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?

Santa's Workshop December 19th 5:00am

The workshop walls are in sight of my army. To my right and left are the hoards of undead infantry standing motionless, awaiting my command.

"Send forth the elves!" I yell to the commanders.

The small group of zombie elves staggers toward the workshop.

"Braaaaaiiiiins Braaaaaiiiiins We are Santa's zombie elves..." They sing as they advance.

I wait for the zombie elves to reach the wall and cause the whole fear striking thing.

I begin to appreciate how slow zombies move.

Especially zombies with little elf legs.

I wish I had brought my new copy of Popular Evil with me.

I turn to Samyaza. "The hell with it, let's just attack."

As my sword rises into the air and I hear the clanking as a thousand skeletons ready their weapons.

With a swift stoke I bring the sword down to point at the gates of the workshop wall and the undead hoard surges forward. I regret not using Orcs as the undead don't scream battle cries at the start of an attack. Attacking without battle cries just isn't the same.

I finally tracked down Bob to the courtyard of the Folly. He and a bunch of his vampire buddies were taking advantage of the low winter sun and their brand-new Sun Shield amulets to make snow men.

Vampire snow men.

"Bob, haven't we had this talk before?"

"Which talk, sweetie?"

"About using blood on the snowmen."

"It's biodegradable!"

"All-natural!" one of his buddies added.

"No additives or preservatives!" piped up another.

I shook my head. "That's what I'm afraid of. Let me guess, and it comes from organically-raised, free-range, cruelty-free sources?"

Bob snickered. "With the amount of Twinkies the donor eats, I wouldn't say organically-raised." He saw the look on my face. "But it was definitely free-trade."

"It stinks!"

"That just means it's fresh."

I went back inside. My Xander and Spike Season 4 DVDs were due in by Gorgon Express, and I intended to get the first crack at them.

The undead hoard charge unopposed at the walls of Santa's workshop. The battering rams are thrown to the ground as the gates are unbarred. As I ride through the gates in the middle of the hoard, I notice a few shattered mechanical elves. What the hell?

The workshop appears deserted, behind the workshop appears to be a large wooden scaffolding. I also notice various mechanical constructs scattered around the courtyard.

"Take the workshop! Capture any elves and bring them to me!" I yell to the skeletons around me.

Samyaza rides up to me on his skeletal mount. "We have taken everything. There has been no resistance."

"Something is wrong here. Where are the elves? Where is the resistence?" I ask Samyaza.

"I too am disturbed." He replies.

"Have you taken Santa's house?"

Samyaza nods. "He was not there."

Why do plans never go smoothly? "Send out scouts, see if they are holed up somewhere."

"Very well." Samyaza rides off to fulfill my orders.

I spot a couple of Skeletons dragging a curly shoed, pointy hatted figure to me.

"We found this one curled up in a corner with this." Rattles the skeleton while showing me a bottle of eggnog.

"Speak elf, where are the others!" I demand.

The elf hiccups and speaks. "Gone."

"Gone! Gone where?!"

"Laid off...hic...outsourced to...hic...another fandom. Cheaper...hic...labor" rambles the elf.

"What fandom?"

"Harry...hic...Potter fandom. Elves there...hic...work for free. Santa can kiss...hic...my little green...hic...ass." Says the pathetic elf.

"What are these machines for Elf?" I point at the mechanical contraptions.

"Tried...hic...to bring in...hic...business and start Polar...hic...Disney...hic...total bomb...hic...closed down."

"Damn, we've attacked the wrong elves."

"Should we kill him now?" Asks the skeleton holding the pathetic creature.

"No. Let him wallow in his misery. Find Samyaza and have him gather the army, we have to regroup."

A foot of snow had fallen on the city overnight. There was even snow in the portions of the city that were supposed to stay snow free. The nudists were peeved.

By sunrise, though, all the streets and sidewalks were clear and dry. Fearsomely tidy snow hedges lined every walkway.

