DISCLAIMER: There is much silliness. In fact, this might be so bad it’s not even silly. I’m sick, and I haven’t written in days, and I was just watching “The Flintstones Christmas Carol” and this is what happened. Good luck. As always, none of them are mine.

Feedback will be nurtured and cared for! Really! C’mon, it’s the holiday season! :)

An . . . er . . . Holiday Season Carol 1/1
By JBMcDragon

Mr. Sinister, world renowned scientist and to-some-people-renown super-bad-guy-villain, was sick. Not just a little sick, like you get when it’s cold out. Not even a lot sick, like you get when you’ve been standing naked in a snowstorm for three theys and two nights with a dog. No, he was thoroughly, unhappily, unglorifiyingly sick. So sick in fact--

“Would you get on wid the story already?!”

Okay, okay. Sheesh. You’d think someone who was so sick wouldn’t mind that I was stalling a bit.

So he was sick. He was sick not only with a head cold, but with a heart cold. Or rather, a cold heart.

“Sinister,” Scalphunter growled (because everyone knows that super-duper-villains growl everything), “couldn’t we turn the heat up a little?”

Sinister turned and glared at Scaply from red-rimmed eyes. “No. Do you have aby idea what the electric bill was dis month after thet fight wib the X-Men? We’re not turbing the heat ub.”

This may be part of the reason he was sick, but I’m not saying.

“The guy is a multibillionaire,” Vertigo muttered, “You’d think he could stand to turn the heat up.”

“Sinister,” a lowly servling said as he groveled on the floor. “May I go home for Christmas day?”

Sinister thought briefly about killing the man, but then didn’t have the energy. “Fine,” he growled, “but no New Years vacation for you!!”

The servling ran out of the room before Sinister could change his mind.

“What about us?” Blockbuster said.

“What about you?” Sinister sniffed.

“We want to go home for Christmas day!”

Essex thought about that for a while. Finally, just when it seemed Christmas eve would be over soon, he said “Fine. But I’m docking your pay!”

The Marauders left also, leaving Sinister alone in the laboratory with only his test subjects for company. Sinister looked around the lab, then sniffed some more and went to bed.

SSSS

“Esssssssexxxxxxx . . .” came a hauntingly familiar voice. “Oh Essssssexxxxx . . .”

Nathan groaned and woke up (super villains don’t need much sleep anyway). “What?” he growled.

“You must repent your ways, Esssssexxxx . . .”

Sinister glared at the gray figure. “Gob, Erik,” he said finally, “You look even worse then udual!”

Magneto glared at him. “Yes, well, it’s all the writer’s fault. She made me be your old business associate that died.”

“Ah,” Sinister said gravely. “Wriders.”

They nodded in commiseration.

Then they did it some more.

And more.

GUYS! You’re supposed to be doing things!

Ah. There they go.

So after they’d nodded in commiseration for a long time, Magneto did his job.

“At midnight you will be visited by a ghost, yadda yadda yadda.”

Sinister sighed. “Dis is anoder of dose dab Christmas story take offs, isn’ it?”

Magneto laughed evilly, since it was the only way he knew how to laugh. “Yes indeedy. And you get to play . . . Mr. Essex Eboneezer Scrooge!”

Essex groaned and glared up at me. “I ab sick, Jenna! Sick, sick sick!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Be good and maybe Ill make you better at the end of the story.

So, as I, the writer, was saying, Erik had delivered his message, scaring the bejeebees out of--scaring--AHEM! Guys! Stop it!

Okay. So Essex was scared. (Got it Sinny? Scared.)

“Yeah yeah yeah. Hey, is it really dat hard carrying dose chains around? I mean, you are the master ob magnitism.”

“No, not really. I just levitate them. What’s really hard are the plot lines people keep putting me through. This is nice, actually, kind of a break, you know.”

“Yeah, I bet it’s not ebery day you get to--”

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!!!

Now, as I was saying. . . .

But, thinking that perhaps it had been a dream, he went back to sleep.

And, gasp, was awakened at midnight!

“Gob dab it!” he said. “Can’t a sick guy get aby sleep around here?” Then his eyes lit up. For standing in front of him was a super-babe. Then he sighed, because it was only Polaris. “You cut your hair,” he noted through his stuffy--waitaminute! You two aren’t supposed to know each other! Now stop that and play along! Agh. Fictives. So, as I was saying, in front of him was a super-babe.

“Can I help you wid anything?” Sinister asked through his stuff nose.

Polaris smiled. Polaris. SMILE. There we go!

“I don’t see why I have to wear this stupid white thing. It covers all my curves and--”

“Den don’t,” Sinister said lecherously. Then he grabbed the tail end and--

WAIT! Hold the Summerses! Back up! WAAAAY up. Way back to where Polaris appeared. Let’s try this again.

SO, a beautiful ghost had just appeared in front of Sinister. And he said . . .

“Oh ghost. Whatever are you doing here. Please don’t hurt me.”

Sinny, you could put a little feeling into that.

“Sigh.”

Meanwhile Polaris had gotten hold of a pair of scissors and--NO! Well, okay. That’s almost decent. Fine. So she was a ghost with a really short skirt and a really low neckline.

“Now dis is mud more fub!”

Sinny, shut up. Polaris, your line.

“I am the ghost of Christmas . . . you know, I really have a problem with that. I mean, several of my good friends aren’t even Christian. Why should this be Christmas? Why can’t it be Holiday Season?”

Okay! Fine! Just say the stupid line already!

“I am the ghost of the Holiday Season present,” Polaris said.

“Oh, I know whab I want for Christmas.”

