Sausagey Santa Read Online Free PDF Page A

up the chimney like Spiderman with her jammy palms.
    “Good,” Santa says.
    Then he helps Angelica with her chainsaw angel wings enter the fireplace. Once she gets inside, she scurries up the chimney like a mouse.
    The front door breaks away and three snowmen enter the room. One of them with axes for limbs, one of them with a twirling fan for a face, and one with a sledgehammer for a head.
    Santa jumps into the fireplace and leaps into the air, squeezing himself through the chimney. After a few feet, he doesn’t move anymore.
    “Arrgh, I’m stuck!” Santa cries, his little sausage legs dangling above the fire logs. “I didn’t use enough marmalade! ”
    “Help him,” Decapitron says.
    I go to the fireplace and push on the meat man’s butt as my wife begins decapitating the snowmen with her bare feet. As the snowmen lose their heads the coffee birds flee from the broken balls of ice and retreat through the front door. Once all of the snowmen inside the house are dead empty shells, Decapitron charges into the front yard with icy fists. The twins on her back scream with excitement.
     
     
    The outside battle cries dim into silence. All I can hear is Santa’s muffled voice yelling at me to get him out of there.
    Instead of pushing, I try pulling. I put all of my weight into it and he pops out of the chimney into my lap. Sitting in my lap, he looks up at me and smiles. Then I realize how short and plump he is. His flesh feels more marshmallowy than it does sausagey.
    “What happened?” he says to me, looking around the room at the dead snowmen.
    “My wife went after them,” I say.
    “Oh, no,” Santa says, standing up and brushing fireplace ashes from his butt. “She has no idea what they’re capable of.” “You have no idea what Decapitron is capable of,” I tell him.
     
     
    He lubes himself up better the second time. Then he lubes me up as well.
    “Come, me laddo,” he says.
    We climb up the chimney to the roof. The marmalade really is magic. It does most of the climbing for me. All I have to do is place a goop palm on the wall of the chimney and the slime pulls me upwards.
    The first thing I see when I reach my snowy rooftop is Santa’s electric sleigh. It is made out of lightning, just like Decapitron said. Sparkling volts of light shimmer at me as I stand myself up. Past the sleigh are his reindeer, grunting and sneezing at each other.
    Wait . . . Something is amiss.
    My daughters are gone.
    “The bastard!” Santa says. “He took it! He took me
    bag!”
    The plump little man hops to the edge of my roof, looking off into the distance. I see it, down the street. The snowmen are fleeing the scene with Santa’s giant bag. There is movement coming from inside of the bag, as well as the screams of my little girls.
    I can make out what appears to be a leader of the snowmen. A large, 4-balled snowman with a row of carrots going down the back of his head like a Mohawk, large razor sharp sickles for arms, and on his face the snowman has a Hitler mustache made of coal.
     
     
    “We need to go after them,” I tell Santa.
    “Jump in,” he tells me as a he blobs towards his lightning sleigh. “Let’s pick up your wife first.”
    I step inside of the sleigh. It feels like it is made of glass. Santa snaps his reins and the carriage takes us up off the rooftop and lands gently in the front yard on a pile of snowmen corpses.
    Decapitron is standing by the mail box. She isn’t moving. Upon closer inspection, we discover that she has been turned to ice. Her flesh has become glassy and transparent. She’s now a masterfully carved ice sculpture of herself. The twins strapped to her back have also been changed to ice.
    “Frosty’s magic is strong, me boy,” Santa says. “She never should have tried to take him on alone.”
    “Is . . . is she dead?”
    “Nay,” he says. “Not yet, anyway. If we get them back to the North Pole in time they can surely be saved.”
    “What about my daughters?” I