Some Fuck Stole Christmas

by Dr. Whoot

December 22, 2003

It was on all-hallowed Christmas Eve it happened. In the middle of the night, in the coldest of December airs, some fuck came down the chimney of every stinking house and stole Christmas right from under the sleeping noses of the whole goddamn town.

People awoke all a-clatter from their dreams of sugarplums and shit and found every single piece of valuable merchandise had been lifted during the night. Even the sentimental crap, homemade decorations and what, had disappeared without so much as a fingerprint. Detectives in the 9th precinct were shithouse. The best investigator in property crimes was put on the case, Detective Jethro Davies.

Davies scouted the crime scenes, which was every house in the entire damn town, and had owners and family members making a detailed list of all stolen goods. They requested FBI help on the case, but on Dec, 25th it was hard to get Washington moving, no matter how big the crime. Davies scowled as he knelt under the mantle in a house where once hung stockings, garland, Christmas cards, and those little ball things.

"This guy went apeshit all over the whole town," growled Davies. "Tell me, Mendezâ€”what kind of sick fuck goes through a whole town in one night, carts off roughly 6,000 pounds worth of valuable merchandise, and doesn't leave a fingerprint?"

Mendez shook his head and held his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick!" He vomited all over the crime scene. Davies stepped back, then patted him on the back.

"It's okay, Mendez. If it doesn't affect you, you ain't human."

All available detectives were called in to canvas the crime scenes in the first 72 hours. Everyone acted with haste and forced jolly, dimly considering in their heads the sick fuck could already be hundreds of miles away from here by now.

Davies and secondary detective Ted Geisel went over the evidence together in a late-night session.

"Anything unusual in the report?" asked Davies.

"Pretty much the same everywhere chief," said the detective. "Every houseâ€”tinsel, decorations, trees, all the trees. Every goddamn present you could ask for. This freak will be rolling in it tonight. One house reported their fucking Christmas dinner had been stolen. Roast beef with all the trimmings."

"Beef? That looks like an 's.'"

Then the news came over the police scanner: A suspect on old Grouch Hill was being pursued, wanted for questioning. A ghost-white look shot over Davies' face.

"They got him. They got the son of a bitch."

"We'd better hurry," said Geisel, stepping up and grabbing his jacket from the chair. "That was broadcast over the scanner. Every hillbilly with a shotgun in fifty miles is going to be looking to put two shots in that fuck's back. Let's roll."

Even on the way to the car they realized they were already too late. Pick-ups and El Caminos by the dozen were rolling out of drive-ways, every seat stocked with pissed off townspeople who saw no Christmas that day. They were hooting and hollering, ready to take their yuletide cheer out of someone's ass. There was no way enough policeman could be assembled to stem the violence in time. That Christmas-stealing fuck, whoever he was, would be experiencing frontier justice tonight.

For more of this great story, buy Dr. Whoot's
Some Fuck stole Christmas

Milestones

1988: Red Bagel's screenplay based on the cover up of the Challenger disaster is rejected for production and accused of being plagiarized from Tootsie.

Now Hiring

Rib Sandwich. Tasty barbecue rib sandwich, no experience required, must be available noon today. If position works out, could invite you back every week and some weekends. Please contact Ned Nedmiller at the commune.

Top Five Worst Things to Hear in an Iraqi Prison

1.	"Oh, wow! Hold still, let me get my camera!"
2.	"From now on, the conduct of corrections officers will be supervised by Private Pyle."
3.	"Looks like we're going to be here a while. Good thing I brought my harmonica."
4.	"These tattoos? Aryan Brotherhood."
5.	"And another thingâ€”you jokers have cried 'Rape!' once too often. I'm not falling for it anymore."

The King of the Road (Part 3)
Author's note: In previous chapters, King Luthor of Kuntnose, having lost his kingdom to dark enemy Rupert, forged an army and/or social club consisting of Bainbridge, the conformist knight; Linux, the dark leprechaun; Feedle, the husky dwarf;... (12/8/03)

How to Write a Contrived Novel
Verbs. Nouns. Direct objects. Pro-Nouns. Indirect objects. These are friend to the aspiring contrived novelist. But writing is more than a mish-mash of words formed into sentences, then into paragraphs, then back into sentences for... (11/24/03)

Murder in the Toolshed
The cold and rainy, miserable, in a non-judgmental way, London weather was in full effect. At 612 Putter Street, Lord Marbles Pissweather sat quietly in his drawing room, away from the nastiness outside, sawing eloquently on his instrument. Not at... (11/10/03)

Timefuck
Basil Rubyquartz is being time fucked. At first he finds himself a young man, cheating off the girl next to him on his kindergarten placement tests. The next moment he is a middle-aged man with a wife and daughter, both the same girl, and owns a... (10/27/03)