Patton Lee Beaugus | December 16, 2010 4:45pm
GunMolly adjusted the mistletoe garter belt holding up her thigh-high candy-cane stockings. “Santa is gonna be retired to Miami Beach”
I was at a nexus of improbabilty, whatever that means. Mostly, it meant I was way out of league, my league being a slow- pitch, coed softball pub league where I sat on the bench.
It would appear to an outside observer that the Buddabings PartyMob and yours truly were in a moonlit wooded glen, as far from Hell's Kitchen as a door back into Rudy's. It might appear we were in a prefab Christmas set thrown up by the PartyMob in the time it takes me to scarf down two free Rudy's hotdogs. It might appear that it was the evening of the next Christmas Eve, while in BRT (Blog Readers Time) we were in a logical world where there were 8 shopping days until Christmas.
Me, I no longer had any idea of where we were, when we were. Or what we were doing. Or what was real. And what was my imagination. Was I passed out in a booth inside the bar, dreaming this, or was a butterfly dreaming I was a ... oh, nevermind.
I needed a drink. Wait, I had a drink, a brandy in a snifter. I hadn't realized that because, uh, it wasn't a beer and my mind was conditioned to think "No Beer = No Drink".
Truth be told, which it isn't often in Hell's Kitchen, I wanted to believe this whole thing, like Louie wanted to believe in Santa Claus, and D'Oliya believed in tying people up and using her whip in ways Indiana Jones never imagined.
On the Ninth Avenue side of Rudy's bar, it was snowing like a snow globe being given a handjob. On the other side of the bar, inside the Christmasy set the PartyMob had built, it was toasty warm, which was good, considering how little the ladies were wearing.
I looked up and it was like there was a globe or force field keeping the snow and wind from blowing in. Just the opposite of one of those snow globes being wacked off. Hold on. I think there's something wrong with guy who can't get the idea out of his head of a snow globe being jerked off. There was something Freudian there that I should make a note of on my computer, but where was my computer?
"Are you all ready?" asked Louis, in the manner of a football coach doing his pregame psych job.
The rest of the gang nodded.
That wasn't enough for Louie. "I said, Are you ready?"
There were an assortment of Yes, Yeahs, and Molly's "Hell, yes!"
"Hell, yes?" screamed Louie, looking like he was ready to bite the heads off frogs, snakes, chickens, or even turkeys to get them pumped.
"Hell, yes!" they screamed back in unison, all revved up. Except for Vinnie who just shook his head sadly.
"I'm ready, too," I mumbled, "but for what?"
"To take back Christmas," screamed D'Oliya. "Didn't you listen to our rap? We're taking it back."
"We're going to take down Rudolph and Santa. Take them down tonight, after the Fatboy has delivered his last present," yelled HiTone.
"Remember we just can't kill them or anybody else, or it'll break the string,"
"Not tonight, anyway, until it's done."
I must have looked a bit skeptical. I mean, I accepted all this, but c'mon, man.
"Christmas as you know it is gonna be gonzo, deceased, a dead parrot," said HiTone.
“The BuddaBings are gonna own Christmas!"said Louie.
'Own it?' I thought.
I heard Molly say, as she adjusted the garter belt that held up her thigh-high candy-cane stockings, “Santa Claus is gonna be retired to Miami Beach.”
IMHO, that move made her eclipse D'Oliya in the America's Most Idolicky Santa's Little Helper pageant — the one which I was holding in the dirty part of my mind.
D’Oliya smirked, waving her velvet whip in my direction, “Retired permanently, after I have a little fun with him.” which put her back in the running.
“Clydie is going to be running the gift distribution operation. But regular citizens don’t gotta worry bout nuthin’.“ Louie said in voice that made me think of a politician’s promise.
“They’re gonna love it.” said HiTone in a way that makes me doubt it.
“First, we’re gonna move the North Pole factory to Jersey.”
"Jersey," I mumbled.
“Hoboken,” Vinnie clarified, then sang in a Sinatra-ish voice, “My kinda town Ho-boken is.”
I sipped more brandy, and smiled like the drunken dolt I am."Hoboken?"
"Newark! We're moving it to Newark. The Newark North Pole." argued HiTone.
"The Jersey Shore," said Molly and D'Oliya in unison, which I think must have been the only time I'd heard them agree on anything.
"We'll figure it out later." said Louie.
Nobody seemed to want to challenge him.
He went on.
“We’re gonna have our very own very professional personnel. Union guys from Brooklyn, Staten Island and the Bronx.”
“And some my cousins from Long Island,” said D’Oliya, “when they get out.”
"If they get out," added Vinnie.
"I'm gonna be President Of The Union," said HiTone. "And dues collector."
“It’s like a big time jobs program that we should be receiving a government subsidy for,” said Louie. “We’ll be working on that with Governor Christie.”
“Jersey guys like Chris know how to take care of us Jersey guys.” added HiTone.
“Imagine how great it will be,” said D’Oliya.
"Hell, yes!" yelled Molly.
Vinnie added, “When I'm the Elf Lord, there'll be no more of them sneaky little Elves with them big pointy ears listening to stuff they oughten to listen to, and telling Santa who's been naughty or nice.”
“But kids are still gonna get their goodies.” said Molly.
“All we want in return is a little respect.“ said Louie.
As D’Oliya chirped in with, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”.
HiTone added, “And a cut of the action.”
"But first we need to make our last transition," said Molly, looking at her hand-held thingie.
They took their places on the raised part of the backyard patio. It was almost like a stage. They did a transition from "Let It Snow" to "Let's Do The Timewarp Again."
I really was impressed with D'Oliya and Molly's pelvic thrusts.
For what was supposed to be a transdimensional transition, it was underwhelming. I must admit I expected lightning or thunder, or Vinnie to start yelling "It's alive." Or the Clydesdeers fake antlers to get real. Or something. But a whole lot of nothing happened.
Molly and Louie both checked their iPodish GPS thingies.
"Looks like we made it." sang Vinnie. I was really glad he stopped there, and didn't go singing a whole Barry Manilow parody.
"I concur," replied Molly.
Louie announced, "We're definitely here!"
I wondered where here was. And why it looked so much the same as the here before here.
The only change I noticed was that in the transition was that some rotten bastard had drunk my drink.
