The Eleventh Day of Christmas

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     Holden climbed off of Carl. "Hey Mr. The Big Red, mind explaining what the flip is going on right now?"

     "It seems your father has been practicing some sort of satanic ritual in order to grow peanuts," said The Big Red, his eyes still fixed at the sky.

     "Por que would you use graveyard dirt to grow you los peanuts?" asked Hugo.

     "What you peanut novices, or peanovices, don't understand is that the secret behind any good peanut is the soil," explained GWC, his voice ringing with passion. "The soil from Saint Nicholas' grave was overflowing with the nutrients of his decomposed corpse as well as all the flowers and candy canes that have been left there over time in his memory."

     "But you said you watered them with the blood of his ancestors. The Rock thinks that's pretty dark and unnecessary," said The Rock.

     "You peanovices would never understand how to germinate a seed to its truest potential!" yelled George Washington Carver.

     "We all know you're an expert in germinating seeds George," said Carl.

     "Maybe we don't understand how to make peanuts grow, maybe we really are peanovices," admitted Dlanor 834. "But what we do understand is that, ever since you dug up Saint Nick's grave and spilled his ancestor's blood, the spirit of Christmas has disappeared. Our resources used to make gifts for all the children stopped magically appearing and our reindeer lost their ability to fly. Plus our wifi went out!"

     The other Dlanors jeered in agreement as the peanuts began to rain down even faster.

     "Peanuts falling from the sky?" questioned Carl Azuz. "Man, this weather sure is NUTTY! Boom, y'all just been--"

     "Shut up, Azuz," said The Big Red sternly. "Without your idiotic news broadcast most of these unwanted idiots wouldn't even be here."

     "Um!" yelled Holden. "Are you trying to undercut the freedom of the press? Smh I should have known. You really are the big RED after all."

     "Que?" asked Hugo, genuinely confused. Peanuts continued to thud against the ground, now larger than before.

     "Uh, it's political satire you stupid carpetbagger," Holden scoffed and rolled his eyes.

     "Holden, you're so dumb," remarked a Dlanor. "Like, I actually don't know where your confidence comes from when you're talking. How can someone be so stupid but always sound so sure of themself? I'm legitimately baffled."

     The Big Red spoke again. "At this point I don't care who you all are. You all broke into my workshop and now the wrath of Saint Nick is upon us. You can either help me defeat him or be put on the permanent naughty list; aka I'll shove a candy cane through your neck. Now, will you help me defend the North Pole?"

     Everyone nodded except Holden. He just rolled his eyes. Suddenly there was a loud bang. All at once the peanuts stopped falling and the lights flickered out. The cold winter air went still and only moonlight illuminated the workshop.

     "I've been looking forward to this," laughed a ghostly voice.

     Everyone frantically looked around to see where the voice had come from. Everyone except for The Big Red that is.

     "My powers have doubled since the last time we met, Nick," he said sternly.

     A spirit materialized in front of the group. He wore priestly robes and had a thin white beard with slicked back hair. "Good," he said, withdrawing a priestly staff. "Twice the pride, double the fall." He lunged forward!

The Twelfth Day of Christmas>>>>>