Tis the Season for Noun!
Originally inspired by other bestselling novels about Christmas Jars, Boxes, Sweaters, and other assorted Nouns, I have created what is possibly the greatest series of Christmas literature the world has ever known.
This has become a tradition here on Monster Hunter Nation that I have to release excerpts from the Christmas Noun Saga every December. This is our sixth year of badly written Christmas adventure. I would seriously recommend going back and reading the previous ones first because this thing gets really weird.
2008: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2008/12/22/the-christmas-noun/ Young Tim overcomes his hatred of Christmas to battle the Anti-Claus in the Peppermint Thunderdome.
2009: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2009/12/08/the-christmas-noun-2-the-nounening/ Stabby the Snowman and the Global Warming Power of Love
2010: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2010/12/10/the-christmas-noun-3d-the-gritty-reboot/ Rudolf and the Reindeer Separatists declare jihad on Christmas.
2011: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2011/12/19/christmas-noun-4-occupy-christmas-noun/ The Christmas Noun gets occupied by the 99%.
2012: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/12/13/chirstmas-noun-5-fifty-shades-of-noun-choose-your-own-adventure-edition/ Choose Your Own Adventure through 50 Shades of Noun!
So here are some excerpts from the next exciting episode in the Christmas Noun saga.
THE CHRISTMAS NOUN 6: Yes, Wendell, There Really is a Christmas Noun
Opening Introduction narrated by Ron Perlman
I’m still doing voice over for this thing? Man, I got roped into the worst contract ever. My agent sucks. You know Larry Correia just phones this stuff in. What the hell was that bit with the Christmas Draculas? I’ve been in Sci Fi channel original pictures better than this, and I starred in Killer Monkey Island, so that’s saying something. Wait… The light is on. We’re recording. Crap.
Saving Christmas changes a man…
Using the power of the Christmas Noun, Tim had already saved Christmas many times, fighting everything from terrorist reindeer to the cast of the View, from rabid honey badgers to the Grinch, but still the unholy onslaught against Christmas continued, like an eggnog fueled journey into darkness, a darkness so dark it was lit only occasionally by flashing strands of Christmas lights, except now, the festive red and greens were growing ever further apart… in the darkness.
No. Seriously? That was all one run on sentence. I know Larry Correia keeps winning Audie awards, but come on… Okay, okay, stupid contract. Edit this part out.
After five years of being Christmas’ chosen secret warrior, Tim found himself facing a threat greater than all that had come before…
The Affordable Christmas Act, also known as Obamachristmas.
Because Christmas… Christmas never changes.
From Chapter 1
Tim stood high atop the roof of his Black Tiger Kung Fu and Mall Santa Prep Academy for Inner City Youths, looking down at the city he’d sworn to protect, while snow fell dramatically around him. He wasn’t sure how Christmas was going to be endangered this year, but Tim was ready.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light. A giant glass fish tank appeared on the roof next to him, and floating peacefully inside was Wendell the Manatee.
“Hey, Wendell,” Tim said, unsure why the Chief Financial Officer of CorreiaTech, the most powerful mega corporation in the universe, had teleported onto his roof. “What’re you doing here?”
“Mewhoooooo,” Wendell answered.
“Court mandated community service? Man, that sucks.”
Tim’s Manatee was a little rough, but the way that the music picked up in the background told him that there had just been a very ominous revelation. “Wait. So you’re now serving as the Ghost of Christmas Future-Past?”
“Flooooooo,” Wendell explained patiently. That Lance Henrickson was a sneaky one to skip out and stick poor Wendell with that thankless job! “Mooorr-gurgle gurgle.”
“What? No. I’m fine. I wasn’t going to jump. I just came up here because Sally Love-Interest won’t let me smoke in the house. I’ve got plenty to live for. Santa just gave me my own secret agent style Nounmobile complete with rockets and oil slicks. I’m ripped, good looking, and I kill Christmas Draculas for a living. That’s pretty bad ass. Why would I fling myself to my death?”
