Ahhh, the joyous season is upon us.
Newsgroups: alt.tasteless
Path: netcom.com!pigface
From:
pigface@netcom.com (Filthy McNasty)
Subject: Christmas Story
Message-ID: <pigfaceE2BM7A.66s@netcom.com>
Organization: NETCOM On-line Communication Services (408 261-4700 guest)
Date: Thu, 12 Dec 1996 21:54:45 GMT
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Sender:
pigface@netcom16.netcom.comIt was 8 in the morning, and Larry Mathis was getting ready to go to
work. Well, not really work. He was off to do a stint as Santa Claus
at Bay Mall. Larry didn't consider it real work, and he'd done stuff
like it before. His last job had been as an Elvis impersonator at a
local nightclub, but had to quit when he started getting paranoid
that he would die sitting on the crapper, as had the person he was
pretending to be.
In fact, paranoia was becoming the dominant emotional characteristic
in Larry's personality. Ever since Angie. He'd loved her. She had been
a beauty, and she told him she loved him, also. So why had he caught
her coming out of that hotel with that young man? He didn't confront her
at the time, but when she had come home that night, he was on her, but
good. She kept insisting it was her friend from work, and she was just
picking up some documents. Bullshit. She was cheating, she had ruined his
life, and he had killed her. It was as simple as that. Strangled her and
buried her in the backyard. That's what you did with cheaters, you just
kill them, don't you?
But his guilt was overpowering him, and her presence in the yard was
almost speaking to him, a mental hallucination like something from
an Edgar Allen Poe story. He began to fret that someone would connect
her disappearance with him. He had told the police that she had said
she was leaving town to live with relatives. No, he didn't know why
she had left her job without warning. No, she hadn't seemed distraught,
only a little sad that she was leaving him. Alone, as he had been when
he had met her. No, she didn't have many other friends outside of work
that Larry knew of, but Larry was expecting that she would send a
letter or phone him when she was settled. The police wrote it off, as
no one seemed too concerned as to her whereabouts.
But Larry was. Damn right he was, because if anyone were to find out
Angie's new address, they sure as hell weren't going to make Larry's
life very comfortable. He wouldn't be alone anymore, no, he'd have
a whole slew of roommates at the state prison, some friendlier than
he wanted to get.
So, Larry was a bonafide paranoid motherfucker. He manifested that
trait in that he was always armed whenever he left his home, even to
go play Santa Claus at the local mall. He slipped a switchblade with
a six inch blade into the pocket of his coat, and stuffed a .32
caliber pistol into the waistband of his pants, under the coat. You
never know what might happen. Then, he shuffled on down to his car,
and another day at the mall.
=========================================================================
Kenny McCauley and his sister, Heather, were very excited about going to
see Santa. Kenny was seven, and really didn't believe in Santa anymore,
but Heather did, and Kenny was going, just in case the fat prick was
real and was able to grant him his selfish wishes.
When Julia, their mother, told them to get in the car to go to the
mall, they just about dashed themselves to death trying to be the first
one to the car, laughing and pretty much oblivious to anything but the
immediate sense that they were going to see Santa, as kids do.
=========================================================================
Larry, fortified with most of a half pint of cheap vodka, mounted the
throne for his first kids of the day. They were all about the same, in
that they were self absorbed little fucksticks, who thought only in
terms of what they could get for free, and Larry pretty much hated them
all. Every once in a while, one would ask for something like world
peace, and Larry hated them, too, for their naivete and seeming inability
to understand that man, as a rule, was a violent, mean-spirited animal,
who was only happy killing and maiming his fellow men.
By nine thirty, twelve kids had invaded his space, and he had had to go
out to the battered Chevy to finish his bottle of vodka on his break.
As he was returning, two little kids waved to him from the seat of a
plush Mercury. He waved and tried to smile, but it came out as more of
a wince. The kids didn't seem to notice though, as they continued to
wave frantically at Santa.
==========================================================================
Inside the Merc, Julia's kids were ecstatic that Santa had taken time out
to notice them. They thought he was beautiful. She thought he was a grisly
looking bastard, and remarked so under her breath. She thought they looked
worse every year, as if the Salvation Army or whoever hired these Santas
had to venture further into the Skid Rows to find people to do the job.
But to the kids, they all looked the same, they all looked like Santa,
even when it was obvious to the adults that he was padded and drunk off
of his ass.
By the time Julia, Kenny and Heather had found a parking space and then
gone into the store, Larry was back on the Santa Claus throne, feeling
the warmth of the cheap booze soaking into his body. But it had done
little to calm his psyche, and his nerves were jangled from worrying
about the cunt in the garden at home and all the imagined slights of his
fellow man, and he was pretty tightly strung. In fact, you could say
he was ready to snap.
Kenny and Heather were lucky. there were only two kids ahead of them, and
the kid in Santa's lap was climbing off. The first kid in line in front
of them took his turn, leaving Kenny and Heather with a fat boy with
braces and smelling vaguely of grease as the only ones in line. Santa
wasn't very busy today, it seemed.
