Part 27

Last time, Santa and the chew toys were sneaking around Santa’s gingerbread castle, working their way towards the throne room in order to find and kill the wretched Frosty the Snowman.

After about thirty minutes of walking, they made it to the castle throne room, found Frosty the Snowman, and killed him.

“Well, that was easy,” said Santa. “Okay, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Wait, what just happened?” asked Squirrely.

“We just killed Frosty and saved Christmas… 2010,” said Cowhidey.

“But, after all that story buildup,” said Squirrely.

“Well, what can you do?” said Santa. “Now, if you will all gather around each other I’ll cast a dumb magical Christmas spell and send you all back home.”

“What about Jingly?” asked Cowhidey.

“Oh right,” said Santa. “I’ll have to send her back later since she’s not here.”

“Do you have to?” muttered Squirrely.

“What?” asked Santa.

“I said we better hurry and get back home because American Idol is on,” said Squirrely.

All the chew toys agreed and huddled together so Santa could magically send them home. Santa waved his hands in some dumb motion and wiggled his nose, causing a flash of purple and green light to envelope the chew toys.

“Bye, Santa!” said Squirrely.

Santa waved and with a bright white flash Froggy, Giraffey, Cowhidey, Squirrely, and Monkeyy disappeared.

If you’ve never traveled through space and time via stupid Christmas magic, then I’m not going to get into the details of what it’s like here. Basically, if you just drive into a dimly lit tunnel while shaving an angry goat at 11:11 am on a leap year, you’ll get the general idea.

When it was all over, the chew toys found themselves, not in the familiarity of their home, but in a strange woody environment with oversized grass, giant trees, and the general vines and ambient wooded area noise, etc.

“Where are we?” asked Giraffey.

“I don’t know,” said Froggy. “But it somehow looks more 3D-ish than usual.”

Where are our chew toy friends now and why are they there? Join me next time when I’ll trash more of the things you probably love.

Part 26

Last time, Santa and the chew toys were setting out into the castle to hunt down and kill Frosty the Snowman.

The castle corridors were brightly lit and decorated with joyous holiday tapestries. Santa and the dumb chew toys all walked quietly, careful not to catch any attention from Frosty’s evil snowmen soldiers. Jingly, Cowhidey’s current love obsession, was having a difficult time with this being she was a round ball with a bell inside her.

“Oh!” she said after she nearly alerted a guard for the second time. “Maybe I should just stay here.”

“I think that’s a great idea!” said Squirrely with an unnecessarily rude tone. Embarrassed, she looked down and cleared her throat. “I mean, we just don’t want to get caught.”

“Well, we can’t just leave her by herself,” said Santa.

“I’ll stay with her!” said Cowhidey heroically.

“No!” said Squirrely, again with a little too much enthusiasm. “I mean, uh, we could use your help when we’re going up against Frosty.”

“I’ll stay with her and take her back to the cellar where she’ll be safe,” said Gigi, one of Santa’s elves. “Once she’s there I’ll come back to help you guys.”

“Sounds good,” Santa agreed.

“Oh, Cowhidey!” said Jingly. “I’ll miss you!”

“Think about me!” said Cowhidey.

“I will!” said Jingly.

“Really?” said Cowhidey.

“Real-”

“OH WILL YOU SHUTUP AND GO ALREADY!” screamed Squirrely just before slapping her hand over her mouth and ducking her head into a shadow. Luckily, no guards were in hearing range.

“I’ll miss you,” Jingly whispered to Cowhidey as she blew him a kiss and walked away.

“Hey, I have a question,” said Giraffey.

“What?” Santa said, slightly annoyed.

“Why is it always Santa has to battle some Grinch like nemesis in these Christmas stories? Why can’t there be a happy story? Maybe where Santa falls in love or something?”

“My God,” said Santa, “can we please just get on with this. I’m sorry, Giraffey. I understand this is trite, but it’s going on like three weeks since Christmas now, and I really just want to get this over with and move on.”

They all agreed that, while Giraffey’s opinion was respectable, it just wasn’t the time to argue about it, and so they set forth down the castle corridors to the throne room where Frosty the Snowman sat waiting.

Next time, more stuff happens… I don’t know… maybe a dinosaur or something.

