Santa had a big problem. Getting presents to all the good boys and girls was pretty easy when the world was just a few hundred million people and he had a full 12 days to do it.
Then the Protestants came along and decided one day was more than enough to celebrate before getting their asses back to work. Then, even worse, penicillin came along and there was no more Black Plague, so instead of dying to rats humans started breeding like them.
The North Pole started their all-hands-on-deck work schedule earlier and earlier in the year, until eventually they were starting “crunch time” in June!
One day Santa was contemplating this, eyes red from exhaustion, eggnog in hand, while looking at the work schedule for his Elves. It was like a Black Friday timesheet on crack. It made the 996 Chinese work week look like a vacation.
16 hour days, 9 day work schedules with frequent call ins on their day off. Despite al this overtime, it hadn’t made a dent in the toy production. A big fat red number on showed how many kids were expected to get nothing come Christmas morning, reflecting ominously off Santa’s glasses.
“Well Doxie, tell it to me straight. We’re fucked aren’t we?”
“W-well sir” squeeked his Project Manager, a three feet tall elf, hunched under a green floppy cap that had lost most of its colour and shape. In one hand was a cup of black coffee with half a packet of vyvanse stirred in. In his other hand he was clutching a scroll titled ‘Emergencies” that rolled out into the floor and stretched out into the hallway behind him.
“Well sir, we can spend another year not actually distributing coal to the bad kids. That frees up our Naughty List team, al-although we already have them stitching up the Labubus, I-i guess…” his high pitched voice trailed off, not wanting to mention requests for those had quadrupled since the start of the year. “But you know, as long as production continues we can try course correct in the next couple of mont-“
“It’s September Doxie!” Santa screamed. “It’s September and we are already fucked!” he threw himself into his chair, face in his hands, letting out an epic groan. He looked at the fireplace with a grimace, taking a swig of his eggnog, some dribbling into his beard as he smacks his lips.
200 million kids. That’s 200 million kids that weren’t going to have anything under the tree. They’ve never been this behind before, and now they were going to have to abandon the number of kids he used to deliver gifts to with his eyes closed.Where did it all go so wrong? He loved this job and loved children more than anything in the world, but life was becoming a bloated, nasty mess and hope seemed to slip through his fingers.
“Uhh sir, I know this is not the time, but you know what Mrs Claus says about your day drinking.”
Santa spat on the lush red carpet. “That fucking bitch doesn’t know what I have to put up with day in and day out. ‘Oh we are out of sugar for the stocking sweets, oh theres not enough computer chips to make all the PlayStation 5s, oh the reindeer have an outbreak of syphilis’.
She’d be plastered dawn to dusk if she saw an elf get sucked into a conveyor belt and have his legs ground into paste, gunking up the machine’s ruining an entire country’s worth of fucking goddamn Magic the Gathering cards!”
They sat there in morbid silence as the horror of the scene replayed into their heads. “Fucking Jingles. R.I.P. you poor cunt.”
Doxie cleared his throat, desperate to dispel the awkwardness. “Well, hmm, let’s circle back to that uhh..” he looks down at his list, trying to find a simple task to take his mind off the looming disaster. “The boys at Logistics wanted to know if they were good to import those Fluffies I mentioned last week. They’ve been flooding the Wishlist like crazy.”
Santa took another swig, barely paying attention. “What in the shivering fuck is a Fluffy? Who names this bullshit, virgins on the internet?”
“It’s a type of toy” said Doxie, glad the conversation was moving along. “They are supposed to be My Little Pony characters but fat and round, like little chunky piglets.”
“We have plenty of that shit already” said Santa with a shutter, remembering the year long slog their production underwent when Equestria Girls came out.
“Yeah, but get this, they are alive. They-“
Santa groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses were pinching him. “No, no, no dogs or cats dressed in outfits or bullshit like that. The Complaints Team was drowning when we used to deliver puppies under the tree. It’s not my fault parents don’t vet their kid’s wishlists before sending and can’t handle any actual responsibility. It’s a dog you moron!“
“No sir, they are alive, but not animals. They’re a kind of bio-toy. Made in a lab, or at least that’s what the briefing said. The Ethics Committee signed off on their deliveries. They talk and eat and they can interact with kids, play with them and stuff, kind of like a puppy that actually listens to you. Apparently we can make them in-house, we just need enough of them to start. Shall I approve the import?”
Santa sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Yeah sure fuck it, I mean that’s just one more thing we have to do around here. It’s not like we don’t enough work and not enough han-“
Suddenly he sat up. “Doxie…did you say that they talk?”
“Uh yeah, you know all the fun of a pet but-“
“But actually talk, not just recorded messages? Can they understand what you say?”
“Uhh, err” said Doxie, not sure where the boss was going with this. “I have to check the briefing, but something like that.”
“But the Ethics Committee said they aren’t pets? So they can understand you, and talk, but the Ethics Committee doesn’t consider them animals?”
“Well, if you put it like that, yeah I guess so.”
“If they can talk, that means they can think right?”
“Well” Doxie started, racking his brains about the briefing. “I think I remember something about having the intelligence of a small child.”
Santa sprung up out of the chair and stood by the fire. “Execute the import immediately, I want those Fluffies here in a week. And get extras, more than what’s on the Wishlist.”
Doxie was shocked that Santa broke out of stupor so suddenly, and seemed excited by, of all things, Fluffies.
“O-ok sir! But because they’re alive, keeping them for long periods ca-“
“Don’t worry about it. Trust me, we won’t have to worry about shit if my hunch is correct. Shove the rest of these emergencies up Jack Frost’s ass, and get over to Logistics pronto.”
“R-r-right away sir!” Doxie stuttered, scurrying off. Santa took another big swig of the eggnog and started into the fireplace, his eyes glinting, planning, contemplating what must be done.
——-
Logistics had not lost their edge over the last few millennia and was able to secure a couple of crates of fluffies in three days. Their tinsel crane strained against the wooden box as it was lowered in front of Santa. Incoherent mewling could be heard from within.
“What the fuck is that sound?” asked Saint Nick. “It’s like someone is getting murdered.”
“The Fluffies sir.” said Candy Stripes, the tall (for an elf) and willowy head of Logistics, looking up at Santa with big, round glasses that made his eyes look like they were being viewed through a fish tank. “I don’t know what they are so stressed about. We picked them up from Canada and it was only a few hours trip by pixie dust. They shouldn’t get any turbulence in the crate.”
“Whatever” grunted Santa, grabbing a crowbar and prying open the crate. Inside were cages of Fluffies, shaking, screaming and shitting with fear. He crouched down to look inside one that had statistics for its colour and horn/wing permutations.
“NUU WIKE BOXIES” said one magenta fluffy shivering in its cage. It was covered in its own faeces accumulated midflight. “Nuu witterbox tuu make dah gud poppies hu hu. Fwuffy am sowwy. Mistah pwease wet wuffy out.”
Fluffy, fat and cute, with a silly accent and asinine baby talk. Yep, he could see the appeal. But he had a better idea for these things than having them smear shit under the tree come Christmas morning.
Santa ignored his pleas and moved to another cage that appeared to house a family of fluffies. The cage was marked “For Sorting” meaning their colours and genders weren’t specifically requested and the elves were to assign them to whatever kid simply wrote “fluffy” on their Wishlist. This was a group of 5 siblings that paused their shivering to perk up at the big red man.
“Nyu daddeh!”
“Hewwo nyu daddeh, am bery cowd”
“Cab fwuwwies hab toysies and warm huggies.”
So they can talk, and think well enough to react to their environment. This might just work. Time to work his magic. Santa put on a big, jolly smile that puffed up his cheeks, wrinkled his eyes and made his majestic beard seem even broader and comforting, like a big inviting pillow you could fall asleep on.
“Ho ho ho, HELLOOOOOOOO THERE LITTLE ONES!” he boomed in a loud, happy voice. This made the entire crate stop the buzz of noise and pay attention. This was of course the same voice that could spread joy and Christmas cheer to children for millenia, so even simpler creatures like fluffies were instantly hooked.
“Santa is here to welcome ALLLLL his little fluffy friends to the North Pole.” This caused an excited buzz of chirps and shouts to fill the crate, instantly forgetting their situation.
“Wow nyu fwend! Saanta is bestest daddeh!”
“Tehehe Saanta gib many hewrt warmies.”
“Am wuv wen Saanta tawksies.”
“Say, what’s your name?” Santa asked, leaning over the cage in front of him.