The fat kid said, "Whatcha gonna ask Santa for?" Kenny said he had a list
in his pocket, but Heather said her request was a secret. She hadn't even
told Mommy. The fat kid just rambled on about all the things he wanted
for Christmas, and Julia felt that he was as gluttonous as his appearance
testified. She was certainly glad that her children were so much more
civilized.
Finally, the fat kid took his turn sitting in Larry's lap, and Larry said,
"You sure are a big boy. Are you hungry?" The kid said yes, and Larry gave
him a sucker from his pocket. The kid slammed it in his mouth, and without
missing a beat, continued to rattle off all the things he wanted. Finally,
Larry said that that was enough, because if he had to bring all the things
this little prick wanted, the other kids wouldn't get anything. The fat kid
said he didn't much care, and Larry wanted to assault and batter the little
bastard to within an inch of his life, but thought better of it. Barely.
The fat kid sauntered off, and Heather told Kenny to go ahead of her. No
one there knew about the transformation the fat kid had wrought in poor ol'
Santa Claus, and there were no indications that he had, indeed, snapped.
Kenny adjusted himself in the artificially fat man's lap, and Larry asked
him what he wanted. No "Ho Ho Ho's," no "How ya doin's," just "What do
YOU want." Kenny thought that a bit odd, but went ahead and told Santa
that he, Kenny, needed a million dollars. Santa did something unexpected
then, something no other Santa had ever done in Kenny's memory. He told him
"NO" and went on to inform Kenny that that was a very selfish, greedy thing
to ask for, and that Kenny deserved nothing for Christmas because he was
a greedy, bad little boy. Kenny looked at him, all illusions shattered, and
said, "You're not Santa." Larry, in his altered state, became indignant,
and for a brief moment he actually believed he was St. Nick, and said so
in a loud voice, startling Kenny. Julia had wandered over to another area
of the store, or she probably would have taken her children away from the
frenzied looking man in the Santa suit.
Heather, though, was blind to anything that might be amiss. She had come to
make a request, and she wasn't to be denied. So, when Kenny moved off and
away from this fraudulent Good Guy, Heather took his place. When Larry asked
her what she wanted, she looked him in the eye and said, "I want you to bring
my Daddy home." Larry asked her if she knew where he was. She knew, all right.
He was dead in the ground, killed in a car accident the previous year. Larry
tried to convince her that even Santa couldn't bring dead people back to
life, and when she started to cry, he started to get pissed. Julia and
Kenny were on their way back to the Santa Claus area, with Kenny explaining
that he didn't believe in Santa anymore, because this guy was an obvious
fake, calling him names and stinking of booze.
Heather was struggling to get away from Larry, who put an end to her
struggling by slipping the knife out of his pocket, snapping it open, and
inserting the blade in between her tiny ribs. When Julia rounded the corner
and saw the comical look of surprise on Heather's face, she had to smile,
and wished she had brought her camera. But when the gout of blood spurted
out of her mouth and landed on the floor at Santa's feet, she screamed,
and ran toward her daughter. Larry slung the little girl to the floor,
stood up, and freed the gun from his waistband. He yelled, "I'm Santa
Claus!! I'm not fucking GOD!!" as he pumped two shots into the face and throat
of pretty Julia McCauley, who now looked like something off of a horror
movie set. Kenny, who had witnessed the whole thing, screamed, and ran toward
Larry, fists flailing at the monster in the red suit. Larry shoved him to the
floor, very roughly, and popped off two shots into his lungs and heart area,
busrting the heart, and causing Kenny to duplicate his sister's feat of
spewing blood out of his mouth before he expired. A security guard heard the
pops of the small caliber handgun, and rushed to intervene. But, alas, he
was unarmed, and Larry dispatched him with a single bullet to the forehead.
Larry reloaded, and shot shoppers at random, killing an old woman who was
attempting to get out of the store, but as old people are prone to be, she
was too slow. The bullet caught her in the back of the head, causing her
to somersault and land face up, eyes wide and her skirt hiked up over her
pale, flabby thighs. He blew away a teenage couple while they stood with
their mouths open, unable to react due to shock. A small boy who had wandered
too far away from his mommy caught three bullets to the upper body, causing
him to twitch and dance into a display of tennis shoes before dying with
an anguished look on his face.
The police finally arrived, and shot Larry once in the chest and once
in the upper arm before arresting him. He was tried, found innocent by
reason of insanity, and sent to Harbor Hills for the rest of his natural
life. Most days, he just sits and stares out the window. He wears a sad
smile. They never found out about Angie, the cheating bitch buried in
the yard of the house he once lived in, and he feels like now they never
will. But each year, around Christmas, Larry gets a little more active,
a little more social. Every year since his arrival at Harbor Hills, the
dour little man plays Santa Claus at the annual party at the hospital.
It's the finest role he ever played.
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