A Fireside Midtown Miscreant Christmas Story....Chapter One

I'm doing something different this week. Things have been a little gloomy round this blog lately. In keeping with the spirit of the Holidays I have decided to write a nice uplifting Christmas story. Four parts, starting today and ending Thursday. I may or may not post other stuff. I apologize in advance for the overly long format, like you I can't stand a long winded blogger, unless it's me. As always feel free to leave critical commentary, reader input and comments are always (never) appreciated. So here we go, chapter one.
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Delray Purdy was a first rate prick. He was also the manager at the Dairy Queen in Ardmore Oklahoma, where Chris worked the Flame broiling grill . Ardmore was one of those Oklahoma towns that had a plethora of red dirt, and an over abundance of rednecks. Chris's first summer in Ardmore it had been hotter than a half fucked coon hound in a forest fire. Chris wasn't accustomed to the oppressive heat and humidity that came with that first summer in Oklahoma, he was from up north. Thankfully it was mid December and heat was only an issue when he was flipping burgers on the grill at DQ, or when Delray was riding his ass for dripping VO 5 off his forehead and on to the flame broiled burgers.


Another little factoid about Ardmore, it was the shitty town of choice for low to mid level stool pigeons entering the federal witness protection program. It wasn't the stoolies choice, rather the feds. Chris was one of the aforementioned witnesses needing protection. His case never made the 6 O'clock news, you never read about it in the paper, it was swept under the rug by the Government. This is his story, and it will change everything you ever thought you knew about Christmas.

Chris's last name was Kringle, yes that Chris Kringle. Contrary to the standard Santa legend, Chris was neither old nor jolly, in fact he was a perpetual 43 years old and clinically depressed. He wasn't fat, he didn't posses rosy cheeks, and he had never owned a single red item of clothing in his life. He was tall and painfully thin, his complexion was pasty, his hair was dark, thinning and swept back tight on his skull with generous amounts of Alberto VO 5. He wore jeans and t shirts, the jeans were always blue, the shirts white or black. Yeah, I know what you might be thinking, I'm yankin your chain, Santa is a fat old guy who lives in the north pole, but it ain't so. The whole Jolly Santa thing was just a bait and switch scam invented by a secret society of retailers and pine tree farmers.

The truth is Chris couldn't recall ever having a childhood, or parents, or being a teenager. He was only aware of one year after another, always the same, never growing older. He had long given up on trying to figure it all out. He had once had a short philosophical discussion over this matter with one of his elves, Roscoe. Roscoe the elf, was a former UAW member, almost as big a prick as Chris's present day employer, Delray Purdy. Roscoe ran the toy shop, was the local elves union shop steward, and a quart a day drinker of Fightin Cock bourbon. When Chris had explained to Roscoe that he had no recollection of his roots, or his people, Roscoe had been less than sympathetic. "Listen up white boy (Roscoe was a dark elf, originally from Detroit, hence the white boy bit), What the fuck do you care where you came from?" Believe me, if I could switch places with your pasty cracker ass I'd do it in a heartbeat" snarled Roscoe. "You think you have it bad, try being a black man and a dwarf" I've spent my entire adulthood at ass and crotch level, fuckin Gary Coleman is like Shaq compared to me. Throw in these pointed ears and fucked up 4 toed furry feet, I might as well have a sign taped to my over sized head that says derision depository." Chris figured Roscoe had a point, so he never brought it up again, and he stopped trying to figure it all out, it just was the way it was. Whadda ya gonna do.

All of this and more was running through Chris's head as he sweated over the grill, while listening to Delray bitch at the girl who worked the drive through window about handing out too many ketchup packets and napkins. . Her name was Cora Fay, for some reason she went by Cody. Women had been scarce as hens teeth on the north pole. There was no Mrs. Santa, she had left years before Chris did, ran off with three of the elves, and a couple of reindeer. Last Chris heard they were all working a live sex show in Tijuana. But Cody, now she was a different story. She and Chris had been an item for the past 6 months ever since he started working at the DQ. Cody was a stand by your man type gal, she had said as much on more than a few occasions. Chris had been trying to make a clean break from her for the last few months, but she wasn't having it.

When Chris first laid eyes on Cody, she had looked different, better, sexy, in a bang her head into the headboard of the motel 6, kind of way. Now she just seemed haggard, always nagging, and she had stopped shaving everywhere, including , down there, right after she moved in to Chris's trailer. The first time Chris had got a look at Cora's business, it had been shaved as slick as the bottoms of his feet. She reminded him of a naked Barbi, only she had nipples and looked like she had sat in bubblegum. Things had changed, the last time he had seen her come out of the shower it looked like she had Lamont from Sanford and Son in a scissor lock, he had never seen so much hair. He wanted her , her cats, and teenage kids out of his place, but Cody just ignored him, and turned up the Tammy Wynette whenever he told her to get out.

So how did Chris Kringle, end up in the Oklahoma panhandle, flippin burgers at DQ, as a protected govt. rat? Good question, and we will get there, all in due time.

To be continued............................................