The fluffies perked up. A sky blue fluffy wiggled with joy under the weight of Santa’s sheer magnanimous personality. Acting as a sort of older brother, they offered to be the leader for their little group.
“Hewwo Saanta! Fwuffy hab maby happesies tu see yu! But, fwuwwy and sissies bwuddas nu hab namesies yet.”
Are you serious, who designed these things? thought Saint Nick. Even fucking beanie babies came with names. “Hoo hoo, never mind that then my little friend. Hey, how about this? Why don’t you come with Santa and you can help him spread some Christmas cheer!”
“Yay fwuwwies wuv Santa!” cheered the cage of fluffies, getting swept up in the excitement. He picked up the squirming cage and walked out of the crate.
“Nuu pick dummy fwuwwy and fambly” growled a yellow fluffy from a cage. “Take Smarty cage instead.”
Dummy? What the fuck, who taught these things to make insults? “Hey now, that’s not a nice little friend. We should be kind to others when spreading Christmas cheer.”
“Nuu!” stomped the fluffy. “Dummehs nu hewp Saanta. Gib smartie sketties an Cwistmas cheww wit nao! Smartie am hewp Saanta an get sketties, or dummie Saanta get sowwy hoofsies.”
Santa grimaced internally, the little appeal the fluffies held for him drying up instantly. Smelly, annoying and could act like little brats, these must be the ultimate ‘fuck you present’ to give to an in-law.
“Ho ho ho, well don’t worry little one” said Santa, looking over his glasses, peering into the cage. “You will be a veeerry special helper for Santa reaaaal soon.”
Santa chuckled before he walked out of the crate carrying the cage. “Candy Stripes, tell your crew to begin offloading and processing this batch. I will be back in an hour or so. I need to borrow these fluffies.”
“You got it boss” squeaked the elf, scratching his head in confusion, before waving his crew to unload the complaining cages.
Santa walked through the snow and past the hustle and bustle of the Deliveries sector. He walked over to a rickety warehouse. It, along with a dozen other nearby buildings, was originally supposed to be a temporary addition to the Toy Production Centre. ‘Temporary’ had some meaning back in 1950, as this whole area was unfortunately made permanent after the baby boom, and was now abuzz with elves and forelifts running in and out of the big wooden entrance.
Santa walked into the workroom floor. Inside were rows and rows of tables sitting bleary eyed, perpetually exhausted elves, putting together toys. Machines were cutting plastic or to specific shapes, metal being shaped, paint being sprayed, cloth being spun, bells being glued, whistles being tested, while the bulk of the work was crafting toys by hand. Anything that a machine couldn’t do, an elf had to put together before placing them on a conveyor belt that led to a huge, disorganised pile to be sorted into boxes ready for wrapping.
Santa walked over to one such table. He stood next to an elf that was 13 hours into his shift making little wooden horses that were lead on a string. The elf looked up at the interruption and his drooping eyes snapped open after seeing who it was.
“Boss! What happened, what’s wrong?” he cried in his high pitched sing-song voice.
Santa held up his hand gently. “Relax Periwinkle, nothing’s wrong. I want this whole table to take a break” he said, gesturing to the other elves.
“But sir, we have another 10,000 of these to make.” protested Periwinkle. “The superintendent said we’ve got to start on the Bumblebee dolls tomorrow”. At that moment, they could hear him screaming at the Paint Division to get more yellow.
“Just trust me, take a break.” he said warmly, in the only way Santa Claus could. “The kids will get their ye olde horses and outdated 80’s crap soon. I just need you to grab a coffee, a snack and have a wank, not in that order.” The elves shrugged, grateful for a break in the monotony, and limped off their stools, struggling to move after being hunched over for such a long time.
Santa cleared the table and set the cage down. He reached inside and gently scooped each fluffy out by their bellies, trying to avoid any splotches of shit on their fur, before seating them at each of their stools.
“Waaah fank u Saanta daddeh” said the sky blue fluff, loving the touch of a person for the first time in a while.
“Daddeh, can fwuwwy hab nummies?” said one of the turquoise siblings, looking around overstimulated at the bustle and noise of the warehouse.
“Ho!” shouted Santa, forcing them to pay attention. “Just you wait my rainbow friends, you can have all the delicious food you can only get on the North Pole. But first let’s play a game!” With a flourish he scooped up pieces of the toys.
“Yay, wuv gamesies!” said blue, whose naive enthusiasm assuaged the fears of his siblings. Santa took each component of the horse toy and placed them in little piles in front of each fluffy: the body and head, the legs, the wheels, the string and finally the mane. He then placed a completed one opposite the fluffies for them to use as a model.
“Uuu Pwetty fwuffy toysies” gasped blue, thinking the horse was a little model fluffy.
“Alright my pretty blue fluffy, I need you to show your brothers and sisters how to play. Take the head of the pony and slot it into the neck.” He leaned over and like a patient teacher in a kindergarten class, showed the fluffy where to place the dowel in the open slot.
Desperate to please, the older blue sibling held the horse’s body between its teeth and tried to aim the head towards the hole. A small crowd of elves had stopped what they were doing and gathered around to watch the spectacle. After missing about 8 times, the head finally clicked easily into place.
“Fwuwwy did it! Fwuwwy made dah toysie!" The other fluffies were astonished as the toy partially came to life in front of their eyes.
“Ho ho, magnificent!” Santa cried, in a tone normally reserved for special needs kindergarteners. “Now let’s see how your brother does.” Santa placed the half horse in front of the pink unicorn next in line. With the patience of a (literal) saint, Santa showed the fluffy how to attach the legs. Putting his face up with adorable determination, the pink fluffy poured every ounce of concentration into the task until the legs slotted into place.
“Wook, fwuffy has weggies!” the unicorn cried in childish glee. Santa proceeded to go down the line until each fluffy had a turn doing their part until they had one completed, slightly wobbly horse toy.
“Dat dah bestest fwuwwy toysie ebah!”
Santa fixed it up and handed it to an elf for packaging, who was dumbfounded by the display and slightly anxious that a work table was being used for this display. Didn’t Santa know they were off schedule?
“Fawnk yu fur fun gamesies Saanta” beamed the blue fluffy leader. “Wat am nexst?”
“Now!” boomed Santa cheerfully while walking to the other side of the table. “Heres the next part of the game: you do it again!” he pushed all the loose parts into little piles in front of each fluffy.
“Otay!” the blue fluffy beemed, picking up his pieces ready to begin. “An wen du fwuwwy get nummies?”
“You don’t!” Santa beemed.
This caused the fluffy’s cheerful expression to drop into a look of confusion.
Santa’s cheerful disposition into a grumpy scowl.
“Ou…wat Saanta mea-”
“Now get to work”.
The fluffies sensed the harsh shift in his demeanour, like a ship suddenly capsized in the storm, and didn’t want to push the issue. They started working on the toys while Santa turned to the bewildered Perwinkle.
“Congrats, you are upgraded to the foreman of these fluffies.”
“What, what do you mean?”
“Means you don’t have to lift a finger. Just help them make these toys and smack em if they step out of line.”
“Eep!” said the unicorn. “Nuu gib huwties, huu huu just wan pway gamesies.”
Periwinkle’s expression changed, from bewildered confusion twisting into a smile of viscous glee.
“You got it boss”.
Santa pulled out a walkie talkie with a plastic embossed Santa face on it.
“Doxie, drop what you’re doing and get over to Deliveries. Take some of Candy Stripes’ boys and get them to carry 10 Fluffy cages to the adjacent warehouse.
“What!” crackled the walkie talkie. “I’m in a meeting with RnD.”
“I said drop it! This is more important, I have to show you something. Over and out.” Santa stepped out of the crowd of confused elves and wandered down the street of shanty buildings to the slightly nicer cafeteria where he stashed a personal fridge.
He returned to the warehouse with a full tankard of eggnog. Doxie was standing outside, a steaming thermose in his hand, looking more drained than ever after his mad dash to follow Santa’s orders. Next to him were a bunch of cages that were whining about the cold. He was watching the line of fluffies working on the toys inside.
The fluffies looked miserable. The fatigue of the flight, the lack of food and being overwhelmed in such a new environment, was clearly wearing them down. It was taking longer to do the even rudimentary tasks they’ve already completed dozens and dozens of times. Their eyes looked dull, their joints ached, their bellies growled and their movements were sluggish.