Part 25

Last time, Santa and the chew toys were in an underground food cellar of Santa’s gingerbread castle. They had just learned that Frosty the Snowman had taken over.

“How did it happen?” Santa asked Gigi, an elf painted in black and gray camouflage. “I thought our defenses were strong enough to keep Frosty out.”

“When you left, the two elf tribes continued their war over who owned the North Pole’s poppy fields,” said Gigi. “But that war took its toll. Many elves from both tribes were killed, and our resources were quickly depleted. Frosty must have been waiting for the precise moment that you were gone and we were weak to make his move. He stormed into Santa’s village with hundreds of his snowmen soldiers. Many more elves were killed. The ones that lived were taken hostage and are now serving Frosty. Some of us, however, got away and started this resistance. Even though we are from different tribes, we are working together to defeat the larger menace that is Frosty the Snowman.”

Santa and the chew toys stood quietly as they let Gigi’s story sink in. The food cellar felt damp and everything looked slimy as the only light source, a hanging lamp in the middle of the room, reflected off the moist, stone walls.

“So, what you’re saying is,” said Squirrely, “Christmas is ruined forever?!”

“Christmas has already passed,” said Santa.

“It did?!” said the chew toys.

“How long have we been here?” asked Froggy.

“The days in the North Pole are longer than what you are use to,” said Santa. “Christmas has already come in gone. Perhaps if a certain writer would concentrate on his own story more than once every week or two, this would have developed with a better real time, timeline.”

“Santa,” said Cowhidey, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” said Santa. “So what do you elves know so far about Frosty and where he’s at?”

Gigi nodded his head, “So far we know that Frosty has bunkered himself in the throne room of your castle. We have one elf we can communicate with on the inside. Word is Frosty is showing signs of paranoia. He has surrounded himself with weapons and his elite candy cane guard. The rest of the castle is being patrolled by his other snowmen soldiers. Nasty stuff.”

“So, what can we do to fix this?” asked Froggy.

“There’s not enough of us for a full on attack,” said Santa. “We’ll have to sneak our way into the throne room, and take out Frosty from there. Do we have any weapons?”

“Just a few snow ball sling shots, a huggable pink teddy bear, and like twenty Ruger P series semi-automatic pistols,” said Gigi.

“I’ll take a pistol,” said Froggy.

“Me too,” everyone egreed.

Next time, Santa, the elves, and our chew toy heroes fight their way into the castle throne room, but a hidden truth is about to be revealed!

Part 24

Last time, our chew toy friends were arriving at the North Pole with Santa Claus, only to find something they didn’t expect.

Overhead, the North Pole was littered with ruined buildings and black, pillars of smoke. Santa quickly steered his sleigh into a landing near a massive gingerbread castle, which by some miracle was left untouched.

“What happened, Santa?” asked Giraffey.

“I don’t know,” said Santa as he jumped out of the sleigh. “It wasn’t like this when I left.”

The air was bitter and quiet aside from the occasional burning collapse of roofs from nearby gingerbread houses. Dead elves clutching heavy machine guns were scattered outside the castle walls, red in their own icy blood.

“Oh, Santa this is awful!” said Squirrely.

“Okay,” said Santa, keeping his voice quiet. “Everyone stay low and follow me. We have to get inside the castle.”

The chew toys did what Santa said, being careful not to walk on any of the dead elves. A thin blanket of snow started to fall. About half way to the castle entrance, Santa stopped abruptly.

“Did you hear something?” he asked. The chew shook their heads and looked cautiously through the falling snow.

“Santa!” a soft shout came from a corner just to the left of the castle entrance. “Santa, over here!”

Santa and the chew toys quickly made their way across the open, snowy grounds to a small elf standing just outside a hole going underneath the castle wall. The elf wasn’t much bigger than the chew toys and was painted in white and gray spots, apparently for camouflage.

“Gigi!” said Santa. “Gigi, what happened?!”

“Keep your voice down, Santa!” said the little elf. “Come on, follow me through this hole.”

Gigi the elf led the way and the rest of the group followed. The hole was a tight fit for Santa (him having that unhealthy weight issue and all) but was a comfortable width for the chew toys. It was however, dark and damp, but it didn’t last long.

