Ah. I thought it seemed rather polished. Good job, Darks!
Here’s the original rough cut
(Anti-Claus and his flesh eating snowmen inhabit the south pole, waiting for the foolhardy to wander close!)
*sigh*
Worse is that I see in my mind’s eye snowmen riding snowmobiles and eating people thigh sized drumsticks labeled KFH.
Abominitious, yes.
(I know.. not a real word.)
I’m surprised that kids don’t know about Anti-Claus.
Their eyes bug out when I tell them about.. it.
Then they run screaming about the time I get to the part where Kringle had his hands full repelling the invasion, and half his elf army became snowman kibble.
I thought everyone knew how Anti-Claus, in his bottomless evil, duped Kringle into believing his gesture of “Holiday Spirit” was a genuine outpouring of Yuletide cheer, gained entry into the very halls of the North Pole, ransacked Mrs. Claus (that we shall not speak of, she still growls like a cougar when it is mentioned) and proceeded to force Kringle to hide in the reindeer stables for a whole unbathed week before using Rudolph’s mutant glowing nose to drive off the ice born fiends.
As best as anyone can recall, and memory of those long years is faded and hazy at best due to spiked egg nog, it all began over meatloaf and fruitcake.
Back then, fruitcake wasn’t as dessicated, nor as mummified as it is now.
Legend has it that at the great split, fruitcake became despondent and thus ended up in it’s current sad state, edging into a second life as armor plating and blackjack staves.
Meatloaf was more... loafy.
..clutching the mightily struggling Rudolph under his arm in rifle fashion, Kringle lept over the bales of hay while bellowing barbarically at the snowy abominations that had so decimated his forces.
An iron fisted squeeze, and Rudolph’s nose shot forth a glaring red beam that lanced through the closest icicle toothed horror that growled for flesh even as it melted!
Moaning, growling, and gargling, the abominable snowmen lurched and slid towards Kringle and his misappropriated wriggling weapon.
“Let go of me you bathless ham handed fre-EEEK!” Rudolph lazed down and slagged several more death fanged grotesqueries as they rounded the corner, elf bits in hand as clubs.
Reaching the main compound and leaving a wake of corn cob pipe wriggling puddles behind them, Kringle and Rudolph burst through the front door of North Pole HQ.
Mrs Claus clutched her comforter tightly and chuckled nervously.
“He’s not here, he left.”
Kringle merely elbowed the door hard, and squished Anti-Claus behind it.
Anti dropped his boots 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 other accoutrements back on as he fell.
Jumping on his magic flying Polaris snowmotrike, he blatted off into the night, trailing his icy hordes behind him in defeat.
Mrs Claus waved her handkerchief goodbye and sniffled.
“Don’t forget to write!” she said.
“What was that?!” Kringle demanded.
“Nothing dear.” she said.
The battle was over, after a schlocky fashion, Kringle had won, Anti-Claus was defeated, for now.