“Sir, you’ll have to pardon my language, but what in the goodness gracious is going on.”
“Doxie” he said, clapping his Project Manager on the back, already swaying a little from the nog. “Were in fucking business.”
“Huu bad wordsies.” whined the turquoise fluffy.
“We have stumbled upon the perfect workforce. Just give them something simple to do and away they go. It’s like a sweatshop without any of the guilt.”
The blue fluffy, seeing Santa come back, dropped the horse head he was working on and perked up seeing the formerly nice man, looking to him for salvation.
“Saanta! Fwuwwy missed yu! Huu huu Saanta, cab fwuwwy stahp pwaying? Fwuwwy am suu maby tummy huwties ab hoofsies newd sweepies.”
“Oh no, you can’t stop playing now!” said Santa with mocking fake concern. “Didn’t you hear, we have to make 10,000 of the little ponies by tomorrow.
“Hu hu but Saanta, wen am then-douw-sand? Fwuffies ben pwaying fu so maby foevbahs.”
“Don’t worry, this will fix you up.”
Handing Doxie his tankard, Santa stepped outside to grab some snow and rubbed it between his hands. As the manifestation of human joy, he had the power to make anything that sparked Christmas cheer, from sugar to confetti to fireworks with a flick of his wrist. Between his hands Santa turned the snow into a special substance just for the fluffies.
He walked up to the table and blew the white powder in the fluffies faces. Instantly the powdered substance was absorbed through their skin and the magic settled into their bones. It caused an overwhelming effect on their nervous system. Their eyes dilated, their hunger signals stopped going to their brains, their ache was greatly diminished. The fluffies swayed in their stools as the powder took affect, shivering in place, suddenly not so distracted by their former hunger and fear.
“Fwuwwy…nu feww guud.” whimpered the pink unicorn, swaying from the awful sensation of his body forcing all other sensations out until he had a dull, hyper sharp focus on the table right in front of him.
It was of course The Glitter. A powerful magical stimulant that made Trucker Speed feel like decaf coffee. On just a few sprinkle, an elf didn’t have to sleep or eat until they died of exhaustion, hunger or a stroke. Without an antidote, you were nothing but a robot on borrowed time, being unable to eat, sleep or pull out of the methed up cycle.
The elves have only ever had to use it once, and even then that was for 2 and a half days at most. Santa refused to make any more for them because of how unethical even this level of stimulation was. For creatures he cared about that is.
“Work these fucking things until they drop.” Santa said to Periwinkle, laying a pile of the powder on the table in front of him. “And blast them with as much of that shit as you need.”
“You got it boss!” said Periwinkle gleefully.
“Saanta…pwease…” chirped the blue fluffy, watching the red suited man walk away, his eyes losing all hope as he turned back to the table, his hooves already shaking, his stomach churning, his heart torn from the sudden betrayal, doomed to focus on nothing else but you making the rest of his short life.
“Get those things out of their cages and set them up!” Santa shouted, gesturing to the cages. “This warehouse is now a fluffy slave factory.” The work floor exploded in a flurry of chaos, as the elves were as eager to follow Santa’s instructions as they were to stop their menial labour, ready to give it to someone more annoying (and thus more deserving).
They dragged the squealing fluffies out of their cages and set them up at the tables, herding them into rows and showing them how to make the toys before threatening them if they stepped out of line. The noise and bustle of the warehouse began to increase exponentially, along with the rising stench of scared fluffy shit. Another elf grabbed armfuls of snow and converted it into Glitter, spraying the new workforce with it left and right..
“Doxie” said Santa, taking back his tankard. “We’re putting production into full swing. Any simple job these dumbasses can do, you make them do it. Take as many fluffies as you need for each toy and get extras for the ones that give up or die.”
Doxie felt his head was about to split down the middle. On one hand, they had solved a massive chunk of their labour shortage and their elf morale. On the other he saw a long sleepless night ahead of him organising entire warehouses of fluffy specific work, finding a place for the fluffies to stay, overhauling teams across the North Pole and worst of all, generating statistics for God knows how many Powerpoint presentations. It wasn’t helping the squeaky sound of “screee nuu huwties” was pounding into his skull as the elves shanghaied the colourful mutant horses.
“Alright sir, I’ll get right on it. I guess we’ll have to tell Candy Stripes we’ll need replacements. These were supposed to be presents after all.”
“That’s another thing, while you are at it.” slurred Santa, taking another heavy swig of eggnog “tell Candy Stripes we are going to need a lot more fluffies. Like, a shit load more.”
“Ok sir, what numbers should authorise him to get?”
“A million.”
“I-wha-I, s-sir did you just s-sa-a-a m-a-a-m-mi“
“Yes a million. I need a million fluffies. Go, done, vamos. Go get it done already. But big smiles people!” he screamed at the noisy, smelly floor. “Christmas is fucking saved!”
Doxie’s head swum as he sprinted out of the warehouse, downing his coffee as he ran, the screams of the warehouse chasing behind him.
——
Sandra sleepily sipped her sweet flavoured Saganda coffee. It was 6am and she was on the opening shift at her local shelter. They weren’t open to the public for another few hours, but getting there this early gave her plenty of time to clean, gently wake the fluffies and give them an early feed so they wouldn’t complain later. It was also Inferno Week, the nickname given to the culling of ferals that were considered unadoptable and were absolutely packing the cages wall to wall. Because they were piled up so much, The Friday crew had the problem (or privilege) of staying back late forcing the fluffies down the chute.
That’s Friday’s problem, Sandra said to herself, and not something I have to think about. I get to play with the cute ones, they get to burn them alive. It’s a win win. She turned the key to the entrance and was met with the dead quiet of the shelter. It was always nice in the mornings before the shivering, shuddering, complaining and whining.
She decided to not turn on the overhead lights of the cages until the last minute and enjoy the relative peace. She cleaned up the front area and sat down on her phone. When it was about 7 she knew they were going to start waking up from hunger. She grabbed a bag of kibble and started to throw on the light.
“Alright good morning babies, time for your nu-“
Gone. All of them vanished. Every single cage was empty. Not a single fluffy was inside in the building. On top of that, every single cage was scrubbed top to bottom, all the toys immaculately cleaned, almost as if there were never any smelly, crying, defecating Fluffies to begin with.
“What. The fuck” Sandra said out loud. In the dead middle of all the cages was a stool with an adorable stuffed zebra holding a card. She opened it to see an Amazon gift card for $20 fall onto the floor. Inside was the following:
“Needed the fluffies. Christmas emergency. Love Candy Stripes, PhD, North Pole Logistics."
——
In the vast California wilderness, a large herd of fluffies were migrating south. They had stumbled across a vast forest and were nestling amongst the leaves from predators, the weather, and the threat of starvation. The families of the herd were settling into an evening of eating and nesting as the sun went down.
“Tweesies gib best nummies” said an orange unicorn mare to her special friend as they rested in a bush. “Make besest nestie for babbehs.”
“Nu num tu many nummies” admonished her partner, a purple pegasus stallion with a scratch on the side of his body. “Need tu num an den muv to stay warmises.” Being two years old, practically wizened in feral years, the stallion felt the shift in the air, and knew the cold times were coming. They couldn’t stay in the forest forever.
“Hu hu but hab tummeh babbehs!” protested the more naive mare. “Nyu mummah walkies fu tu many forevahs hu hu.”
While they were arguing, there was another shift in the air. Before the stallion realised it, there was a rope of tinsel that hung down through the trees and snaked around the chest of his partner.
“Um, speciaw fw-“ before he could finish, the mare was yanked into the sky up through the trees and disappeared.
“Speciaw fwiend!” he screamed, as he charged out of the bushes to be met with sheer pandemonium. The herd had become a writhing, screaming chaos as the sparkling ropes snaked through the branches, abducting fluffies left and right. The stallion panicked and attempted to sprint out the trees into a clearing, knocking fluffies out of the way, stamping on unattended foals, before breaking through into a clearing.
Above them was a reindeer hovering above the trees, with three, three foot elves standing on its back. The elves were holding onto the tinsel that was leading into the tree line. As they yanked the rope with their scrawny arms, the tinsel rapidly with a force augmented by magic. With a supernatural momentum, the fluffy shooted upwards into the sky.
“SCREEEEE HEWP NYU MUMMAH!” said a mare as it was flung up into the air at high speeds, followed by a trial of her foals that were on her back (and long brown streaks of shit). At a certain height the pixie dust kicked in and her small family started falling at a slower pace, dropping safely into a huge ominous shipping container hovering in the distance.