I paused in the doorway of Moondeer's Coffee to study the eerie neatness.

"Elves," whispered a passer-by. "Prisoners of war from the late unpleasantness. I think there are attack gnomes buried in the snow, waiting for spring to free them. When the weather turns warm, I'm investing in a weed wacker for self-defense."

I nodded but didn't answer. I've always found that a croquet mallet was the most fun for pesky gnome problems.

"What are you doing boss?" Asks Hans as he wanders into the lab with the flux generator I asked him to pick up.

"I'm trying to do six impossible things before breakfast." I reply.

"It's afternoon."

"No, not for today." I say shaking my head. "I'm just trying to make it possible."

Hans sets down the flux generator. "If it's possible to do six impossible things before breakfast, then are they really impossible."

"Look, if a tree falls in the forest it makes a sound. We're doing science here, not philosophy. Hand me that hammer."

Hans hands me a hammer. "What does this thing do?"

I give it a couple of hard whacks and the gauges spring to life with a pleasant hum. "It's a disbelief suspension projector. It makes the impossible and improbably less impossible and improbable."

"Like on TV?" Asks Hans.

"Exactly, I'm downloading everything on IMDB and anything available via bittorrent into it for data to strengthen the field."

"Everything?" Asks Hans disbelievingly. "That's impossible."

"Not if it is working corr..." I start to say, but I'm interrupted by a warning light from the flux generator.

"What is it boss?" Asks Hans, looking at the light.

"The flux generator is overloading." I start to loosen the access panel on the generator.

"Is that bad?"

"An overload will disrupt the fabric of space-time resulting in the formation of a singularity that will destroy the planet." I explain while looking around the inside of the generator.

"Okay so it's bad, how long?"

"15 seconds says so on that panel right there. I've got to disconnect the flux circuit, but I can't find the wire." I try to trace wires looking for the right one to cut. "Hand me that wire cutter, please."

"Sure boss" says Hans, handing me the cutter. "Um...you think you've got it."

"Just a second. Damn is it the green or blue wire?"

"No pressure, but 5 seconds" Says Hans.

I take a breath and cut the blue wire. The display stops at one second.

"Close one." Says Hans.

Inga rushes into the room. "Have you guys heard the news? The biggest winter storm of the century is heading for the city, a comet has been discovered that will the city too, and I think the news guy said Mothra was spotted."

"Why is it always Mothra?" I comment to myself.

"Your suspension field must be working boss." Says Hans. "But maybe we should turn it off. This doesn't sound so good."

"Maybe tomorrow, but after breakfast."

The news guy says Mothra was spotted.

Well, of course Mothra's spotted. If he were striped, he would have to call himself Monarchra, and that would just be weird.

What I need to know is, why am I suddenly dressed in a mini-skirt, bustier and heels to check my P.O. box? More to the point, why are my boobs suddenly perkier than a cheerleader on nitrous oxide in zero-G? Well, at least the heels are on some mighty hot lace-up boots.

Not that I mind the admiring glances from the postal workers. They keep the admiration to a respectful level, as they know what I am. No, that's not what I mind. It's just this snow. Why am I dressed this way in this weather?

There's a letter from some law firm called Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe: It seems not only do I have a rich uncle that I never heard of before, but also I have a dead rich uncle with no one better to make residuary legatee of a sizable estate than me.

As I leave the post office, I note that at least 6 inches more snow has fallen, yet the sidewalks are still brilliantly clear. Rumor has it that there are elves involved, but I wonder if they are invisibly clearing the snow, or if they merely cause it to fall only on the lawns and not on the pavement.

And hey, now I can afford a nice fur coat. If there are elves about, they might be able to put me in touch with a cruelty-free shop, where animals who are ready to shuffle off this mortal coil go to volunteer their skins.

There's a thought tickling the back of my mind, but I can't put my finger on it, and the harder I reach for it, the further away it gets.