As the gang crawled out, they found themselves in a small, thinly lit underground cellar to the castle. Racks of holiday type foods lined the walls. In the center stood a small wooden table holding a graph of the castle grounds, lit by a solitary, swinging lamp from above. Three other elves stood hovering over the graph, apparently deep in debate.

“Where are we?” asked Squirrely.

“This is the hideout for the new resistance,” said Gigi.

“New?” asked Santa.

“At lot has changed since you left, Santa,” said Gigi.

“It’s only been like three days!” said Santa. “What could have possibly happened since then?!”

“It’s Frosty, sir,” said Gigi.

Santa smashed his hand against one of the racks of food. “That son of a bitch.”

Next time, the happy little elves will dance a merry little jig, and Santa learns how to bake holiday cookies with sprinkles!!!

Part 23

Part 23

Last time, Santa was gathering up our chew toys pals for a magical Christmas adventure, while Squirrely and Monkeyy were stuck in the past in a London jail cell for a crime they didn’t commit.

Squirrely and Monkeyy sat on a very uncomfortable floor in a corner of their damp, crowded cell. They were surrounded by scary Londoners with their freaky accents, thick hair, big noses, and crooked teeth. The only window, a small hole near the ceiling, etched shadowy bars against the mildew stained floor below.

“Monkeyy,” cried Squirrely, “how are we going to get out of this?! They think we killed someone!”

“I don’t know,” Monkeyy put his arm around squirrely and hugged her. “I just don’t know.”

Just then, as if by some writer’s convenience, Santa Claus walked up to the cell bars followed by Froggy, Giraffey, Cowhidey, and Jingly.

“Santa!!!” Squirrely jumped up and down. “Oh, Santa! Did you get my letters?! I’ve been emailing you every week about what I’ve been up to, what shampoo I’ve been using, what I’ve been eating-”

“Yes, yes Squirrely,” said Santa. “Kind of creepy,” he added.

“Sorry, Santa,” said Squirrely. “I just get so excited about Christmas sometimes- I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Not that I’m not happy to see you guys either,” said Monkeyy, “but why are you here?”

“We need your help,” said Froggy.

“Umm yeah!” said Cowhidey trying to look impressive in front of Jingly. “Santa is having a problem with his elves. Fighting each other… and uh… something with prostitutes.”

“They’ve stopped making toys and are fighting each other over religion and who has control over the North Pole’s poppy fields,” said Giraffey.

“And prostitutes,” said Cowhidey. “Santa, didn’t you say something about you had an affair with a prostitute, and you have to go to court?”

“Not even close,” said Santa. “Anyway, we’re here to break you two out and take you with us to the North Pole.”

“Thank God,” said Monkeyy. “This place smells like sewage.”

“Okay stand back,” said Santa, and using his dumb Christmas magic, he wiggled his nose and teleported all of the chew toys into his sleigh waiting outside.

The ride to the North Pole was quiet, dark, and a bit chilly. Squirrely looked to her left and saw Froggy and Giraffey snuggled against each other, giggling. She looked to her right and saw Cowhidey and Jingly making out. Monkeyy knowingly gave her a friendly pat on her shoulder from behind and smiled.

“You think you’ll ever find the perfect monkey to spend the rest of your life with?” she asked. He shrugged and nodded his head.

“Yeah…” Squirrely said and looked at the stars.

Next time, Santa and the chew toys arrive at the North Pole to find an unexpected surprise.

Part 22

When we last left our heroes, Squirrely and Monkeyy were stuck in the past in an eighteenth century London jail, and Cowhidey and Froggy were stuck in the present, in a bar with a distressed Santa Claus.

“Have a beer Santa,” said Froggy as Santa took off his dumb red, Santa hat and pulled up a stool next to Cowhidey and his new girlfriend Jingly (a blue ball with a bell inside her; she had some curves if you know what I’m saying!!! Haha… anyway).

“So what’s wrong this time, Santa?” asked Froggy.

“It’s the elves,” said Santa, his forehead shiny with sweat. “They’ve stopped making toys and-”

“Isn’t this a little cliché? I mean the whole, elves have stopped making toys, Christmas is in danger scenario?” said Cowhidey.

“Shut up, Cowhidey,” said Froggy. “Go on Santa.”