Polaris--I mean, the ghost of . . . Holiday Season present . . . took the iron bolts out of the house and threw them straight at Sinister. He was then much sicker.

“Be good. You can’t have me for the Holidays,” she said primly, picking Sinister up out of the rubble. “We’re going to visit what other people are doing this fine day!” And they flew out the window--well, Polaris flew out the window and let Sinister trail behind, creating a new hole in the wall.

SSSS

“Whab is dis?” Sinister said before using a bit of robe to blow his nose. Polaris looked at it disdainfully, then used her scissors to cut away that part of her outfit too.

“This,” she said, “Is your lowly servant’s house.”

“Why dat bastarb,” Sinister growled, “I’ll kill him as soon as he gets back! I didn’t tell him dat he could have fun while away!”

Polaris promptly pulled out a mallet and whacked Sinister over the head with it.

After he regained consciousness, he glared at her. “Where did you get dat?” he said.

“It’s a ghost thing,” she answered happily. “Now,” she said, turning back to the window they peered into, “aren’t you sad that you don’t have anyone to share the holiday season with and be so happy?”

“No.”

“ . . . oh. Well, you should be.”

“Yeah, uh huh. Can we go ubstairs and look in the girl’s window?”

Polaris whacked him again.

After he had regained consciousness once more, Polaris picked him up and took him to a wonderful mansion. “Doesn’t this look nice?” she asked, taking him to stand outside the window and look in on the festive evening. “Look!” she said, pointing, “that’s where I would be sitting if I didn’t have to be out here with you, you lousy fu--”

Okay, time-out. Censor censor censor . . . okay, we can go back to the scene now.

“But instead of being in there, I’m out here in the cold with you because you can’t be cheerful.”

“I dought id was because dis writer is sadistic and wanted to pick on me,” Sinister said, obviously confused.

“Well, yes. But she wouldn’t pick on you if you didn’t do so much evil!” and with these words Polaris picked up her mallet and knocked him unconscious again.

sigh.

Polaris, do you have to keep doing that?

“It’s fun!”

O-kay. So after a while, he woke up.

“Gib me the mallet,” he said, glaring at her.

Polaris pouted and did so.

Sinister tried to whack her, but he was too sick so he stopped. “Can we just ged through dis? I wab to go home.”

Soooooo . . . they went to visit a home of poor people, to see how their . . . uh, Holiday Season was going.

“Dey geb to eat beans and rice. Boo hoo. Can we go now?”

“Are you properly saddened?” Polaris asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Wait! Guys, he obviously isn’t reformed.

“Let the spirit of Holidays Past deal with him,” Polaris told me. “I’m going to eat turkey and snuggle with . . . nevermind.”

WAIT!! Okay, don’t wait! That’s good too! Grrr. So, apparently, Essex Scrooge went back to bed.

And, at one, was visited by another ghost!

“Wake up! Wake up! Be cheerful!”

“Oh, god,” Essex groaned. “Tell me you didn’t send Kitty!”

Yeah, well, she was still awake. Take what you can get, okay?

So the Spirit of Holidays Past came and took Essex out.

“Let’s just get dis ober wid, okay?”

“Sounds good. I get up for a midnight snack and I get roped into this . . .”

Hey, it could be worse. At least you’re not the spirit of Christmas past.

“Yeah, yeah.”

So Kitty took him and phased him through time to an old party he had once-- . . . ah, well, she took him to an old party.

“Look at those clothes!” Kitty said, appalled. “They have no fashion sense whatsoever!”

Guys? The plot?

“I hope you get whab I hab.”

That’s not nice, Sinny.

“F--”

CENSOR!!! Guys, cut it out! Yeesh.

“Aren’t you sorry you were so mean you never went to parties?” Kitty asked.

“Yeah. Very sorry. We done?”

No.

“Yes. I’m going back to bed.”

“Oh, goob!”

AGH!

So, I guess Sinister went back to bed . . . grrrrr.

“You sound like an idiot when you growl.”

Yeah, well, you sound like an idiot period.

“Butt fart.”

Slime ball.

“Puke heab.”

Second rate super villain.

“Gudder mouth.”

Ohhh, I’m really scared now!!!

“You are sooooo immadure!”

“Uh, guys? Do I get to go anytime soon?”

Oh, sorry Cable. Okay, go.

“I am the ghost of Holiday Seasons Future,” Cable said, wearing a big black hood.

“Can we just ged on wid dis?”

No! There will be no more ‘getting on with this’! That’s enough! Now I’m the writer and I say that--

“Done.”

What?!

“I showed him his grave, there was cowering, and we finished.”

No. That’s not how it works. You see, I’m the writer, I tell you guys--the fictives--what to do.

“Yeah, sure. I’m going to bed. It’s two o’ clock in the morning!”

CABLE! Essex, get out of that bed right now!

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll do the Holiday thing tomorrow.”

Welllll . . . if you’ve learned--

“Yes.”

Um, okay. I guess that you can sleep, then. Yeah.

SSSS

So the next morning, bright and early . . .

Bright and early . . . .

ESSEX!! WAKE UP!!

“Whab? Oh, yeah. Hooray, it’s the Holidays. Yay.”

I think I’ve been duped.

“Now where is dat lowly servant?”

Essex! You’re going to give him something wonderful, right? If you don’t, I will repeat this whole thing! I swear!

“Okay, okay. Lowly servant.”

The servant cowered.

“I won’t kill you for having a good tibe yesderday.”

The servant thanked him and left.

Essex? Redo that. You can’t just--

“The end, Jenna.”

But--

“The end.”

You can’t--

“THE END.”

Okay. Fine. The end.

Back to the X-Mansion
Back to the living room