December 23, 2013
You Better Watch Out . . . .
Over the last few months, young Tommy Patterson had become quite lethargic, withdrawn, and prone to night terrors and nocturnal incontinence. His once hardy appetite had become practically non-existent and his complexion was pale and sickly. Mr. Patterson had long sensed there was something wrong. The boy’s recent suspension from school for engaging in “inappropriate behaviors” only confirmed his suspicion.
“I just don’t understand,” he said, “You’re moody all the time, you don’t talk to us any more, now you’re getting into trouble at school. What exactly is going on here Mister?”
“Nothing,” Tommy insisted, but his father continued to probe.
“Something is obviously going on with you and if you don’t tell me, I may just have to call Santa and tell him to skip over our house this year.”
Suddenly Tommy burst into tears. He buried his head in the pillow and sobbed into it.
“Tommy, son, what’s the matter? You can tell me. I’m your father, I love you.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Tommy said.
“Try me,” said Mr. Patterson.
“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Son, no matter what it is, we’ll get through it. Come on now, what happened?”
“I really can’t dad. He said he’d hurt you and mommy if ever I said anything.”
“Who? Who would hurt your mother and me?”
“I can’t say.”
“Did someone do something to you Tommy? Touch you in a bad way?”
“No, no,” Tommy sobbed.
The boy clung as tight as he could to his secret but his father’s persistence began to erode his grip until it finally slipped away and he had to let it out. “I’m sorry daddy,” he cried, “ I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay son, it’s not your fault. He forced you to do it.” The shadow of concern briefly lifted from his visage which became most serious. Looking Tommy stone cold and straight in the eye he asked, through nearly clenched teeth, “Didn’t he??”
“Yes, yes. I didn’t want to but he made me.”
The elder Patterson then shouted to his wife downstairs, “Jane, call the police.”
Shortly thereafter two squad cars arrived at Santa Claus’ workshop. Father Christmas was read his Miranda rights and placed promptly under arrest.
During the bail hearing, the prosecutor argued that Mr. Claus should be held without bail on account of the threats he made against Tommy’s parents. The judge, however, felt this unnecessary and released Claus on personal recognizance leaving him free to fulfill his annual duties. He was, however, required to maintain a distance of one thousand feet from the Patterson’s and their home at all times.
“But what about my Christmas presents?” young Tommy asked, “All the other children will have toys waiting for them Christmas morning but I’ll have nothing.” Sympathetic to his concern, the judge requested that Santa bring Tommy’s gifts to a local precinct no later than noon on December 24th. The police would arrange a time on Christmas Day when he could come to claim them.
But that never happened.
“Ho, ho, ho, my Tommy boy,” Santa Claus was saying. It was late on the night of Christmas Eve at the Patterson’s home and there stood jolly St. Nick in full violation of court orders. Behind him, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson were bound to their chairs with duct tape.
“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked.
“Why it’s Christmas Eve. I stop by the homes of every little girl and boy.”
“You weren’t supposed to come this year.”
“Well, yeah, kinda, but I really thought I should anyway – for the benefit of your parents.” He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Patterson. “Mom, dad, Tommy has something to tell you.”
“Tell us what you fiend?!” Mr. Patterson said.
“Tommy, what is it?” asked Mrs. Patterson.
“Go on,” said Santa, “Tell them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tommy said
“Oh come on now Tommy, let’s not beat around the bush here. Isn’t it about time you came out of the closet to your parents? I mean, they have a right to know.”
“Come out of the closet? Just what do you mean?” inquired Mr. Patterson.
“Go ahead Tommy,” said Santa, “tell them.”
“Tell them what? I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tommy.
“Oh really? So you’re trying to say that you don’t like it when Santa goes for a sleigh ride in your rosebud?” the Father of Christmas asked.
“Surely you can’t be saying,” Mrs. Patterson said, “that our Tommy, our son, our flesh and blood is a, a, a . . .”
Santa finished her sentence, “that’s right, a fag!”
“No Tommy,” she said, “how could you?”
“No mommy! I promise! He made me do it!”
“He better have,” said Mr. Patterson.
“Yes, daddy, I swear. I didn’t want to. He forced me.”
“Forced you, huh?” Santa Claus said, “You sure didn’t seem to resist too much once we got started.”