Wendell studied Tim with his big, sad eyes.
“Ah, so we can have a big time travel adventure where I see how messed up the world would be if I hadn’t ever been born to save Christmas and I’ll learn a valuable lesson about love and the Christmas Noun. I got it. Let’s rock.”
Every time a bell rings, a manatee gets his lettuce.
From Chapter 2
Tim and Wendell watched through the window as Tim’s family, circa the 1980s, enjoyed Christmas without him. Since they couldn’t actually turn invisible, they’d disguised themselves. Tim was wearing parachute pants and Wendell had a mohawk and gold chains.
“This is all very meta and all, Wendell, but I’m bored. Can we skip ahead to something awesome?”
Wendell shook his ponderous bulk in the negative. Knight Rider was on, and Wendell had been sucked in. So Tim went back to observing as his family gave each other crappy poor people presents, and then got liquored up. Tim was struck by how Christmas was all about love and family, rather than presents. So even if Santa didn’t come, Christmas could still be awesome.
“Hey, I just had a profound personal revelation about the spirit of Christmas and stuff,” Tim said as he shed a single, manly tear.
Wendell shushed him because the talking car was doing a sweet rocket jump. Wendell held up one flipper to the glass. Tim fist bumped Wendell’s fish tank.
From Chapter 3
They had surged forward through time, having adventures, until they hit 2009. So far the biggest difference Tim’s nonexistence had made in the universe was that Velcro had never caught on. The butterfly effect was truly terrifying.
Wendell and Tim were in the back of the White House press room. “What’re we doing here?”
That was ominous.
Once again, they were in disguise. “Right this way, Mr. Chris Matthews,” said a Secret Service Agent when he saw that Wendell the manatee was wearing a tie. That hurt Wendell’s feelings, as he was far better looking that Chris Matthews, but as the temporarily court mandated Ghost of Christmas Future Past, the noble manatee carried on despite the terrible insult to his dignity.
President Barack Obama walked to the podium. The completely unbiased Press Corp began to chant his name. Representatives of the media swooned and fainted. The women lifted up their shirts and flashed him as a display of how totally not biased they were.
The President read from his teleprompter. “My fellow Americans. We are here for something super important. I’ve taken time away from golf and spying on our allies to share this important message. Let me be clear. Did you know that Santa Claus is inefficient? Every Christmas some children don’t get presents, and some children get presents they don’t like. Like when I was a child, one year we got a puppy, but it was for dinner… Even though I lived in a country that didn’t normally eat dogs, but you can totally trust my autobiography.”
“What manner of brilliance are you proposing, Your Highness the President?” asked Piers Morgan, who had personally taken the time to bejewel a denim jacket with Obama hearts Piers 4ever on it.
“Let me be clear, because the most efficient thing in the history of the world is the federal government, I propose that the government take over Christmas, so we can finally have a Christmas that is fair for everyone.”
A reporter raised his hand. “But sir, everyone knows you’re all sorts of brilliant and amazing, but don’t you think this maybe, perhaps, just maybe, this might be seen as an unnecessary power grab? You know, a teensy bit?”
The real Chris Matthews roared “RACIST!” and rolled on top of the upstart reporter, crushing him to death beneath his giant man boobs. Several flying monkeys from MSNBC swooped in and immediately devoured the corpse.
“I know, some of you might be saying that you like Christmas the way it is. But did you know that six hundred million Americans didn’t have Christmas last year? That’s twice as many Americans as actually exist. And that Santa routinely cuts off people’s feet, even when their feet are perfectly fine?”
That didn’t sound like the Santa Tim knew, but the press was so excited they’d begun speaking in tongues and experiencing visions.
“Don’t worry, America. If you like your Christmas you can keep it!”
A disco ball descended from the ceiling and the press began to dance for the President’s amusement.
From Chapter 4
Santa Claus was trying to give a statement defending Christmas, but it was rather difficult because all of the reporters kept flinging poo at him. No… Literally.
