Tightrope Walker-man & Stilt-Boy
...Do Christmas

 

On the evening before Christmas Eve, as the sun lowered across the North Pole, another, darker twilight set in. A small, elfin voice came drifting across the snow…

“That fat fucking bastard’s pissed off again! Will someone call those dickheads Tightrope Walker-Man & Stilt-Boy to find the prick?!”

****************

“It’s just like ‘im,” explained Foreman Elf, a small, slightly shifty looking elf with a John Travolta-esque bum-chin. “He takes off whenever the Elf Union makes damands.”

“Elf Union?” Tightrope Walker-Man asked, bemused.

“Yes, Elf Union. You think that’s funny, you fat-headed freak? Our catch-cry is ‘we put the rights in left-right-left’. Santa thinks he can push us around, that we’ll just work ‘cos we love it or something.”

“But… you’re worker elves…” Tightrope walker man said, scratching his bulbous head.

“You see, it’s just that kind of backwards thinking that is holding Elfin-kind back. We want equal rights! We have the right to earn as much as you do!”

Stilt-Boy tugged on Tightrope Walker-Man’s cape. “We get money for this?”

“Ah…. No. So, Mr Foreman Elf, do you have any idea where Santa could be?”

“Nuh. Do you know, he actually sat on Sleepy last week. Claimed he didn’t see ‘im, then had a go at ‘im for sleeping on the job! Just get that fat fuck back ‘ere and tell ‘im to honour our demands or there’ll be no faggin’ Christmas.”

Just then, music started to filter into the room, and the worker elves start to hum and work in time with it.

‘Holy Munchkin-land, Tightrope Walker-Man, are they going to sing?” Stilt-boy asked, covering his ears, “I hate musicals!”

All the elves start singing together in unison, in evil, helium infected-esque voices.

We’re cute, we’re hairy
We’re also kinda scary
We sing like we’re happy
But making toys is kinda crappy
We may be really small
But we’re very well endowed
We’re not Santa’s little helpers now…

Tightrope Walker-Man turned to Stilt-boy, who is watching the elves sing and is tapping his foot in time with the music. “I thought you didn’t like musicals? Anyway, we have to find Santa fast, these elves are starting to revolt.”

“Oh, come one Tightrope Walker-Man, they’re a little grubby and off key, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call them revolting.”

“No, Stilty, I mean… oh, forget it, let’s just find the big guy.”

****************

“Whisky on the rocks for you, and a Midori and lemonade for the lady.” Alan the barman said jovially as he plonked the drinks down in front of our two hero’s. “So, any luck finding Santa?”

Tightrope Walker-Man picked up his Midori and lemonade and took a sip. “Ahhhh, that hits the spot. No, we haven’t fount him yet, and we looked everywhere, behind doors, in cupboards… we even looked under a rock. We just don’t know where to look any more, we must have been looking for about 20 minutes!”

Cleaning the bar with a tablecloth, Alan the bartender remarked, “Why don’t you try a psychic? Last year, I had a burning sensation when I urinated and I went to see Mystical Musical Martha. Well, she told be I had a urinary infection and, be darned, she was absolutely correct!”

“Sound’s like a great idea! Let’s go Stilty!”

“I don’t know, Tightrope Walker-Man, I’ve heard about Mystical Musical Martha and she sounds kinda creepy.”

“How bad can it be, Stilty? The quicker we can find Santa, the quicker we can get back to this bar for a few more Midori’s before bed.”

“Ok, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

****************

Tightrope Walker-Man and Stilt-boy entered Mystical Musical Martha’s parlour to find her sprawled, wearing nothing but a frilly bikini, on an old, four post bed. Mystical Musical Martha was an 84 year old Greek woman of generous proportions, with a weakness for baklava, which she was currently devouring. Maple syrup dripped down onto her wrinkled breasts and ran down the fatty mounds of her belly.

She smiled a smile of rotted teeth, missing teeth and pastry, at our two hero’s, and croaked, “Hello, spunky boys, how can I help you?”

Tightrope Walker-Man swallowed hard. “Umm… firstly, ewww… secondly, we were hoping you would be able to psychicly predict where we might find Santa…or something.”

From out of nowhere, music started to play.

“Oh, no. Not again.” Stilt-boy moaned. “I hate musicals!”

Mystical Musical Martha sat up on the bed, put the baklava on a plate on the bedside table, spread her legs and started to croon.