When enough fluffies cleared out of the trees, another reindeer landed next to the crowd of fluffies, loudly bellowing at the herd.
“Yah, come here shit rats!” shouted an elf, who was brandishing a long candy cane, jabbing its crackling tip at a fluffy.
“Pwease munstah, nu gib huwti-“ ZZZZT. The candy cane sparked with electricity. The fluffy dropped on the dirt, writhing in pain, fluff smoking on its back, letting another tinsel rope from a still airborne reindeer wrapped around it and fling it into the air..
The widowed stallion turned tail and sprinted away as the reindeer charged the herd. The reindeer’s bellowing could be felt in the herd’s core and its massive hooves stomping a couple of hapless fluffies into a red paste.
They ran, adrenaline pumping, the sound of death or worse closing in on them as they fell, by hoof or by crook, to the squadron of elves. They were pushing and prodding from different directions until the herd had become one panting collective galloping in unison.
Eventually the teeming mass broke through to a much wider clearing. The reindeer chasing them suddenly pulled back. The stallion looked off in the distance and saw more reindeer floating in the sky. His mad sprint briefly hesitated, feeling the earth was more solid beneath him, looking around to see wh-
BANG. Fireworks flew into the air, dragging the nearly invisible strings they were attached to upwards at tremendous speed. The stallion had no time to think before the net the herd was standing on closed. The stallion was suddenly crushed by the weight of his fellow fluffies, causing his chest to compress and knock the wind out of him.
“SCREEE NU WAN BAD HUGGIES!”
Immediately his head compressed between heavy mounds of flesh. He was smothered in faeces as the teeming mass of fluffies panicked, kicking, thrashing, headbutting each other trying to get away. The squealing was deafening inside the centre of the net. The stallion’s mouth and nostrils filled with the fearful excrement of his fellows. His neck ached as the weight of the fluffies above him threatened to cave in his skull.
The stallion began kicking as hard as he could for space and air, knocking out teeth, smooshing foals against the other fluffies, desperately gasping through terrible stench as the massive net gently floated to their flying prison.
——-
Within a month the North Pole was overhauled. Logistics worked night and day grabbing as many fluffies they could. Whole shelters were bucketed into Candy Stripes’ shipping containers, forgoing individual cages, to pile them on top of each other until the container was full. What they couldn’t get from shelters they hunted in the wilds. Huge swathes of ferals never had to see another “cawd time.” but they would have preferred it to what came next.
Back at the North Pole, Santa was overseeing the holding pens. These pens hadn’t been used for a hundred or so years after they stopped delivering pets. When they used to deliver puppies, these pens were originally made for comfort. Only small families to a pen, with plenty of space, warmth and soft padding on everything so the puppies grew up happy and well adjusted. The elves certainly missed raising the pups and watching them grow before delivering them by hand on Christmas Eve.
However, they never got requests for more than a few thousand puppies at most. Here the elves they had rammed in hundreds of thousands of fluffies, packed wall to wall, with more pouring in everyday. The elves knocked together makeshift pens that stretched into the horizon, and it still wasn’t nearly enough space for the screeching, shitting, technicoloured horde. Their cries of “HEWP””PWEASE WET FWUFFY OUWT”” CANT BWEAF” was barely distinguishable above the endless buzz of screaming. The pit was dense and a fluffy could do nothing but jostle against the ones next to it.
They didn’t even bother keeping the heating on. The elves just let the huge swath of bodies keep themselves warm, resulting in a never-ending nippiness against their flesh as the harsh winter eeked closer and closer. The only relief for any of the fluffies were cranes sporting magical tinsel, flying in and periodically scooping up fluffies before zipping them to other parts of the North Pole.
“SCREEE HEWP, WORSTEST UPPSSIIeeeesss…” screamed a sand coloured unicorn that was scooped up into the crane’s embrace and sped down a dark hole within the space of a few seconds, pouring panicked excrement onto the crowd below as it went.
“BIGGEST POOPSIES” cried a yellow mare, whose baby didn’t even have time to chirp before getting stepped on and smashed into the floor by the fluffies behind her.
“Huu nu smeww pwetty” said a red, emaciated pegasus trapped up against a bloated corpse that had died several days earlier.
“HEWP MISTAH!” shouted a lime green fluffy waving at Santa. “FWUWWY CAN NU MUV!” indeed there was no space for him to drop on all fours, forced to stand on his hind legs.
Santa for the most part observed all this with a look of calm disinterest. He was vehemently against child labour or animal abuse of any kind. To him, the only good thing to come out of the last 3 centuries was humanity actually treating children with dignity, thanks in no small part to his close friend Charles Dickens. He had a rich connection with all living creatures and hence his life purpose as the living embodiment of wonder and love.
These things though? Couldn’t give less of a shit. These little mutants didn’t have souls or real feelings, they were just loud, annoying, shitting toys, the latest fad in amongst the millions that he’s seen before. If Santa says it’s ok, you can take that to the band
A Logistics elf wearing sunglasses marched up to Santa and performed a salute. “Sir, Chipper from logistics sir! A new shipment of fluffies arrived.”
Santa took a sip of his coffee, this time only lightly spiked with 80% absinthe. “Awesome, dump em in.”
“But…sir” Chipper eeked out in confusion. “The pens are full.”
“Who gives a fuck, just pour them in.”
Shrugging, Chipper waved over a truck holding a shipping container. Its beeping alerted the horde, sending them into a panic.
“NUUU, NU MORE FWUFFIES!” screeched the bipedal fluffy, holding his arms up as if he stop the tide from crashing on top of him. It was too late, a huge shadow loomed over him as the truck began to tip. The jostling accelerated, the horde knowing exactly what was coming next.
As the truck tipped, the rainbow wave within poured into the pen. The fluffies right underneath the truck were crushed instantly, with the wiggling fluffies survivors trying to squirm out of the way to freedom, only to be met with even more fluffies pushing them back. The entire pen felt the effects of the intake of fluffies. The fluffies furthest away suddenly felt more claustrophobic, as a few inches of space was suddenly gone, while the fluffies who weren’t crushed began fighting for their life. It became a moshpit of headbutt, kicking, thrashing and firing shit while fluffies either fought to get away from each other or tried to avoid suffocating under all the warm bodies.
“See? It’s worked out fine” said Santa non-chalantly while he drank his coffee. “Tell Candy Stripes this pen could probably fit another 3 containers. That one over there could easily fit 8.”
“Sir yes sir!” said Chipper before he marched away. As he left the room, a loud siren went off as a red and white strobe began to flash and an alarm horn bellowed throughout the building. This caused an instant frenzy in the pen.
“Feeding time” said an elf pulling on a hazmat suit.
Along the one edge of each pen was a rank smelling open trough. As the lights started, each trough filled with their feed. It largely consisted of the industrial run off of the North Pole’s candy production. Excess sugar, crumbled up ginger bread, corn syrup, gum drop colouring, burnt cookie dough. Plus a lot of stuff the elves just decided to throw in, reindeer waste, ham bones, leftover food, and the ground up remains of fluffies who died in the sweatshops.
As it was mostly sugar, the sludge was thoroughly addictive to the childish fluffies, and made them extremely fat extremely quickly. These were usually the ones picked first for the slave factories as they lasted the longest. In comparison, the fluffies in the back often starved as they were unable to push to the front, but the elves had a solution for that.
“Hold it steady boys” shouted the protected elf to his fellows as they aimed a giant fire hose. The elf released a pressure valve and the hose sprayed the sugary sewerage all over the fluffies around the middle and back..
“EEEK HEWP!”
“NUU WAN STICKY WAH WAH!”
“NUMMIES!”
The red pegasus chirped as he and the corpse next to him were hosed down. He wiped the sludge from his face and he began sniffing the air. He turned to the corpse, his mouth suddenly drooling, eyes glittering in the strobe.
“Nu smeww pwetty fwuffy…smeww nummy” he muttered, before digging into the rotting flesh. Marinating the dead and dying was an excellent way to keep the pen clean, so the elves made sure to soak the recently crushed mass of bodies, accelerating the chaos near the back of the pen.
Santa sipped his coffee and admired the efficiency of it all. He checked his Rudolph themed watch and realised it was time to inspect Warehouse 44.