Tears were running down Tommy’s cheeks. “You made me. You said you’d hurt my mommy and daddy if I didn’t.”
“Well actually, I said I would hurt your mommy and daddy if you told them and, to be frank, I’m going to do more than just hurt them. In fact, I’m going to kill them. Ho, ho, ho!”
“No, please don’t!” the boy begged.
“We had a deal son,” Santa said.
Tommy pleaded with Santa not to harm his parents. “I’ll do anything, I promise, just let them go.”
“Anything eh?” said Santa.
“No, don’t do it son,” his dad said.
“Don’t give in,” said his mom, “if you do, you’ll be a fag and God hates fags.”
“Your mother’s right,” Mr. Patterson said, “That’s why he gives them AIDS.”
“But I don’t want you to die,” said Tommy.
“It’s all right son,” his dad said, “we’re older, we’ve lived our life.”
“How noble,” said Santa Claus, “but let’s face it, no kid wants to be an orphan, not even a little gay boy like your son.” He turned to Tommy and said, “Now why don’t you get your little tush on over here and come lick Santa’s luscious candy cane.”
Tommy’s parents begged him not to give into the homosexual demon but he could not let his parents die, even as they detailed to him the horrors of eternal damnation in a furnace of everlasting fire.
“Tell your mommy and daddy how much you love bouncing up and down on Santa’s Yule log!” demanded Kris Kringle. Tommy was silent at first but then Santa threatened “Say it or I’ll kill them!”
“I love your Yule log Santa.”
“That’s right fag boy – you love it! Say it!”
“I love it Santa! I love it buried deep inside me!”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe our son is a fag,” said Mrs. Patterson.
Santa was moaning as he inched closer. “Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town!” he panted.
“Don’t let him do it son,” cried Mr. Patterson.
“Ahhhhhh!” Santa yelled out, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “Holy shit! I’m dropping my fucking eggnog into your fucking holly hole you fucking queer boy faggot!”
“Nooooooo!” screamed Mrs. Patterson, “You really are a fag now! How could you do this to me?! To us?!”
“I’m sorry mommy, I had to.”
“You’re dead to me!” said Mr. Patterson. “As far as I’m concerned, I have no son,”
“Please daddy! I did it because I didn’t want him to hurt you and mommy.”
“Aw, how touching,” said Santa. “Too bad I’ve decided to kill them anyway.”
“But you promised,” said Tommy.
“So did you son. So did you,” replied Santa. He then pulled the hunting knife from the sheath on his belt.
“No, please,” Tommy said, but he was ignored.
“I can’t believe we’re going to die knowing our son is a fag,” said Mrs. Patterson.
“You disappointed me so much,” said Mr. Patterson.
“You don’t think we’ll go to Hell for raising a faggot, do you?” Mrs. Patterson asked her husband.
“No Jane,” he said, “the boy had free will. He could have chosen the right path but instead he chose to be a fag. He’ll be sorry though when he goes before the Lord for judgment!”
“I’m sorry,” said Tommy, “I never meant to disappoint you.”
With that, Santa plunged his knife repeatedly into each of them. Blood spattered from their red stained teeth as the blade ripped into their abdomens and they uttered their final words lamenting that their son had turned his back on Christ to become a filthy sodomite. When they finally expired, Santa dropped the knife to the floor, wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief, then said, “My work is done here Tommy. I guess I should be going now. It’s almost Christmas morning and I’ve still got places to go and people to see.” He walked over to the traumatized boy and kissed him tenderly. “You were fabulous,” he whispered into Tommy’s ear. “I’ll definitely be back for more.” He then disappeared, into a trail of falling dust. Tommy heard sleigh bells above and the pattering of reindeer hooves as Santa called out, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!”
The orphan boy looked upon his dead parents. He thought of their last thoughts before they perished. “I just wanted to save you mom and dad,” he sobbed, “I just wanted to save you.”
He retrieved the bloody knife from the floor. Holding it with a trembling right hand, he carefully studied the blade, gliding the tip of his left index finger over it. It sliced into him and he began to bleed. He thought about it for a moment then finalized his decision. He pressed the knife firmly against his throat then cut straight across
Now he’s in Hell.