From Kid Christmas Rides Again

Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes

Eric Arvin

The idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been
the right thing to do – even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of tooth-
rotting fervor – it was still the only thing that could be done. After all, Santa as the world
had known him had just died of a massive coronary. See, he was trying to break up
another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with
the drink), and after years of stress and binge-eating he just finally collapsed in the tussle.
Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth nobody could lay claim to the
particular image he had trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended, and
the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had
become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit…
um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus
would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy. A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and
milk. There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had
become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he
snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk),
but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly died
instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the
gasping end.
The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a
young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone,
especially Father Time who had been eyeing the position for some…time. (Time was,
and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.) The new Clause was the handsomest
of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years
of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced…well,
the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained
traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so
that the young guard’s 22-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosed to
accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them. The consensus was that
he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch
looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings. COCK was a bit
concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The
world was a frightening place and the committee eventually convinced itself that people
needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the economy is a bitch, even at
the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and
red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip. (Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending).
There would also be no more ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the
rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!
He called himself The Kid…Kid Christmas, that is. (Clearly, a fan of western
films.)
All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was a week to go before his
first outing as the new Claus and things were clockwork. There were a few minor
glitches. There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few times (he really liked
how he looked in his new suit, and flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and
there was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer…but they – um, that is to say, it
was soon put down. The elves were warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by
for a visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-
lubricated oingy-boingy.
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid Christmas was Chris-napped!
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to
lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-three
years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but now – woo-hoo!) Then, there
was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison
peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection,
Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his
musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.
When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new
threads but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings
(living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The
reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd over-abundance of muscle. He was excited by
what he saw, and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but first needed to
investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude
reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the
holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a
mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. “How
do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself.”
“Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my clothes? Show yourself!”
“You won’t be needing your shocking threads any longer,” the voice replied
calmly. “I’m having them altered.” A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped from
behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.”
The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’ balls were enormous. They were a
mesmerizing sheen and hung like ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No
wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas’ physique and
rested on the Jolly-man-in-waiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with
some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused himself.
“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with
everything around them being so very, very large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I
imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho…right?” He winked.
“I don’t say that anymore…Wait, what?” Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His
cheeks turned bright red. “What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”
“Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless
otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snowbunny.” Snow
Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn’t
stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like
an orgy; The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
“You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is altered – which shouldn’t
take too long – I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-
fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built
up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and
soon they will want nothing to do with you. ‘Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas!’
they’ll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty.”
“But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait for an explanation? There was a
crazy man standing in front of him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. “I
won’t let you do it!”
Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his balls sing with clinks and
clonks like a captivating Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the seductive
dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare feet. He heard the unmistakable sound
of something coming…and coming hard!
“Have fun with Willie,” Snow Globes said as he quickly disappeared behind an
icy divider. “And watch those pointy stalactites.”
“You mean stalagmites?”
“Whatever.”
Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and booty-beautiful (by now it
should be clear that the Narrator has a thing for the big guy’s triple-beeehind). Yet he was
unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called Willie did not have need of any
hidden entrance, though. He broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing
the muscle-bound merry man across the chamber. Kid Christmas landed on his handsome
face with a smash-rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed, but not
broken. Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how could he miss it?) of a lengthy and large,
growling and snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow penis. It bowed its
massive head, huffed a puff of cool air, and crouched like a bull ready for the charge.
Intent and starved, it sped toward our hero’s helpless bum.