———-
Santa strolled past the screeching pens into the snow, whistling despite the drop in temperature. All around him was the endless bustle of elves and fluffies rushing back and forth between buildings. Occasionally he saw one crane zip along a rail into the pens before firing back out holding a chunky, terrified pony that was whisked away to his new destination.
He walked into Warehouse 44. It was an entirely fluffy ran sweatshop. Rows upon rows of fluffies sat or stood hunched over tables, working tirelessly at toy production.
Each only had one very simple task given to them. Numerous and painstaking (emphasis on the pain) trials in RnD concluded that efficiency rapidly dropped off when a fluffy had to navigate multiple steps in a toy’s creation. As a result, the elves just kept throwing fluffy after fluffy at the problem until each step was finished. This way, with just a little bit of time, discipline and drugs, they had the perfect worker that built toy components until they died of exhaustion.
It took about 8 fluffies, each doing one small individual task, to do the work of an elf. But it only took one elf assigned to 50 to 100 fluffies to walk around and whip any of them that fell out of the line. This massively freed up the workforce to do more complex tasks, and even take some time off for the first time since the Napoleonic war. Some elves even decided to forfeit their break time and volunteer for the job, giving their sore fingers a break and relieving some pent up stress onto the thin, snivelling ponies high out of their gourd on excessive doses of Glitter.
One burly elf named Twinkle was walking between some fluffies working on pogo sticks. He was brandishing a new invention from the boys in RnD: a black licorice whip with sleigh bells attached to it.
One fluffy was fiddling with the rubber cap on the end of the stick, failing to place it on properly, holding up the line of production.
“Huu huu can nu mak toysies, am tu hawd.”
“Faster shit rat” said Twinkle, bringing the whip down hard across the fluffy’s back, causing deep, red lacerations in his skin.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE” said the fluffy, smacking his hooves on the desk, his body convulsing, his eyes bulging in extreme pain that could be felt even through the haze of Glitter.
“I said faster!” Shouted Twinkle, brandishing the whip again and ripping more skin out of the fluffy’s back, spilling blood onto the floor. Biting back the pain, the fluffy clamped his jaw shut and poured all his effort into the task in front of him. In tears the fluffy started pushing the caps on the sticks in a mad panic and pushing them onto the next fluffy, working as fast and as desperately as he could.
“And that goes for the rest of you” said Twinkle, letting the whip jingle in his hand, causing the renewed terror to spread throughout the line. He leaned over a mare who was quickly pasting stickers at a break neck pace by ripping them off with her mouth and applying them to the items in front of her.
“Huu huu, Fwuffy am gud fwuffy. Nu hawt fwuffy munstah ewf.” she gasped desperately.
Twinkle jingled the whip right next to her ear. “Less talking, more working. In fact, no more talking until you drop dead, got it you dumb bitch?” The jingling caused her to work at an even faster rate, ceasing all thoughts and complaints, only opening her mouth to gasp for air.
Walking between the aisles was another elf named Minty pushing a trolley made of candy canes. Latched to the trolley was the Smarty that talked back to Santa the first time he laid eyes on the pig chimeras. Smarty’s legs had atrophied as he was painfully tied down with his head next to a leaver. Minty pushed Smarty around until he found some excrement dropped by a freshly trained fluffy.
“Lunch time fuck wit” said Minty, before pulling a latch, causing the cart to tip forward and aiming the Smarty towards the pile..
“Hu Hu smartey nu wan mo poopies nummies” muttered the foul smelling fluffy, before his instincts kicked in and he dug into the pile with unnatural greed.
“How’s my favourite toilet going?” Santa called from the balcony.
“Great boss” shouted Minty above the hustle and bustle of fluffies. “That new powder we whipped up works like a treat. He’s so hungry all the time, can’t stop eating! He’s like a vacuum cleaner.”
Santa’s beard bristled in pleasure. “Good. Now make sure to feed him real food occasionally. I want that little prick to personally vacuum longer than any of the other ingrates.”
“You’re the boss, boss!”
“Hey boss!” shouted Twinkle. “We got a bet going whose going to drop first, you want in? It’s those two over there.”
He gestured to two fluffies working away at the table. One was a heavily emaciated mare with a drawn face, visible ribs and pupils as wide as saucers. She had long stopped complaining, begging or even opening her mouth to breath. She simply stared ahead, clicking the heads of Barbies into place.
“That tough old bitch has lasted the longest out of this lot. A whole five days. But pointy there gots some spirit.”
Nearby was a young unicorn, barely out of the colt stage, frantically clicking buttons into place, a look of sheer determination on his face even as his cheeks became more sunken, his need to make toys almost primal..
Before Santa could respond, there was a horrific screech of metal and vocal cords near the end of the line of tables. Twinkle marched down to a set of machines to find a fluffy that chopped in half, an industrial drill having ripped its guts apart and spraying the nearby surroundings. Being so disposable, fluffies had taken up all dangerous jobs, including needlessly reckless ones. like unsticking machines even while in operation.
“Hu Hu pwease wakesies fwuffy, nu mean tu gib forevah sweepies” sobbed a guilt ridden fluffy operating the machine. The dead fluffy didn’t respond and it was stuff staring at the ceiling, face twisted in horror. A crane whizzed over and dropped a panting, bewildered replacement that was standing in the holding pens just 30 seconds earlier.
Twinkle marched up to her. “Get in there and scoop out his guts” pointing to the disembowelled fluffy.
“EEK! Where am mawe, wan am happened tu fwuwwy hu hu, fwuwwy hab huwti- SCREE!” her panicaked yammering was cut short when Twinkle started whipping her.
“Stop talking and clean this crap out!”
“SCREE, EEK NU- SCREE HUWT MA- EEK!”
Santa decided to take a break. He sat down in the attached rec room to sip his coffee and flick through his phone. Ignoring the numerous text messages from Mrs Claus (that dumb bitch can wait, he thought) he opened up his Yulemail and looked at the final quarterly report prepared by Doxie exploring the effects of their new slave force.
In addition to exploring the massive uptick in elf morale, there was a graph showing the number of missed houses on Christmas dropped from 200 million to 1 million. With a big hearty grin, Santa read through the reports that showed this number was expected to reach zero by Christmas Eve so long as production continued to ramp up. Job satisfaction was at all time high, all major side projects were being fulfilled, and there was a 99% chance of maximised festive cheer.
It was working. Christmas was saved. It was all going according to pl-
Suddenly Santa’s phone exploded. He nearly jumped out of his chair as it blared with a red warning symbol. Almost as fast the alarm went off, his walkie started to hiss.
“S-s-sir! Sir c-c-come quick! It’s awful sir it’s a-a-awful!” screamed Doxie through the crackle.
Santa answered it in a panic. “Doxie, what the hell is wrong, what’s th-“
“It’s awful! T-the clones sir.”
“What, what abo-“
“The clones! You have to come quick. The-”
The clones. Oh no. Santa reached into his breast pocket and covered himself in a magic powder. Instantly his body began to buzz with unnatural speed. He then sprinted to the cloning bay. In a flash, he was running faster than the eye could follow, his body turning into a blur that zoomed around elves and turned fluffies into long streaks of road kill. He sprinted at high speeds before arriving at the cloning centre, stopping next to Doxie.
“-re’s something wrong with- AHH!” cried Doxie, dropping the walkie talkie he was speaking into.
“Doxie, what happened?”
“T-t-t-th-th-th” stuttered Doxie, pointing a finger. Santa turned to follow the finger and his eyes bulged in terror.
“No. No!”
Before him were the rows of Santa cloning vats. Inside the one in front of him was a Santa who had inexplicably died, his organs burst through his chest, a hand growing out of his liver, his mouth twisted in agony. Next to him was a Santa who had grown tentacles out of his armpits that snaked up to strangle his neck. Another had grown several mini Santa heads that grew out his thigh, each sporting the mandibles of an ant, which gored his groan and legs.
Santa was not able to get to every house on Christmas Eve. So for about 200 years or so, they had started using clones to drive additional sleighs. By Boxing Day, the clones would age rapidly Metal Gear Solid style having fulfilled their purpose.
But something went horribly wrong. Almost the entire batch was dead, their creation process twisting them into horrific unSantian forms. Elves in lab coats ran back and forth to try and find a normal clone. One elf just doubled over and vomited all over the floor. Santa stepped up to a tank containing a female Santa with three eyes and missing skin on its beardless chin, teeth showing through the gaps in its skin. He placed a hand on the glass in sad horror.
“What. Happened.” He whirled towards Doxie. “What the fuck happened!”