“Thank you, Froggy. Like I was saying, the elves have stopped making toys, and there isn’t enough to fulfill the wishes of all the little boys and girls on Christmas.”

“Why did they stop?” asked Jingly.

“It’s complicated,” said Santa. “You see, for a long time certain elves have been divided against other elves over religious doctrine. One tribe of elves, the Pillywinkers, believes that the interpretation of a famous elvin passage is radically different than the interpretation of another tribe, the Doodallys.”

“You’re making this shit up,” said Cowhidey.

“No,” said Santa. “I’m serious. Anyway, contrary to popular belief, I can’t pay the elves year around for their services. To make money they have to use alternate sources of income, namely poppy fields and opium distribution.”

“That’s horrible!” said Jingly. Just then Cowhidey realized that not caring about Santa’s predicament wasn’t going to get him laid.

“It’s terrible is what it is,” he quickly agreed. Jingly nodded.

“So,” continued Santa, “these two tribes are at war with each other with who controls the greater amount of poppy fields and opium rings.”

“What can we do?” asked Froggy.

“We need to get Giraffey, Squirrely, and Monkeyy and head to the North Pole. I have a few insider elves from the Pillywinker tribe coming up with a plan as we speak.”

“Can I come too?!” asked Jingly.

“I need all the help I can get,” said Santa.

Next time, Santa breaks Squirrely and Monkeyy out of jail, and the chew toy friends travel to the North Pole to confront the warring elvin tribes.

Part 21

Part 21

Last time, Cowhidey was girl shopping at the bar with Froggy, and Squirrely and Monkeyy were back in time where they had just finished an interview with Karl Marx for Squirrely’s journalism assignment.

The old London street Squirrely and Monkeyy walked down was still lifeless and damp. Night had settled, revealing an eerie orange glow from the scattered street lamps. Occasionally, black buggies pulled by equally black horses rolled past, splashing small puddles as they went.

“Do you know where we’re at?” asked Squirrely.

“No,” said Monkeyy. “Let me get my gpa- oh wait, no satellites…”

“This place feels kinda creepy,” said Squirrely as she rubbed the side of her arm.

“Yeah it does,” said Monkeyy. “How are we supposed to get back home?”

“I guess we need to make another time traveling taco.”

“So we need to find a bakery.”

“It would seem so, but I don’t think there are any open right now,” said Squirrely.

Suddenly a hideous scream echoed from a dark alley just to the left of the chew toys. They both stopped dead, and huddled against each other in anticipation. They strained their eyes to make out from where exactly the scream came from but could see nothing.

“YOU THERE!” yelled a Londoner dressed in the traditional attire of a British officer of the law. “Which one of you screamed?”

“It wasn’t us,” said Monkeyy. “It came from that alley.”

The officer walked cautiously towards them, before jumping back with a startle. The chew toys turned back to the alley to find a woman covered in blood and collapsed just outside the shadow of the alley’s entrance. The officer quickly ran to her as the chew toys stared in horror.

“She’s dead,” said the officer. “You two are coming with me.”

Meanwhile, in the present, Cowhidey and Froggy were at a bar where Cowhidey was talking to a blue rubber ball with a jingle bell inside of her. Stuff like that really turned Cowhidey on.

“So what was your name again?” he asked.

“Jingly,” giggled the ball.

“And what kind of stuff do you do for fun?” he asked.

“Hey, Cowhidey,” interrupted Froggy. “Hey man, I’m about to head out. Are you coming with me?”

“Already?! Dude, we just got here!” said Cowhidey.

“Yeah, well Giraffey’s been texting me. She’s bored and wants to watch a movie.”

“Then tell her to watch a movie.”

“I think she wants to watch a movie together. It’s one she’s been wanting to watch for a while.”

“Well,” said Cowhidey to Jingly, “you think maybe you can give me a ride if I stay here?”

“No need,” said a deep, masculine- almost jolly voice which was undeniably not Jingly’s. The chew toys turned their confused heads to a booming presence at the bar’s entrance.

“Santa?” they asked.

Next time, Santa picks our chew toy heroes up for a magical Christmas adventure that will surely end in death.

Part 20

Part 20

Last time, Squirrely and Monkeyy were about to interview Karl Marx for Squirrely’s journalism assignment, and Cowhidey had just been dumped by his girlfriend of three weeks.

