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Snowball Fight

Deep in the vast, ice-covered darkness of the South Pole dwells a creature as twisted and cold as his icy heart. His flesh eating snowmen wait with icicle fangs dripping in anticipation for the foolhardy human to wander close. A human thigh from KFH… Mmmmm!

Hunger often draws them to fortify themselves with a mixture of desiccated meatloaf and sour eggnog before heading for their snowmotrikes on a Search and Destroy mission for any careless food-thingy to be caught in the open darkness.

As Anti Claus ponders the plight of his starving minions, he tweaks his frozen beard as he decides to arm his Abominitious Slavering Snowmen, or A.S.S.es, and head NORTH to the Tundra! He arms them with the mummified remains of fruitcake which has been re-formed into armor plating and blackjack staves, and yes, even mortar rounds.
Meanwhile, at the North Pole, Kringle has his hands full with preparation for his Long Ride. He’d been hearing rumors of his bottomless evil Doppelganger, Anti Claus, sitting at the bottom of the world. He didn’t really believe them, but still, there was Mrs. Kringle to consider.
Suddenly, Rudolph bounded into the large gingerbread barn and nudged Kringle towards North Pole HQ. It was only then that he understood the noises at the edges of his hearing ~~ the screams, the tinkling of ice shattering, the sloppy slavering and the grunts and groans ~~ it could mean only one thing: The Abominitious Slavering Snowmen and Anti Claus were HERE! NOW!

Suddenly, all became silent and still. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

A shadow loomed in the lantern light. A melodious voice breathed, “Kringle! I’ve come to share the Holiday Spirits with you and Mrs. Kringle. Won’t you join me in my snowmotrike?”
Kringle was mesmerized by the silken voice, even though he kept seeing red alarms flashing a warning at him. He was unable to move as he watched in horror while his elves began to crumble into kibble under the onslaught of the A.S.S.es.
Using Uber-Santa strength, Kringle, realizing he was lying in a quickly-freezing puddle on the icy floor, and that his minutes were numbered, tried to rouse himself. But he was comfy, and the noise had receded as he drowsed… suddenly, he heard stamping and clawing of lots of tiny hooves, and he knew he must get up to fight.

Abruptly, he was jolted into awareness by a red-hot poker in his ribs, accompanied by snorts, grunts and other bodily emissions. Opening his eyes, he saw Rudolph, jabbing his nose into Kringle’s side, trying to get him up and fighting.
Elf crumbs and icicle pieces were scattered across the floor as Kringle grabbed Rudy around the neck and told him to back up and pull Kringle to his feet. Once upright, he clutched madly at Rudy, putting him in a choke hold under his arm like a rifle.

Together, they leapt over the bales of hay in the gingerbread barn, with Kringle bellowing reindeer obscenities at the snowy, shuffling ice heaps that had so decimated his forces.

With a tight-fisted squeeze, Kringle put his finger to the side of Rudy’s nose and a glaring red laser beam lanced through the closest icicle-toothed horror that growled for flesh, even as it melted.
Moaning and growling, gargling and snuffling, the A.S.S.es lurched and slid towards Kringle and his wriggling weapon. “Let go of me, you ham-handed fr-EEEK!!!” Rudy lased down and slagged several more death-fanged grotesqueries as they rounded the corner, elf bits and crumbs being wielded as clubs.

Rudy and Kringle kept up a brutal barrage and finally made their ways to the North Pole HQ building, leaving a wake of corn cob pipes, button noses, elf crumbs and wriggling puddles of fruitloaf and meatnog throbbing their lives out in front of God and everybody.

Kringle used Rudy as a battering ram and burst through the front door. Mrs. Kringle was on the floor clutching her downy comforter tightly to her chest and chuckling nervously, “He’s not here; he left.”

Kringle merely elbowed the door hard and squished Anti Claus behind it, where he dropped his suit and grabbed his nose.
Upon seeing the insanely glowing nose of the much-abused Rudolph, Anti Claus bailed through the window, somehow getting his boots and most of his other accoutrements back on as he fell. Jumping on his flying snowmotrike, he blatted off into the night, trailing his icy hordes behind him in defeat.
Mrs. Kringle waved her handkerchief goodbye and sniffled. “Don’t forget to write,” she whispered.
“What was that?!” Kringle demanded.
“Nothing, Dear. Oh, look! He left part of his suit,” she smiled, fondling the scratchy, matted fake fur.
It was only in later years, as her icy grandchildren were once again gathered ‘round her knees to hear of “The Battle of the A.S.S.es” or “How Anti Claus Lost His Suit,” which seemed to get longer and better in the telling. It was revealed that she had been ransacked that night, and though it was difficult to relate, causing her to growl like a cougar at inappropriate places, she managed to get through it with a smile and a few tears.
And every year on the anniversary, another suit would turn up. That first year, it was Rudolph’s turn to sue - for encroachment upon his dignity. But he won that suit by a nose.