“W-w-we don’t know sir! They were fine a few days ago. The techs said they reached the final stages of Festivigenesis before th-they looked like this. They were ready for the final stages but their Hilarlial Configuration is all off, and they quickly turned into this.”
“How many are left?”
“W-well, um, about that…”
“Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
This is bad if they can’t get enough hands to deliver the presents, then…
Santa turned and around dropped to his knees before he started pounding the glass of the tank.
“GODDAMNIT, GOD FUCKING DAMMIT ALL!”
What was the point of making the presents if there was no one to deliver them? This wasn’t like the old days, where a team of elves could take a second sleigh and take care of Asia when he was in a tight schedule. The population too big, the elves two few and the logistics on Christmas Eve too complex. It took 8 months to grow the clones and just when it mattered, they died in a few days.
They were so close. And now they were so fucked.
“Sir, I think I found the problem.” squeaked a technician. He opened up a hatched and pulled out a squirming dark green form with heaving, dripping teets.
“Eee nu wan bad upssies, wet nyu mummah gu!”
Santa slowly rose to his feet, his eyes a bloodshot red. He pointed a stiff finger at the wriggling form.
“What. Is. That.”
“This thing made a nest in here. It kicked out a bunch of cables and settled in to give birth.” Sure enough, inside the hatch was a mess of cables and broken computer chips. The highly delicate machinery that controlled the cloning process was covered in faeces, amniotic fluid and fluff dropped by the newborn litter. They were nestled chirping and peeping, aiming their blind little faces around, wondering where their mother went at meal time.
“Pwease nu huwt nyu mummah!Mummah newd to gib miwkies tu babbehs. Babbehs am owny wittle and newd huggies n wuv. But wen babbehs hab nu mow tummy huwties, does mistah wan tu see babbehs? Dey am dah bestest babbehs in dah how worwd!
Mistah wan tu pway wit dem? Siwwy mistah owny wittle babbehs, tu wittle fu pway. But if mistah wan, and pwomise tu cawefuw, can gib switchies. But mummah newd nummies fu dah babbehs. Bestest nummies fu bestest miwkies! Mistah hab nummies fu nyu mummah? Babbehs am mad fu huggies an wu-“
Santa zoomed over and ripped the fluffy out of the elf’s hand.
“YOU FUCKING SHIT RAT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”
Teeth gritting with rage, Santa started to compress his hands around her head and squeeze with unnatural strength. The bones in her skull started to break as the pressure mounted, causing an eyeball to slip forwards out of its socket.
“Hu-huggies…an…wuv”
Santa grabbed a leg and went to swing the fluffy to the floor, but he forgot he was still empowered with super speed. The mare’s body broke in half mid swing due to the extreme concentric forces, and on the down turn splattered the whole floor with her insides. Santa then smashed her skin repeatedly into the bloody mess, spraying guts all over himself and the room, while howling with anger.
From the perspective of the onlooking elves, they saw Santa standing with his finger pointed on side of the room. Then in an instant they saw him chest heaving and covered tip to toe in blood, all in the space of a second. The room was silent save for the gasping, furious breaths taken by the Saint of Christmas as the weight of moment compressed the room.
Doxie took off his viscera covered glasses and cleaned them. “Well sir, I guess that’s it. The first cancelled Christmas. I don’t know what to say other than, I’m sorry it’s all over.”
Santa stood there staring at a vat covered in blood, frozen as if in shock, as his chest heaved. The silence weighed heavily on his ears as Doxie’s last words hung in the air. The only sound he could hear was the thrumming of the blood in his temples.
But underneath that thunder swirling through his head was the chirping and peeping of the hungry foals, pining for the warmth and comfort of their mother. Santa’s heart settled and his breath slowed, soothed by sound of the peeping as he got one final, wild idea.
“It ain’t over” said Santa to his floating clone in front of him. It’s six eyes ran along its head like a spider and it had 8 legs where it should have had arms, its face twisted in fear.
“Excuse me sir?” asked Doxie.
“It ain’t over” Santa looked back with a big, menacing grin on his blood covered face “until it’s over.”
——
24th of December. Show time.
The North Pole was all guns blazing for the last 48 hours. The last of the presents were wrapped and placed in the delivering stockings, which were in fact quantum machines that teleported presents to Santa’s sack when ready to deliver. Dozens of new sleighs were being created, cookies baked, candy canes wrapped.
Fluffies died by the hundreds as they were worked to death harder, faster, with their hearts often giving out before they starved. Even more fluffies were thrown into the machines, sometimes literally, that fueled Santa’s last ditch project to get this to work.
The logistics computers hummed and they were all hands on deck. The presents were being wrapped last minute. They even had time to check the list and check it twice, for the first time since the Korean War. Everything was in a beautifully aligned chaos that only the North Pole knew how to deal with.
Santa trudged through the miserable snow as elves worked in a frenzy around him. He was drunker and more stressed than he had ever been. His cheeks were bright red from the abuse he’d been pushing both his body (and his liver) through to make it to the finish line. He held a flask with eggnog that he only reluctantly pulled away from as he marched to the row of red and gold sleighs that stretched into the horizon. They were resting on a concrete runway while the empty reins led into a big open expanse of snow.
“Doxie!” he shouted over the din of elves. “Are they ready?”
“Just about sir!” the elf shouted back. “The boys are taking the last few off the lot.”
Santa jumped into a sleigh to see how it looked. He pressed a button and the onboard computer whirled to life in glittering gold, green and red graphics. He patted the big sack, as tall and as wide as him, that lay on its side in the back.
Santa lept off the sleigh and leaned over his Project Manager. His eyes looked wide and wild from exhaustion, stress, and just a little bit of Glitter that he indulged in to get through the night.
“Where the fuck are they? We are behind schedule already!”
“They’ve just finished with the superglue. Really, I don’t know why you have such specific ideas, it’s just more work in the long run.”
“It’s a little thing called the Christmas spirit Doxie. know it’s my idea and i’m, hold on” Santa took a swing from his flask. “*gulp* I’m taking full credit. The pricks just need to get to the sleighs and pronto.”
“Sir, I’m not sure you should drink and drive.”
“No time for *gulp* that, look.”
In the distance there were twinkling lights shining in Christmas colours. Sparkling flares were fired onto the field to act as a big empty sleigh runway. Slowly a massive rainbow horde became visible as it teemed over the lights.
It was hundreds of winged fluffies trotting across the snow. They were being herded by Candy Stripes grizzled gang of fluffy hunters. Each of them wore reindeer antlers that the elves had super glued into their heads prior to pushing them into the cold.
“Go on git!”
“Hewp!”
“Scawies!”
“Move it, keep moving!”
“Wun fwom dah munstah ponies!”
The pegasi sprinted forward, wings buzzing with fear their chests heaving from the effort, their breath filling the air with reflective mist. The press gang whipped the fluffies and fired flares until the fluttering mass clumped together in a big circle, crouching in the snow, shivering from the cold.
The elves picked out a team of 9 fluffies, dragging and whipping them towards a sleigh, their wings catch the light of all the flates. A separate team grabbed them one at a time and dragged them to the sleigh. They latched each fluffy to a space in the reins and forced a bit into their mouths before locking it in place.
“Hu hu, nu wun hawd nummy.” said a winged fluffy trying to spit it out, shaking his antlers in frustration before and elf smacked him upside the head.
“Bite down if you know what’s good for you.”
After 8 of the fluffies were secured and shivering in their bonds, it was time for the train leader. At the front of sleigh the team pinned down a green pegasus, holding his head up and pinning his neck in place. They placed a metal device over his forehead and nose, featuring a bright red light. One elf held the device in place, brought out a bunch of shallow screws and a drill.
“Pwease wet gu ob fwu-SCREE, SCREEEE!” screamed the fluffy as the drill forced a screw into the soft bones of his skull and secured the device to his head. The horrific wail causing the rest of the train to shiver in the cold and fear while a piercing pain radiated from where the screws were drilled.
Meanwhile on the concrete, a team of elves took a bunch of fluffies out of nearby cages and put them in the sleigh. The elves put the lead fluffy in a red jacket and Santa hat to keep her warm, which contrasted with her blue fluff. She didn’t have thumbs, so one heavily sleep deprived elf super glued it to her hooves.
“Huu hewp, fwuwwy can’t dwop the weashy!”
“Calm down” said the elf, propping up three other fluffies in the back of the sleigh, dressed in elf jackets and hats superglued to their heads. They nuzzled the big red sack curiously.