Cowhidey sat on a bar stool and stared dejectedly at a baseball game on one of the various sporting televisions aligning the bar’s ceiling. And believe it or not, it wasn’t the fact that baseball is the most depressing, boring sports in the world that brought about this feeling of dejectedness. No, it was due to his recent break up from his one true love, the canceled Twitter page of Miley Cyrus.

Cowidey took a last swig from his beer  and cried a little inside as another fly ball sailed into God knows where for the last God knows how many times that inning.

“Can I get another?” he asked the barkeep.

“Coming right up,” said the barkeep as a slight pressure fell on Cowhidey’s shoulder. Cowhidey turned around to find Froggy pulling up a stool next to him.

“One for me too please,” said Froggy to the barkeep.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Cowhidey asked Froggy.

“Because this is where you always go when you break up with a girl,” said Froggy.

“Ohh…” said Cowhidey as he replaced his empty bottle with a fresh one. “How’d you know we would break up?”

“Because… because you two were just too different to last very long.”

“I thought we’d be together for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah, well- it happens. Besides, at least now you don’t have to watch anymore Broadway shows.”

“Haha, yeah Broadway does suck!”

“And there are plenty of other girls out there, right? And despite your lack of a job or life motivation in general, you never seem to lack at finding them,” said Froggy just as a chew stick girl came up to Cowhidey.

“Hi, my name’s Beef Flavor Sticky. What’s yours?” she said.

“Which is kinda annoying,” Froggy finished with a mumble.

Meanwhile, Squirrely was organizing her notes for her interview with Karl Marx. Squirrely stood in the middle of the living room while Monkeyy took a seat near a paper cluttered desk.

“Sorry,” said Karl Marx referring to his desk, “I’ve just been busy lately. Would you two like some tea?”

“No thanks,” Squirrely answered for the both of them. “Got to get this done and run along. You know how time is.”

Karl Marx smiled and sat at his desk.

“Okay, I just have three questions for ya,” said Squirrely. “One, what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue lavender.”

“Question two, what’s your favorite food?”

“Kiwi pie.”

“And three, what’s your favorite season?”

“Autumn.”

“Good!” said Squirrely to a very confused Monkeyy. “Looks like we’re done here. Thank you Mr. Marx, this will surely get me a good grade on my journalism assignment. Let’s go, Monkeyy.”

“Wait wait wait!” said Monkeyy as Squirrely was quickly walking out the door. “Hold on! You have the chance to talk to the man that influences the Communism revolution, and that’s what you ask him?!”

“Yep,” said Squirrely as she waved goodbye, and hurried back onto the foggy London street.

“But- why?”

“Because,” Squirrely stopped and rolled her head at Monkeyy, “I’m not trying to change the world, Monkeyy. I’m trying to get an A in journalism.”

Next time, Cowhidey searches for a new girlfriend in all the wrong places, and Squirrely and Monkeyy get into trouble.

Part 19

Part 19

Last time, Squirrely and Monkeyy were in ancient London looking to interview Karl Marx for Squirrely’s journalism assignment, and Cowhidey was at the park (in the today time) proposing to his girlfriend, the dead Twitter page of Miley Cyrus.

By now Cowhidey had asked Miley Cyrus’ Twitter page 16 times to marry him. The sun had gone completely down leaving only the scattered sidewalk lamps and distant cars to light the chilling park. With each question, his virtual girlfriend came up with another topic to change the subject.

“I feel like you are avoiding my question,” said Cowhidey.

“Huh, what question?” said Miley Cyrus’ Twitter page.

“Will you marry-”

“It sure does get dark without the sun.”

“Why do you keep doing this?!”

“Cowhidey, look,” said the Twitter page, “you’re a real funny, really cute guy, but I just don’t think this is meant to be. I mean, I need someone in my life that’s more into the things that I’m into and you… Well, you need someone with more tattoos.”

“So you’re breaking up with me?!” said Cowhidey.

“Sorry… But hey! We’ll always have the moments we’ve shared over that past… uhhh few… you know…”

“Weeks,” said Cowhidey.

“Yeah,” smiled Miley’s ex-Twitter page.

