closer examination of their blank stares, Fusty made a horrifying discovery.

“Oh my God!” Fusty exclaimed. “They’re all fucking manikins!”

“Are you shitting me?!” yelled Spleen in shock, as the rest of the gang examined the room closer.

“We crawled all the way down here to save a bunch of fucking manikins?” exclaimed Goddess.

“Unfortunately” replied Fusty.

“Sonofabitch” said Treesa. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about any lives. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Fusty walked across the room to a window-less door. Fusty jiggled the handle, but nothing worked.

“It won’t budge,” he said. “Bob, give me the keys.”

“I can’t” Bob replied. “I gave them to Vegas.”

“What the hell did you do that for?!”

“Well, I didn’t think some idiot would design a door that locks itself from the INSIDE!”

“Well that’s just fucking perfect. Now we can’t get it open!”

“Can’t get what open?” groaned a voice in the darkness.

The James Gang let out a yelp of surprise as Fusty quickly aimed his flashlight toward the source. What they saw was even more shocking.

“Narrator?!” exclaimed Goddess, as a groggy-looking Narrator rose to his feet and yawned.

Meanwhile, the other half of the James Gang was running down the hallway until they came to a broken escalator. They peered down to see if the coast was clear. They went from running to carefully sneaking down the steps, ever so cautious of any potential enemies. As they were halfway down the steps, a roaring noise echoed down the hallway of the lower floor. The gang turned to see what it was. A big bright light was coming down the hallway at an incredible speed, faster than Katie Holmes was turned down for The Dark Knight. After the object came more into focus, they realize it was a car driving down the lower hallway. To their surprise, it drove right past them and off into the opposite direction away from them. The Gang felt relieved that they hadn’t been spotted. However, the loud engine roar caught the attention of others. Over a dozen elves came screaming down the hallway, attempting to chase after the car. The gang tried to turn around and back up the escalator, but a new horror awaited them atop the stairs. The evil Santa had returned, only now he was in a hearse-like sleigh, driven by 8 maimed and horrid-looking reindeer, their skin scarred with whips, their ribs showing from famine, their antlers philed down to stakes with the heads of customers stabbed through them like pikes. He laughed menacingly as his whipped his already brutalized animals for them to speed up. The gang had no choice but to run for it, with the evil Santa and a dozen of his hideous elves after them.
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PostSubject: Re: JG Story Hour '06: Christmas Massacre   Sat Nov 15, 2008 4:17 pm

Chapter 14 continued....


“What the hell are you doing here?” Ready questioned. “I thought you were dead? Twice!”

Narrator cleared his throat and began to speak. “Well, during my first warning broadcast, I was warning the customers about the elves, but then I got a request to play Billy Idol and I kinda lost it there for a minute. When I came to, I managed to get outside. I got a call from my station to do a news piece on this mall attack since I was already at the scene. Then a bunch of elves came around the corner and I had no place left to go but back inside. I locked myself in here, knowing this would be the last place they’d look.”

“But what IS this place?” asked Whammon. “What’s with all the slime and the manikins?”

“Well, the manikins are here because this is the manikin storage room, obviously. And as for the slime……that’s not slime.”

Upon closer examination of this sticky substance did they make the most horrific discovery yet.

“Oh my God” exclaimed Ready. “Is this really what I think it is?”

“Yeah, this is Steve’s favorite spot, and he spends A LOT of time down here” explained Narrator as Whammon vomited in disgust.

“Now you know why I knew they’d never find me in here,” Narrator continued. “Well, the important thing is we’re all back together and nobody’s hurt.”

Narrator’s reunion was cut a bit short as a car came crashing through the door, crushing him underneath. Shockingly, even with the tires underneath him, he was still somehow breathing. But when Redbob promised him that he’d play “Don’t you forget about me” from The Breakfast Club as a tribute, the shock finally finished him off for good this time.

The gang then turned their attention to the car that just plowed through the door and killed the Narrator (probably). After a few moments, Treesa exclaimed “Hey, that’s MY car!”

A disoriented Outlaw stepped out from the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, Treesa. To make it up to ya, I won’t charge you for the rust-proofing.”