“Ho ho ho! If you actually read the two thousand pages of the Affordable Christmas Act you can see that what the President is proposing is incredibly destructive, not to mention mathematically impossible. Sure, it might help a tiny group of people who, for whatever reason, have been mistakenly stuck on the Naughty List, but it will absolutely hurt millions and millions who are perfectly happy on the Nice List. And that is only if it works perfectly, which no government program has ever done. Worst case scenario, this bill will ruin Christmas for everyone. If you want to help those mistakenly stuck on the Naughty List, can’t we just address those individual topics with a smaller bill that doesn’t hurt everyone else in the country, or maybe even help them ourselves?”
“But Santa, experts say that you’re just suffering from confirmation bias. Some say that you know too much about how Christmas works so your opinion doesn’t count!”
Santa frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Then Santa had to duck as the reporters hurled their own feces and called him racist.
“You bastards are all going on the Naughty List!” Santa shook his fist.
From Chapter 5
“Wendell, why are spending part of 2010 in a strip club?” Tim asked the CFO of CorreiaTech.
Wendell did not answer, because he was too busy throwing lettuce at the strippers.
Then Tim realized that it was none other than Sally Love-Interest who had come out for the next song. And though she was hot, even in this alternate universe, she was still extremely clumsy and not very bright, and because of the lack of Velcro on her costume, she accidentally tied herself to the pole, and the manager had to come cut her free with a pair of scissors. It was a profound moment. Without him as part of her life, Sally had ended up degrading herself in exchange for dollar bills (and the occasional bit of lettuce) shoved into her g string. And then Tim had another profound realization that every last one of us was an important thread in the tapestry of humanity, and you could never truly understand the importance of a single life, and the ripples it could cause through the great pond of eternity. Tim shed a second, manly tear, which as a badass Christmas warrior, was his quota for the year. “Wendell. I’ve got to admit. I never expected you to teach me such profound wisdom.”
“Hooooooon?” Wendell asked. He hadn’t known Sally Love-Interest worked here. He’d just wanted to hang out in a strip club, because manatees know how to party.
From Chapter 7
As Tim watched the news, he was beginning to realize just how important his life really had been. In this non-Tim-existing world, the Supreme Court had just ruled that Obamachristmas was constitutional, and the Chief Justice said, and I quote, “Now shut up and eat your poop cake”. Back in his normal world, Obama had only screwed up healthcare, the economy, our standing in the world, all of our foreign policy, the fundamental principles of representative government, and the basic integrity of our entire federal apparatus, but he’d never messed with Christmas!
“Man, Wendell, this version of 2012 really sucks.”
Even Wendell was appalled by how much this particular alternate universe sucked, and he’d travelled the entire multiverse. Wendell himself hailed from a universe where the Libertarian Space Cowboy Revolution had seized power after the five seasons of Firefly had inspired Americans to greatness.
Tim was depressed. “They’ve imprisoned Santa in Guantanamo. The IRS is auditing all the pro Christmas groups. Eric Holder was caught red handed shipping baby toys with lead paint to Mexico in an attempt to frame the elves and he still got off. Next year Obamachristmas goes live. I can only imagine the chaos.” Tim slammed his fist into the table for dramatic emphasis. “I know I’m supposed to be learning a lesson before I go back to my timeline that doesn’t blow chunks, but I really want to whoop some butt, for Christmas!”
Wendell’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Meeewhooooooo.” Fizz BLOOP. A big bubble rolled up through the fish tank.
“Oh, man. Open a window. That’s gross.”
Wendell shrugged. Herbivores were gassy.
From Chapter 9
Christmas Time 2013
John Random-Dude sat down in front of his computer. Since he got all of his news from Facebook memes and the Daily Show, he was super excited to sign up for Obamachristmas. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” he said, unaware that the Obamachristmas website server was constructed entirely out of government cheese. (for the record, half a billion dollars worth of cheese takes up a lot of space, so the ACA had eminent domained the entire state of Wisconsin).
