Free Sausagey Santa by Iii Carlton Mellick Page A

Reynolds Elf helps Sausagey Santa out of the miniature nuclear submarine and they climb down to greet me. Santa is still worn and tattered, with clock-filled thighs.
    “Merry Christmas, me boy,” Santa says, handing me a very light present about the size of a shoe box. “Ye shall love it, I’m right sure.”
    I doubt I’ll love it.
    I rip off the wrapping paper, which is strangely covered in pictures of plump German sausages with big red bows tied around them. It is a shoe box. I open the box to find that it is empty except a small yellow piece of paper on the bottom of the box.
    The paper has two words on it: turn around.
    So I turn around.
     
     
    HOLY MOTHER OF FUCKING CHRIST. Oh, my fucking shit . . .
    Can it really be?
    Can it?
    Is it real?
    NO WAY!!!
    In my backyard . . . MY backyard. They’re here . . . SPELUNKER!!!
     
     
    The band Spelunker is on a stage in my yard. All five members. They are even wearing their awesome adventure gear. One of them is wearing mountain climbing gear, one is wearing snow gear, one is wearing scuba gear, one is wearing desert camo, and the singer is wearing jungle survival gear with a machete.
    They pick up their guitars and wail on them.
    “This is for the sly guy, Matthew Fry,” says the singer, Maxwell Stone.
    I point guns at him and bob my head.
    HUGE smile on my face.
    Then they play “Canyon Kayaking Danger Team,” my absolute favorite song!
    All of the elves come out of the house and dance to the rockingest tune ever written. I groove in the center of the crowd and show off my sly moves, hoping Maxwell Stone catches a glimpse of them. Angelica flies in the air above, waving down at me. I point her some gun-fingers. Even Decapitron dances in the background in her enormous robot form.
     
     
    After a few songs, I go to Santa.
    “How did you know?” I ask. “How did you know this is what I wanted?”
    “Arrr, me boy,” he says. “That be Santa’s little secret.”
    I give him a high-five on his hotdog fingers and go back to dancing.
    Between songs, Boon tells me Santa didn’t actually know I wanted Spelunker to play at my house for Christmas. He says that Santa never knows what anyone wants for Christmas. Only the present worms do.
    Present worms are small gooey elf-manufactured creatures that Santa uses to get boys and girls what they want for Christmas. All he does is put the worms inside of a box, address the package, and put it under the tree. While the children sleep, the present worms read their minds and find out what gift is wanted. Then the worms construct that gift, die, and evaporate before morning.
    Santa’s job is to figure out the size of the box and how many present worms he should put in. He decides this by calculating how naughty or nice the child has been. If he puts in only a couple of worms the present won’t be very good. If he puts in six to ten it is likely to be an awesome Christmas for the little kid.
    But for the members of my family Santa put three shovelfuls of present worms into each of our boxes. It was hundreds of times more potent than any present he has ever given before. There were so many worms that they could have given us any gift we ever could have wanted in the world.
    I don’t know about the rest of the family, but I sure got what I wanted.
     
     
    The party rages on into the night. Spelunker keeps playing nonstop and the elves keep dancing. We finish all the booze in the house and Santa wraps up a bunch of present worms to make himself some scotch. He’s looking for some bigger boxes so they can make a few kegs. They tell me that we’re going to party  nonstop for days. That’s what they do every Christmas Day, after their job for the year has been completed. They like to celebrate. But this year they have to party extra hard because they have to celebrate the lives of those elves fallen in battle and celebrate the defeat of Nazi Frosty.
    I’m hopping up and down like a kid, chugging some brandy eggnog. Being this