Meanwhile, Squirrely and Monkeyy had come upon a quaint house belonging to one Mr. Karl Marx just outside London, circa 18-something or other. Squirrely politely knocked on the door and readied her pen and interview notebook. What looked like a large man with a long beard answered.

“Can I help you?” said the man.

“Yes,” said Squirrely, “we’re looking for Mr. Karl Marx.”

“I’m Mr. Karl Marx,” said the man in a way that wasn’t totally confused but confused enough that he wasn’t totally sure what was going on but felt he was still comfortable and in control of the situation.

“Oh good,” said Squirrely. “Mr. Marx, can I do a quick interview with you for a journalism assignment?”

“Of me?” said Karl (I’m just going to call him Karl; I’m sure he’d be cool with that). “Why me?”

“Because,” said Squirrely, “I have to interview the leader of a great political movement.”

“Really?!” laughed ‘Ol Karl. “Well, I’m afraid you have the wrong person. I’m not a leader of much of anything.”

“Yeah I know,” said Squirrely. “But you will be. Or at least your writings on Communism will be shortly after you die.”

“Hey Squirrely?” interjected Monkeyy. “Shouldn’t you not tell him things about the future? I mean, isn’t there a whole time paradox issue about this that we should be careful of?”

Squirrely shrugged.

“So can we do the interview or not?” she asked the mix master Karl Mar- to the X… word.

“Sure, come on in,” he said.

Next time, Squirrely and Monkeyy screw up our entire timeline of history by revealing the future to Karl Marx. But you will never know the difference because what has happened in the past is now- today’s reality… yeah… Also, Cowhidey gets drunk at a bar.

Part 18

Part 18

Last time, Cowhidey had just proposed to his girlfriend, the dead Twitter page of Miley Cyrus, and Squirrely and Monkeyy had traveled back in time to the outskirts of London in search of Karl Marx.

Squirrely and Monkeyy arrived on a dewy, paved road just outside London circa like eighteen something or other. The sun was just setting, allowing the faint glow of the freshly lit street lamps to distinguish their own subtle luminosity. Beneath one of these lamps stood a tall, skinny Londoner dressed in a black, heavy jacket and hat. A faint match sparked from his finger tips as he lit a rather large, curvy pipe.

“Let’s ask that guy if he knows where we can find Karl Marx,” said Squirrely. Monkeyy, a little weary of the ghostly scene, said nothing and followed.

“Excuse me sir,” said Squirrely.

“Ello there,” said the man as if talking to a time traveling chew toy with an American accent was perfectly normal.

“Can you tell us where we can find Karl Marx?”

“Karl Marx is it? Sure! Just head on up that ‘ill over there- ‘bout four houses down- just a skipin a doo from the ‘ole Charley eh?”

“What?”

“Not ‘ery funny though, that Karl. Always writin’ stuff. Lives wit his rich wife and kids. Now say ‘is wife gives ‘em a bit of hassle about the pub eh? And he acts all submissive but does it just the same eh? THEN ‘IS WIFEY GIVES ‘EM A GOOD SMACK ACROSS THE FACE WIT A BIG, DEAD FISH EH! HAHAHA Now that some comedy!”

“What?”

“I think we should get going,” said Monkeyy as he tugged on Squirrely’s arm.

“All right!” said the Londoner. “Shakin’ adoo in all that then? Cheers mates!”

“Why do they say cheers when they’re not drinking?” Squirrely asked Monkeyy as he quickly pulled her along in the direction of Karl Marx’s house.

“Because they’re always drunk,” said Monkeyy.

“What?”

“Nothing, just keep walking.”

Meanwhile, Cowhidey and his girlfriend, the dead Twitter page of Miley Cyrus, were sitting on a picnic blanket at the park. The sun was going down here too, as it left golden reflections off the autumn leaves. The Twitter page pretended she didn’t hear Cowhidey’s last question.

“Babe?” said Cowhidey.

“Huh?” said the dead Twitter page of Miley Cyrus.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked if you would make me the happiest thing on earth and be my wife.”

“OMG- Look a yellow car!”

Next time, Squirrely has some tough questions for Karl Marx, and Cowhidey learns the horrible lesson of having a passionate love for a celebrity’s Twitter page.