“You ain’t charging me shit! You fucked up my car!”

“I thought you took off on us” said Redbob.

“Nah, I was too busy saving your asses. Yeesh, talk about ungrateful.”

“Who cares right now?” said jbcoops, “let’s just get the hell out of here!”

The gang piled into the car like Mexicans, ready to floor it the fuck out of this mall gone to hell. However, the crash through the door proved to be too much on the engine, as it was deader Trav’s dick at the Playboy Mansion.

“Oh, that’s gonna cost ya” said Outlaw.

As the disappointment of the dead car settled in, screaming could be heard from down the hallway. The gang exited the vehicle to discover the other members running down the hallway, being chased by sleigh-riding Santa and a dozen of his wicked minions. Having no where else to go, the newly-reunited James Gang went back into the storage room full of jizz-covered manikins. They were trapped like rats with nowhere to go. They couldn’t go back into the vent because it only lead back to the locked up pet shop still crawling with elves.

The James Gang was huttled into the corner as their evil tormentors closed in on them. They all stood there with grimace about what was sure to be their final moments together, reflecting on how this was finally the end.

“If only Spiderman were here” said Redbob.

“There are so many pictures I haven’t developed” said Goddess.

“Where have I been for the last year?” said Ready.

“I wanted the country to clean muthafuckin’ house, but not like this” said Sass.

“I guess this was my last Good Morning” said BBmom.

“I still can’t believe you smashed my car!” yelled Treesa.

“I can’t believe I won’t be getting any more hippie poon.” said Outlaw.

“It’s all Bush’s fault” said Fusty.

“Man, I really fucked up this manager thing” said Vegas.

“My only regret is doing too many stories on the WNBA” said Whammon.

“I never got to illustrate this chapter” said Spleen.

“What would Hunter S Thompson do?” said jbcoops.

“If only-what the fuck are you doing, Steve?!” exclaimed Lakerat.

“Go cry to Lucy over there,” said Steve with pants around his ankles, “This room brings back memories.”

As the gang grimaced in their final moments of living, a rattling came from the vent. Out emerged Grandpa, carrying Patdaddy’s head in his arms.

“The jack o’ lantern said I should bring it here. I offered to put a shock collar on him and get him some energy so he could do it on his own, but he seemed reluctant.”

“Grandpa, do yourself a favor and get out of here” said Fusty.

“Boy, do you know what it cost me to get ol’ Jack down here? Those smurfs are tough customers, I tell ya what. I even offered the rats to translate the works of Jonathan Swift into Klingon, but all they seemed to care about is poking meat. No taste. I mean first you have to starve ‘em for a day or two before the meat becomes soft enough where you can see all those funny blue lines. I swear, you’d think they’d know how to play Operation at their age.”

Grandpa’s rant was cut short as an unsettling presence filled the room. This wasn’t the evil Santa and his minions. No, this was a different kind of evil, one that even they seemed to stop to notice. The skylight outside painted an eerie picture. The moon became stained red like blood, and thick clouds gathered across the sky. An evil music began getting louder and louder, sending even Santa into caution. It was the music of Dimebag Darrell blasting in all directions and filling the souls of it’s listeners with dread. Suddenly, Patdaddy’s head began to glow with an evil satanic aura. The head then lifted off the ground and stared spinning incredibly fast, spraying drops of blood and pieces of flesh all over the room. The head then stopped and faced Santa, who at this point looked absolutely terrified. The head’s eyes glowed like the fires of hell, and the blood poured from its mouth, ears, and eyes. The head then opened its mouth wide and the evil aura poured from it and into the face of Santa. Santa screamed bloody murder as the evil presence invaded him, crept itself through his body, and violated the very depths of his soul. Santa screamed in horror and agony as he collapsed to the floor, and finally silenced.

Patdaddy’s head fell to the floor, the music died down, and the aura vanquished. The presence was still being felt, but it was no longer floating around the room, it was clearly coming from Santa’s body. Santa then rose back up, climbed to his feet, but he had a completely different look in his eye. He reached into his sack and pulled out a guitar. He then turned his attention on the elves, pointed to them, and with a great bellow he declared “There’s room for only one fat morbid fuck in this town”.