Get down on your knees, boy
If you want something from me
I know I’m 84
But I need sexual healing
Unleash that tongue, boy
And get down to some eating
I’m pretty sure the left side
Still has some feeling
But only way I can tell your future
Is through your magic balls

Stilt-boy’s jaw dropped, “ Holy prune-sex…”

Tightrope Walker-Man slapped his hand over Stilt-boys mouth. “Ah, thanks Mystical Musical Martha, but I think we’ll find Santa some other way.”

Mystical Musical Martha picked up her baklava again and lay back down. “ That’d be right, at the mere mention of going down the guy bolts for the door. I have needs too, you know. That’s why I have Rexy here.” She points to a old blood-hound lying in the corner of the room, “They aren’t just man’s best friend you know, with a little training…”

“Ewwwwwwww!” Tightrope Walker-Man and Stilt-boy exclaim in unison.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, boys, I’m going to go and cover myself in chum.” She get’s off the bed and waddles out of the room.

“Chum, it’s so chumpy you…”

“Please don’t say it, Stilty. That’s all kinds of disgusting. I don’t think my stomach can handle any more. Lets just find Santa.”

“Nah, screw that, I need another drink.”

****************

As Tightrope Walker-Man and Stilt-boy waltz back into the bar, they see a familiar, large figure, all dressed in red with white fluffy bits, slumped on a barstool, chatting with Alan the Barman.

“Holy where’d-the-barstool-go, Tightrope Walker-Man, it’s Santa!” Exclaimed Stilt-boy.

“Santa, we’ve been looking everywhere for…” Then, Tightrope Walker-Man noticed several empty glasses on the bar around Santa. “Wait a minute… how long have you been here?”

“A few hours, why?”

“But we were just here about ten minutes ago?!” Tightrope Walker-Man noticed Alan the barman stifling a chuckle. “You knew he was here and you sent us to that freak psychic!”

“Yeah, Santa was in the bog. But how funny was Mystical Musical Martha?!” Alan the Barman laughed.

“Anyway,” Tightrope Walker-Man said, glaring at Alan the Barman, “you have to come back to the North Pole, Santa, the Elf Union is revolting.”

“Tell me about it, they don’t wash and they sing off key.” Santa mumbled through a drunken haze.

“No, I mean… oh, forget it… just come back and listen to their demands or there won’t be a Christmas this year!” Tightrope Walker-Man begged.

In the background, there was a faint sound of a coin dropping into the jukebox and music flowed into the bar.

“Holy Baz-Luhrmann, Tightrope Walker-Man, not another song!” Stilt-boy moaned. “I hate musicals!”

Santa turned to our two hero’s and began to sing n a low-down southern drawl.

The Elf Union has gotten out the big guns
I’m just glad they haven’t whipped out their ‘big ones’
‘Cos when they do that I just can’t keep them off the deer
Prancers got a smile from ear to ear

“Santa’s got quite a good singing voice,” mused Tightrope Walker-Man.

“Yeah,” said Stilt-boy, “He kinda sounds like Johnny Cash!”

This Santa gig has slipped out of my hands
The Elf Union has got me by the glands
They’re hairy and smelly and have too many demands
So I'm just going to sit here on my rosy ass

“Ok, ok,” yelled Stilt-boy, “ I’ve had quite enough of this shit! You should be spreading Christmas cheer, not spraying us with spit and beer!”

A worried expression adorned Tightrope Walker-Man’s face. “Um… Stilty? You just rhymed, you’re not going to sing are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I just might!” Stilt-boy exclaimed as another tune started on the jukebox. “But I do hate musicals!”

“Whatever.”

Merry fucking Christmas you pricks
We should be spreading love and giving gifts
I just want some Christmas cheer but this just make me sick
All you fucking humbug c*nts can suck my dick!

I remember Christmas as a happy time
And Santa used to be such a jovial guy
But now Santa is an arsehole and he’s giving me the shits
All you fucking humbug c*nts can suck my dick!

“I’ve had enough! From now on, I think we should just buy each other presents. Fuck this Santa shit!” Stilt-boy sat down at the bar. “Barkeep, whiskey shots… now. Line ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Alan the Barman said. “And a Midori and lemonade for the lady?”

Tightrope Walker-Man sat down at the bar next to Stilt-boy and looked at Alan the Barman with disdain. “Stop calling me lady… and yes… please. Ahhhh, sweet Midori.”

****************

Merry Christmas to all
And to all a good-night