“Oh, no. The website is down. My regular Christmas plans were cancelled because it didn’t cover presents for jellyfish and other species which I don’t have in my family, and I’m going to be fined if I can’t sign up in time. Whatever will I do?” Then the website worked for one brief glorious moment. “It is a Christmas miracle!”
John clicked the button to sign up, which immediately sent all of his personal banking information directly from the ACA “secure” server to an organized crime syndicate in Nigeria.
“Sweet. Now what plan do I want?”
PLAN A: All your presents are total crap. We’re talking things like bags of dryer lint or autographed copies of Dreams of My Father for everyone in your family. $632,589.62
PLAN B: Actual good presents for everyone you love. $15,587,231.99. PLAN B IS CURRENTLY UNAVAIALBE IN YOUR WORLD.
“Hmmm… That is six hundred and thirty two thousand dollars more than I have… What happens if I don’t sign up at all?”
PLAN C: Throw yourself on the benevolent mercy of the IRS. And hope that even though this part isn’t in the actual law anywhere, believe the President when he says that he won’t screw you over, and next year all of this stuff will like totally work better. BWA HA HA HA HAW! SUCKER!
“Okay. That sounds legit.” John clicked on that link. The website crashed just as a Predator drone dropped a Hellfire missile on his house.
“Who are you?” asked Fred Tax-Payer.
“I’m Pajama Boy,” answered the effeminate, hipster douchebag, in his ironic glasses and red flannel footy jammies while awkwardly cradling his hot chocolate. “It’s time to #GetTalking!”
“Why are you in my house?”
“The Obama administration has sent me to invade your home on Christmas to make sure that every holiday conversation in America is about how awesome he is.”
“Uh… How is that supposed to work?”
“Don’t worry. It only cost eighty billion dollars, but they cloned an army of Pajama Boys. Now the entire country can feel my sneering condescension. After we get you signed up for the ACA, I will lecture you on the dangers of cismale gendernormative fascism. Happy Saturnalia!”
The press conference was very heated. “Now let me be clear. When I said if you liked your Christmas, you could keep it, on eighty seven different occasions, you just misunderstood me, which is understandable, because you’re not as smart as me. It is all your fault for not listening correctly, and Santa’s fault for being such a greedy capitalist. Nobody ever told me that my signature legislative achievement was constructed entirely out of cheese, which I am now aware is not the best choice for high speed electronics or package delivery. But don’t worry, I have hired the Harvard homecoming decorations committee to oversee the rebuilding of the ACA website.”
“Mr. President, you may have forced the cancellation of Christmas for millions, and made Christmas two or three times as expensive for everyone else, but surely Obamachristmas saved it for so many more!”
“Well… Our initial projections may have been a teensy bit off. Only fifty people and a couple of pets have actually signed up for the ACA. This math stuff is hard.” He shrugged. “And now that everyone knows how broken the law is, don’t use my name on my signature achievement anymore.”
The press was bewildered. They were not used to their beloved icon not being absolutely perfect in every way. “RACIST?” A confused Chris Matthews asked.
“Yes, Jabba the Hutt… I mean Chris Matthews.” The president patted the reporter on his tender, soft head. “Now sally forth my minions, and browbeat anyone who disagrees.”
From Chapter 10
“Are you okay, Santa?” Tim asked as he helped Santa into the Zodiac boat off the Cuban coast.
“Of course. I was guarded by Marines. Because even when it is their job to be naughty, Marines always go on the Nice List. Semper Fi, Devil Dogs.” Santa rolled up his sleeve and showed Tim his Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattoo. “So who are you, and why are you and a manatee rescuing me from Guantanamo Bay?”
“Eeeeewhoooo,” Wendell explained.
“Ah, you’re using the magic of the Christmas Noun to have a time traveling, It’s a Wonderful Life style plot to avenge Christmas. Splendid.”
“So what do we do, Santa?”