The newly reborn Patdaddy unleashed his rage upon the now terrified elves; revenge for his death will be his. He stomped them with his great boots, snapped their necks like twigs with great big arms, smashed their skulls open with his bitchin’ guitar, and he savored every second of it. When the elves all lied dead on the floor, he used his big hands to rip off each and every one of their heads, and replaced the heads of the shoppers on his reindeer with the heads of the elves that had once killed him.

He then turned around and faced the stunned faces of his former friends. “Don’t worry, you can all take turns sucking my dick if you want.”

“Pat,” said Vegas after finally working up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re back?”

“Damn straight. A bunch of midgets might be too much for Rards and Steve, but not the Pat Bastard.”

“So is that all of them?” asked Ready. “What are you going to do now?”

“You heard Narrator, these fuckers are in every mall in America. I’m the REAL fat morbid fuck, and I won’t stand for any wannabes. I’ll be leaving you all now, but before I do, I’d like to give you all some gifts.”

“For Ready, here’s a year’s internet subscription, so get your ass back at the Bar and Grill pronto.”

“For Sass, a trip to Disney World for you and kids.”

“For BBmom, a Bret Farve blowup doll.”

“For Treesa, a gift certificate to JC Penny’s”

“How about a new car?” asked Treesa.

“Shut it ya greedy bitch.” Patdaddy continued.

“For Fusty, a collection of Bill Maher CD’s.”

“For Vegas, a job application to Burger King. Cuz there’s no way in hell you’re keeping this job after this fuck-up.”

“To Redbob, here’s your cousin’s head, I found it on the floor somewhere.”

“Holy shit”! exclaimed Redbob. “Oh well, that’s what he gets for buying a PS3”.

“For Whammon, pre-ordered tickets to Madagascar 2.”

“Oh fuck you, ya fat corpse!” Wham protested.

“Ha ha ha, sucks to be you. Now, as for Outlaw, here’s Treesa’s insurance information.”

“Asshole!” yelled Treesa.

“What did I say about shutting your yap? Now I can tell by all the man butter in this room that Steve’s already got everything he needs. So for Coops, here’s a fake PHD in education.”

“For the Spleen, a copy of Flash animation software.”

“For Lakerat, I’m giving you back the photos Redbob and Narrator took of you while you were sleeping.”

“And finally, for Grandpa, here’s a bunch of heads you can play with.”

“Hey, I didn’t get anything” said Goddess.

“Who asked the Jew if she wants Christmas presents?” scoffed Patdaddy. “Well, the time for me to go is now, but first, there’s one last piece of business that needs to be addressed.”

With that, Santa Pat pulled a grenade tip from one of his ornament bombs and threw it across the hall into the music shop. A thunderous explosion decimated the store.

“THAT’S for making me sell that three-chord bullshit, Vegas! Well, by ya fucks, mail me a t-shirt. HO HO HO!”

And with that, Pat pulled out his guitar and mushed his reindeer up and through the glass skyline and out into the cold, black night. His face-melting solo could be heard for miles as he sailed off into the night.

T’was two years after Christmas,
And all through the mall,
The James Gang was eager,
To have a ball.

The shoppers were rushing,
And shuffling about,
Until a shitload of elves,
Came and snuffed them all out.

The James Gang took off,
And found places to hide,
Patdaddy saved them,
But sadly he died.

Then outside the shop,
They heard such a clatter,
They peaked through the bars,
To see what was the matter.

Outside stood a fat man,
With a look that said “sin”,
Who cornered the James Gang,
And locked them all in.

But Patdaddy’s death,
Just wasn’t enough,
To stop that big,
Fat morbid fuck.

He took over Santa,
And was reborn,
Ready to rock again,
As he did once before.

But sadly for us,
Pat still had to leave,
With us left behind,
To mourn him and grieve.

But we shouldn’t be saddened,
By this loss that happened,
For Pat would want us,
To be partyin’ and laughin’.

It’s not about how his death,
Was so sad,
It was about all the good times,
That we all had.

So with this he set off,
And he let out a call,
“Merry to Christmas to All,
Ah whom’ I kidding, fuck all of y’all!”

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