“Mistah pwease, wat am happeuning. Am cawd and am scawrdies.”
“You are all going to play the, uh, flying game.” said the elf.
“Fwuffies wuv gamesies!” said one elf fluffy, joyfully hugging their friends despite the rough treatment and the screeching. The train of pegasi was ready in place, with 8 fluffies in 4 duos side by side and the lead fluffy standing in front, sobbing in pain, trying to get used to the weight of the red light drilled into his skull.
Santa took a big swig of his flask before he stepped over to sleigh.
“Alright whats your name?” he said gruffly to the red suited mare.
“Fwuwwy nu ha-“
“Whatver, your name is Santa.”
“Yay,! Fwuwwy wu-“
“Shut up” he said, ignoring her while he brought up the sleighs onboard computer. “Now you have a very important job.” He took another swig of his flask before he tapped the screen, bringing up the glowing map.
“Your sleigh is going to be delivering to this longitude and latitude. It’s mostly rural with one big metropolitan area. The sleigh knows where to go, so you don’t have to turn. You don’t have many deliveries to make, so it shouldn’t take too long, and nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing will go wrong.”
“Otay mistah. Um, wat am a dew-dewivaby?” said the fluffy struggling to pronounce the new word.
“A game!” he spat. “An idiot proof, nothing can go wrong, super duper fun game!”
“Oh otay, wuv gamesies!” said the Santa fluffy, still not entirely comprehending this bizarre turn of events.
Santa (the original) took another long swig of his flask, letting the warmth of the sweet eggy liquor fill his core. “Ahhh that’s the good stuff.” His eyes fluttered a little and for a brief second he didn’t want to open them again. He reluctantly blinked them open and, swaying a little, he swung around to point a finger at the fluffies in elf costumes, who were milling around and sniffing the big red sack.
“You three, you’re called Santa’s Little Helpers.”
“Yay! Wub nyu name-“
“ZIP IT! Your job, when the sleigh slows down, is to go into the sack and throw the presents off the side. Got it? It’s all you gotta do. Presents” miming holding a box. “Over the side.
Presents, over the side, presents, over the side. It’s like a game. Where absolutely nothing can go wrong.” he added, mostly to convince himself.
“Um, otay mistah.” said a Little Helper quizzically, not quite following what he meant. “Mistah am nyu daddeh?”
“Couldn’t want anything less in the world” he whirled back to the Santa fluffy. “Again, idiot proof. You got one simple job, they got one simple job. You play the flying game, they play the present game. Tell me” Santa leaned in with an extreme intensity “tell me you understand.”
“Yes mistah not daddeh. Saanta wiggle hoofsies in dah fwying game, Saanta’s Wittle Hewpers pway dah pwessies game.”
“Huu hu, cab fwuwwy pway gamesies?” muttered a rein fluff, no longer attempting to wiggle out of their bonds.
“Good enough. The computer will get you where you need to go. You only got a few dozen houses or so to deliver to so you’d have to go out of your way to fuck this up.”
“Hu hu bad wowd-“
He ignored the comment and pressed a button on the computer screen titled ‘Launch Sequence’. It displayed a list of names and shapes. “Alright off you go.”
The Santa fluffy shook her hooves, but nothing happened. The train of sooking pegasi stood there shivering in the cold as the reins flicked their bells and jerked the bits in their mouth.
“Um fwy! Fwying gamsies!” she said, wiggling her forelimbs.
“No no” said Santa, pointing to the computer screen again. “You have to call out their names to get them going.”
On the screen, each fluffy in the train was represented by a graphic with a name floating next to it. The names were obviously assigned to them by the elves right before driving them on mass to the sleighs.
“Oh tay mistah!” the Santa fluffy squinted at the screen, trying to sound out the first name.
“Um uon, wu-wu-fweez. Nu, um uon wu-wu-, um, wurb-fwe-ees, uon wu-“
“Oh for God’s sake.”
Santa grabbed a whip off one of the elves and started hitting the train of fluffies in a frenzy, screaming at the top of his lungs:
ON WORTHLESS
ON FUCK STICK
ON CUNT FACE
ON SHIT STAIN
ON COCK SLEEVE
ON DICK CHEESE
ON ASS EATER
ON TAINT CRUST
ON BALL GUZZLER
Feeling the whip strike their flanks made the wingy fluffies panic, surging forward. When each name was heard, the magic snow powered up giving them the power of flight.
The red nosed leader titled upwards with each gallop, climbing into the air. His eyes bulged in surprise as he looked down, seeing the floor give way below him.
“Wufwess…AM FWYING!”
The train of pegasi were in awe as each of them joined the flight upwards, fear giving away to wonder giving way to pure joy as their life long dream of flight was achieved.
The Santa fluffy looked down as the sleigh drunkenly dragged itself into the air. The sleigh seemed to drag down the initial momentum of the pegasi’s intial sprint.
“Flick it! Flick it you stupid cunt!” screamed the real Santa on the ground.
“EEP!” The fluffy Santa snapped out their stupor and flicked their front hooves, whipping the reins. Sure enough, this accelerated the sleigh, the magic of Christmas controlling the actual speed of the sleigh even though the rein-wingies were running the exact same (pathetic) wobbling canter. The sleigh accelerated until it hoisted itself in the sky, zooming across the snow, the light of the flares glinting of the bells on the reins.
“Weeee” squeeled a Little Helpwer fluff “dis am su much funsies!”
“WEW FWYING! WINGIES AM WEWY WORKING” cried Ball Guzzler.
“FWASTER, FWASTER!” yelled Shit Stain.
The sleigh sped away into the snow. Santa stood in awe and his heart grew with excitement and joy.
“We’re doing it. We’re really doing it!” screamed Santa, grabbing Dixie and shaking him before running off. “Christmas is saved! Go go go go!” half cheering, half commanding his army of elves, Santa ran to the next sleigh to preparing them for launch.
Meanwhile the sleigh sped faster and faster as it climbed into the sky. The Santa fluffy giggled in excitement, but realised the speed was becoming too much as the sleigh shook her in her seat. She pulled back on the reins until the sleigh was moved to a consistent but safe pace.
The onboard computer of the sleigh picked a height and destination, lifting the sleigh up a set path of 20,000 feet, clearing any mountains and snow caps. Once they were at a stable altitude, the Santa fluffy felt more confident and flicked her hooves, increasing the speed as the sleigh zoomed across to United States.
“Wow diss am amazing!” cried Santa. “Am bestest gamesis ebah!”
“Wook at stawsies, am so bwight and cwose!” said a Little Helper.
Santa and her Helpers gazed in awe at the beautiful night sky as the landscape below them changed from ice caps to North American snow. The rein-fluffs meanwhile were chirping and shouting with joy, completely forgetting their rough treatment from before, focused on the single minded task of galloping and flapping their wings.
The boys in RnD recognised that winged fluffies had an obsession with flying and correctly predicted they would be perfect to run the train. Traditionally the sleighs would only run if there was a reindeer, but with a bit magic in the reins, any mammal shaped creature would do. As the pegasi were practically overdosing on serotonin (and a bit of Glitter) they were expected to run all ngiht and then some.
The train leader Worthless was particularly determined, his eyes forward and attempting to drag the sleigh faster with a mad gallop. Technically it was impossible for him to have looked anywhere else. The shiny red nose light was in fact the sensor that the sleigh used for its autopilot and was what was actually guiding the direction and momentum of the train. Short of stopping in place, the rein-fluffs were perpetually forced to move forward, and their enthusiasm wasn’t going to let them stop running and flapping their wings for a second.
To their left and right were other fluffy sleighs that had been Shanghaied into delivering presents. The North Pole didn’t take any chances when it came to Christmas Eve and were sending hundreds more than would normally be needed if they just had the Santa clones. The Little Helpers waved joyously at the elf fluffies in the other sleigh.
“Wook, odah fwuwwies!”
“Hewwo fwends!”
“Saanta sees yu fwends!”
The Santa Fluffy waved her arm, flicking the reins. This would have turned the sleigh if she was actually Santa, but the autopilot on the sleigh was locked. It would have taken a considerable effort of her and the rein-fluffs to take the sleigh off course. Instead it just disrupted their speed ever so slightly while their new friends waved back.
Time flew as they had fun absorbing the sights and the novelty of the. Eventually they approached their destination. The map featured a characture of a sleigh resting on a cartoony dotted trail that led to a big golden word that simply said “Virginia”. When they approached it, the map automatically zoomed in on clusters of towns and cities with big golden circles.
