I'm in another boring meeting about the various issues of running the city. Maybe I should give up the evil overlord business, there is lot more work and a lot less gloating than I was thinking.

"...then there's the lighting of the mayor's Christmas tree, and on..." says my droning assistant. What a minute...

"The lighting of the Christmas tree?" I inquire.

My assistant looks up from his notepad. "Yes, it's a tradition..."

"Not any more! Make a note, I want a new law in place, there is to be no Christmas in this town. Hire extra Trolls to enforce it."

My assistant scrawls down my directive. "Certainly sir. Now to other business."

"No. Begone. That is enough." I make a gesture toward the door and my assitant prepares to leave.

"Wait. I want you to summon Samyaza the dread lich for me. I think something more has to be done about this infernal holliday."

"Yes sir. I will summon him immediately." My assistant says before leaving.

I remove a dagger from my desk and walk over to the map of the world on my wall. With one mighty jab I impale the map on the north pole. This time that jolly fool and his elves will meet their doom. The war on Christmas has begun.

When I walked to the store on the corner, I passed Mrs. McGillicuddy's house. She always had elaborate displays of Christmas ornaments, and I paused to admire her combination Santa's workshop/Hanukkah temple/Bethlehem manger/Kwanzaa display. I started shivering too hard before I could spot the Yule log, but I figured it was there.

On my way back, though, the display had changed. All of Santa's elves had been replaced with garden gnomes. Very grim-faced garden gnomes. And for some reason the animals in the manger display were looking . . . nervous. And the figure of Joseph had shifted to stand between the Workshop section and Mary and the baby.

Oh, well, something different.

I turned to go home and I kicked something. I looked down then picked up the thing I'd kicked. It was a plastic elf hat, the size of the ones that had been on the elf figures. It looked like it had been broken off. Slowly I looked around. Was that a little plastic foot in a green curly toed shoe poking out of that snowdrift?

A noise from the Workshop caught my ear and I turned to look. Santa had moved back a couple of feet, and the gnomes had . . . shifted.

I should do something. Maybe. But I'd seen the Twilight Zone, and I didn't need Rod Serling's ghost shaking his head over me. I was going home, but I was going to keep an eye out.

The legions of the dead march through Fong Sai Square. Skeleton archers, swordsmen, pikemen, and Skeletons with all manner of sharp things march in the lead. Following are the skeletal knights on black, fire snorting demonic horses. Specters and wraiths float along next in eerie silence. The grim parade ends with the zombie marching band bumping into each other and playing off-key.

Led by myself and the dread lich Samyaza, the whole lot marches through the massive gateway in the square leading into frozen wastes of the Arctic.

Roastable chestnuts: $4.99

FireArson permit: $15.00

Lawn chair: $12.89

Fleece wrap: $35.00

Paperclip found in the gutter: Free

Watching Aeshma's Arctic Parade with him at the front march through the Very Big Gate, then shutting said gate and wedging it closed with a random bit of office supplies:

Priceless.

It can't be that easy, can it?

We need to find MacGyver for this to work right.

Capt. Charpe, head of the City Watch, looked over WindSparrow's handiwork with approval.

"That was quick work, Miss. Sgt. Chopper and I were following along to do much the same thing. We've spent weeks planting those rumors about Santa's Workshop being located at the North Pole amongst the, um, less clever members of Aeshma's entourage, and it's nice to see the plan finally come together. Thank you for your help, and if you ever fancy a career change, the Watch has need of quickwitted watchfolk."

Then he gave a signal to Sgt. Chopper and Watchman Harrass, who unlocked the storage cubby for the gate's enormous adamantium bar, and heaved it onto its fittings across the gate.

At the North Pole:

Progress is going well. Advance scouts have reported back that Santa's workshop appears to be unaware of my army of the dead and have not fortified the complex. The Zombies have taken to eating each other, however as this puts an end to the band I see it as a positive development. Once I conjure a blizzard to cover the advance from scout flying reindeer, the troops will commence the attack.

"My troops have reported that the magical forest has been taken." Rattles the dread lich Samyaza, startling me.

"Don't sneak up like that!" I yell at him. "Did they meet resistance?"

"Only a few elves finishing the decorating. They have been given to the remaining zombies. Their little reanimated corpses will lead our troops and strike fear..."

"Whatever. Does this mean we'll have battering rams soon?"

The dread lich nods. "My axemen are cutting down the trees now."

"Excellent." I say as I rub my hands together in anticipation.

"And the best part is, the fool is leading them all to the Arctic. Pity for him that when people call his minions coldblooded bastards, they're speaking the literal truth."

Phred looked up from the beer mug he was rinsing out. "Demons are literally bastards?"

"That, too," I said, "But I was thinking more of the coldblooded part. Ever wonder why demons prefer hot places? When they get cold, they slow down. Eventually, they just stop."

"Skeletons don't have any blood..."

"Wait until you're older. Your bones will creak on cold mornings, too."

"Wait..." Phred looked puzzled. "If Santa's Workshop isn't at the North Pole, where is it?"

I told him.

"That's brilliant! He'll never find it."

"Nope. Meanwhile, if any of his troops do manage to make it all the way there, all they'll find is the last remnants of Polar Disney. Man, what a stupid idea that was. Animatronic elves. They should never have used that code left over from WestWorld to program them."

Getting ready to decorate for the Solstice celebration, I am somewhat disturbed to note the presence of a variety of species' toes among the mistletoe. Was this a giftie from the Mayor, or some odd form of petty vengeance for my own petty vengeances?

Whichever, perhaps I should go have a bit of fortifying stout before venturing out to harvest more. Milo's is open this time of day, isn't it? But I don't have any herring to tip the penguin with... wonder how he feels about sardines?