“About the ACA? Throw all the bums out of the senate and try to salvage the wreckage for future generations, in the hopes that they learn from our hubris.”
“I mean, to save Christmas, tonight.”
“That’s my job, son.” Santa patted Tim on the arm. “I’m sorry. You’ve learned more about the true spirit of giving and the dangers of socialism. It is time to return to your wonderful life.”
A bell rang. Wendell pumped one flipper in the air. Yes. Mandatory community service hours fulfilled!
“No offense, but screw that, Santa. I’m a secret Christmas warrior from a long line of secret Christmas warriors, and this is a Larry Correia story, so I’m not leaving until I at least kick the crap out of somebody.” Tim looked to Wendell for support.
Wendell nodded, showing the fierce determination of his people. His community service may have been satisfied, but now it was personal.
From Chapter 11
“Oh no!” The President huddled in his bed in fear. “It’s the ghost of Bill Ayers!”
“Barack Obama! You have failed this Christmas!” Tim growled, because he had recently streamed all of Arrow on NetFlix, and it was actually pretty good. Tim shook the chains and waved the glow sticks. Between the makeup and the dry ice, this whole Scooby Doo type plot would only work on somebody really stupid, so he was giving their plan even odds of success. They’d been able to sneak into the White House because Wendell had been mistaken for Governor Chris Christie.
“Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts!”
“Well, actually, one of the ghosts is a manatee, and he’ll be playing both the past and future ghosts. Because of budget cuts!”
From Chapter 12
That grand finale action sequence was amazing. Seriously, that was probably the best action scene I’ve ever written. If I smoked, I would totally be having a cigarette right now.
We join Wendell the manatee, who had just defeated Chris Matthews in an epic sumo wrestling showdown.
“Racist…” Christ Matthews gasped out his last—and only—words. “Hatey hatemonger racisty hatey hate hate… Tea party.”
“Weeeewooooooo,” Wendell gave his signature badass action hero one liner, then he shoved Chris Matthews into the exploding volcano filled with hungry lava piranha.
Meanwhile, Tim had just used his Black Tiger Kung Fu to defeat an army of Pajama Boy clones. Luckily, effeminate hipster douchebags fight about as well as could be expected, and other than some minor scratches, being hit by a man purse, and having his hair pulled, Tim was able to defeat hundreds of them. Red flannel corpses were spread everywhere. The floors ran brown with spilled hot chocolate and red with blood.
The nefarious ACA had been defeated. Wisconsin was flooded with melting government cheese. Yum, nachos. Kathleen Sebelius had been captured. “Nobody, not even a government employee, is that incompetent. So let’s see who you really are.” So Tim tried to pull her mask off. “Wow. Okay. That’s your real face there. I guess you guys really do suck at your jobs that badly.”
“And I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn’t been for you pesky kids and your manatee!”
From the epilogue.
Tim woke up back in his regular bed in his regular Mall Santa Academy. He looked at the alarm clock. It was Christmas morning.
Thank goodness, it had all been a dream!
There were many non-obamachristmas approved presents under their tree. There wasn’t a Pajama Boy clone to be seen. Sally Love-Interest—who was not a stripper—had burned them some toast for breakfast. “Merry Christmas, Tim!”
“Merry Christmas, Sally. I’m so glad to be home. I have relearned the true meaning of Christmas for the sixth consecutive time! I’m so glad to back in this dimension again!”
“Okay. That’s nice.” Sally looked up from where she was trying to pry the stuck toast from the still plugged in toaster with a butter knife. “You got some mail.”
The first letter was from his insurance provider, telling him how the health insurance costs for his Mall Santa employees were going up 78% and the only doctor they could use was in Bangladesh. Okay, so this dimension wasn’t perfect.
Tim picked up the next letter. It was from Wendell. Inside was a single piece of crisp, iceberg lettuce. It warmed Tim’s secret Christmas warrior heart.
So another Christmas Noun draws to a close. Merry Christmas, Monster Hunter Nation.
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