The sleigh dropped its height and turned towards the nearest circle on the map, which happened to be the air space above some rural houses crowded around a town square. When that happened, a loud beeping occured, causing the circle to pulse.
The Santa Fluffy pulled back in surprise, slowing the sleigh down to a crawl, even though the fluffy train continued to gallop at the same pace. The sleigh started to circle around the group of houses while the breaths of the fluffy train filled the air with white mist.
“Woa, pwetty tweesie!” gasped Dick Cheese at the glowing tree set up in the town square.
“Wat am dat noisey” said a Little Helper, cocking their head towards the computer curiously.
Santa squinted her eyes trying to work out what was happening. Another list appeared featuring the names of children with a corresponding graphic of their present. Another graphic showed a present falling off the side of the sleigh into a house’s chimney.
“Ou!” Santa said perking up. “Take dah pwessie out ob dah sacksies. Den fwo dah pwessie at dah housie.”
A Little Helper nuzzled his nose into the big red sack sitting in the back of the sleigh. He reached his hooves into the sack and a present seemingly materialised out of thin air. They pulled out a yellow box with a red ribbon that said “to dearest Mackenzie, love Santa.” The Little Helper held it over the side of the sleigh and let go.
For a brief moment, the present remained suspended in the air before zooming downwards with supernatural speed, landing in the chimney of one of the houses. Inside, the present flew to the living room and gently slowed down before it nestling under the tree.
“Woa!” cried the fluffies. The Little Helpers scurried back and forth, dumping boxes, stockings of candy, teddy bears and cards over the side. These all sped their way to the right house of their own magical volition.
When there wasn’t a chimney, the present reduced its size to any gap it could get through whether windows, doors, even a rat hole. The Fluffies watched in awe as the packages zipped to each house.
“Dah pwessie gamesis is dah best!” said the Helpers, dragging a bike with a ribbon out of the sack and using team work to toss over the side. With each present delivered, a name was crossed off the list, thanks to a digital feather doing a litte flourish on the screen.
One of the Little Helpers dragged a squirming package out of the sack, a big blue bag with golden sequins on it.
“Hewp! Dawkies! Nuu cab us seewing pwaces!” cried the bag.
“Pwessie cab tawkies!” gasped the Helper, swinging his elf hat backwards in surprise.
“Nuu am pwessie” pleaded the bag. “Am fwuffy! Am scawed uf dawkies huu huu. Pwease hewp fwuffy, hab suu maby scardies.”
“Dummeh pwessnt nu am fwuwwy” dismissed the Helper.
“Nao huwwy uwp an pway dah pwessie game.” He shoved the package over the side. The bag hoovered for a second before jetting off to the assigned house, tumbling out of control mid-air.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE mmmggggrrreelaaaaaaah” screamed the present, before filling the inside of the bag with puke. The boys in R&D were going to have to work on their delivery system.
When all the presents were delivered, the computer gave a loud ping and the sleigh pulled out of its circling to set a course for the next golden marker. The Santa fluff flicked the reighs a few times in response and the sleigh accelerated to their next destination. The Little Helpers cheered as the reigh-fluffs gleefully galloped forward.
“Dis am dah best daey ebah” cheered a Little Helper, bouncing with in glee.
“Cab fwy fo ebah and ebah!” yelled Fuck Stick, sending a cheer amongst the reigh-fluffs.
The Little Helpers got to work tossing presents over the side, busily spreading Christmas cheer, while Santa sat on her seat admiring the view. The presents sped to their destination, only waiting to enter the house if the onboard computer could tell the children inside were awake. Finished with the present game much quicker than before, the Little Helpers sang and danced around, while Santa Fluffy sp d them to their next golden circle.
This continued a few times in the little rural chunks of houses. A new golden circle appeared much further away on the board computer. With a renewed confidence, Santa flicked her reighs and sped the sleigh onwards as the Little Helpers encouraged her to go faster.
“Yay mow pwessie gamesies!” shouted one Helper.
“Maybe Saanta’s Wittle Hewpers cab hab pwessie tu if we win dah gamesie. Ohr maybe sketties.”
“Skettis?!” asked Dick Cheese. “Cab hab sketties aftah gamsies.”
“Den” said their red suited fluffy flicking the reins, her face taking on a look sheer determination. “Fwuffies goin be dah bestest at dah pwessie gamesies ebah!”
With the command of their leader, the sleigh cheered with joy and charged ahead. But before they could hit the golden circle, a jetliner zoomed close by them, leaving them with a shift in the air and a roar of the engines.
The sudden noise made the fluffies freeze in shock. In that same second, Cunt Face let go of a scardy poop that hit Cock Sleeve in the face, blinding him. Cock Sleeve screamed and turned hard, slamming into Shit Stain next to him, which caused her to release her own excrement in Dick Cheeses’ face, which caused him to stop galloping and pull at his reins to the side, which caused Ass Eater to reach over and try and help which tangled the reins and flipped them over both over midair, causing further shit to spray all over Taint Crust and Ball Guzzler, whose screams distracted Fuck Stick, who tried to look to see which happening which caused them to twist, tnagle and shit as well.
All this shitting and jostling caused the whole sleigh to sway in mid air. When it sttmepted to right itself, this applied enough simultaneously tension to the reins to yank Worthless’ head back, gurgling in pain as it dug red marks into his lips. Forcing the red nose light skyward, this forced the sleigh to aim up and was knocked off course causing it to climb in the air.
The Santa Fluffy panicked and instead of pulling back, started flicking the reins wildly. This accelerated the sleigh to high speeds, causing the Little Helpers to slam into the back wall and squish against the wall at 3 Gs. This speed and the rocking of the sleigh threw the autopilot off so it couldn’t right itself, and the sleigh fired into the sky.
The increased speed made the lurching of the fluffy train worse, until the centre of mass pivoted, tossing the heavier end of the sleigh up to accelerate past the fluffy train. Worthless’s mouth started to rip from the pressure as the light tried to aim down, while the body of the sleigh sped upwards. When it reached its apoapsis, it swung around in an arch? flinging an elf flying off the side.
“SCREEEEEEEEE NU MO NU MO FWYING” screamed the elf fluffy, howling into the void as she plummeted to the earth
The momentum of the sleigh turned the train aiming Worthless’ nose towards the ground and focusing the speed of the train in one direction: down. The Santa Fluffy hadn’t stopped her frenzied flaying, and the sleigh zoomed toward the earth. The sleigh started spinning as it picked up speed, turning it into a green and red shit tornado.
The sleigh quickly picked up speed until it hit Mach 25. The elves were squished into the back of the sled, their organs pushing their compressed chests, their eyes bursting out of their skulls. The Santa fluffy was forced out of her seat, holding onto the reins, screaming into the whipping air. Eventually the acceleration seperated her arms from her body, leaving two bloody stamps attached to the reins leaving no hope for the already supersonic sleigh to stop.
The spinning shit missle hurtled towards the earth. As quickly as it started the sleigh found a target in the form of a large, expansive concrete building. It penetrated smoothly into the side of a building, the extreme velocity letting Worthless’ head breach through the roof at an angle, and hit the ground underneath, the insane kinetic force of the impact causing an immense explosion. The entire building fired upwards as the earth jettisoned into the sky with a roar as the remains of the building rained on the nearby neighbourhood.
——-
The President was enjoying a night cap in the Oval Office, dozing contently with his tie undone and nursing a whiskey on ice. Suddenly a cataclysmic explosion was heard out the window behind him.
“What in the Sam Hill is that!” he cried, leaping out of his chair. In the distance he could see what looked like a mushroom cloud of dirt and debris raining down across the city. Several seconds later, a Secret Service Agent burst into the office.
“Sir, reports coming in. A red missile has hit the Pentagon and annihilated the building.” The Agent put images of the missile on screen. When the footage was slowed, the mysterious image had more detail and appeared to be a green and red whirling torpedo covered in bells and fecal matter, with all of its weight near the rear.
“Huuuuhhhhh” sighed the President. “I knew this would happen some day. That asshole Santa has been looking to turn on us ever since he started delivering presents to the Reds. Well we will hit that cocksucker in turn.”
“Wait, what?” responded the Agent. “Santa is real?”
The President turned back to him with a grim look on his face, holding a folder titled ‘Operation Nuke The North Pole’.
“Not for much longer.”