Murdering The Christmas Tree

Christmas is upon us (bah, humbug!). I have an image post for the occasion. Enjoy!

Rampage Of A Mad Scientist

Mad Scientist Holds Allegorical Figure Hostage, Makes Demands

Toronto (CP) It has been two weeks since the escape from prison of the mad scientist Magnus von Malice from an Austrian prison. Two weeks in which rumour and conjecture about his whereabouts rushed around the world. Two weeks in cryptic brief podcasts claiming the world would soon belong to him. Claims of having had constructed a death ray he would use on the first person who heckled him. Law enforcement agencies across the world have been on the lookout for the convicted supervillain. As seems to fit the madman, he turned up in the most unlikely of places this week.

What could have drawn von Malice to a suburban mall? A shopping run for groceries? Funding the next stage of his schemes by robbing a jewelry store? Buying the latest iphone? Whatever the reason, the mad scientist turned up at a mall in the suburbs of Toronto this week, was confronted by mall security, and things got progressively weirder from there.

Von Malice turned what might have been an unpleasant confrontation into a hostage taking, grabbing the nearest convenient human shield. It was Fred Argyle, the mall’s Santa Claus, who just happened to be passing by when it all happened. Von Malice wrapped an arm around Argyle’s throat, according to witnesses, aimed a futuristic looking gun at his head, and started making demands.

“One hundred trillion dollars in gold plated latinum, or I kill Santa!” he started. An onlooker called out, informing the mad scientist that latinum was a science fiction mineral, and not a real one. “Shut up!” he replied.

The police were called in. Mall security kept people back, including children traumatized at the sight of who they assumed was Santa being held at gunpoint. Argyle himself was a nervous wreck. “Please, I’m just a mall Santa. I’m not the real thing. My name is Fred…”

“Shut up, fat man!” Von Malice warned.

“I’m not fat… it’s body padding,” Argyle tried to explain.

“What part of shut up do you not get?” Von Malice asked.

And so it went on. Mall security, not being paid enough for this sort of thing, waited on the arrival of the police. And among their number was a legend of the law enforcement community, off duty and in the city visiting family. He was already familiar to Von Malice- it was this very man who had foiled previous schemes by the megalomaniac super villain and who had put him behind bars.

It was the legendary and grumpy RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich. Witnesses described him as looking typically irritated, which is his default setting in life. Ulrich emerged among the crowd of responding officers, glaring at Von Malice, clenching his hands into fists. Von Malice saw him, gasped, and began to rant, a ten minute monologue aimed at the very man responsible for his imprisonment. There were declarations of war, threats of using the ultimate weapon on Ulrich, and more demands, including that Starbucks keep their pumpkin spice latte on the menu all year.

“Are you done?” Ulrich asked when the mad scientist went silent for a moment.

“There is no such thing as done,” Von Malice said with a characteristic sneer. “Now are you going to get in my way? Because if you do, the fat man gets it, and millions of children will wake up on Christmas without a present.”

“I told you, I’m not Santa,” Argyle protested.

“Shut up!” Von Malice ordered.

Ulrich sighed, shook his head. “Look, Mags….”

“Magnus!” the villain countered, seeming to become more unhinged. “Magnus Von Malice! That is my name, and you will address me in the proper way. For I am the destined master of the world, the greatest mind this world has ever produced. And I will not be disrespected by you of all people! The very man who’s foiled my grand overtures at world domination. What use do I have for the Metallica drummer, after all?”

Witnesses to the confrontation reported that Ulrich seemed more irritated at those words. His voice went low, barely audible, but there nonetheless. “I am not that Lars Ulrich,” he told the mad scientist.

Von Malice seemed puzzled. “Are you sure?”

What happened next was a blur, according to witnesses. One moment von Malice was holding a hostage. The next he was being clobbered and falling across the corridor, deprived of his weapon (later confirmed to be a mock up). And the next after that, Ulrich was tossing him off a second story balcony into a cappuccino stand.

Von Malice was taken away by ambulance, under heavy police guard, heard to be ranting about leviathans in red serge. It was reported that he had sustained several broken ribs in his fall. Inspector Ulrich took his leave of the scene before entertainment reporters could show up and ask if Metallica was doing a Christmas album.

And Fred Argyle, having had endured time as a hostage, held at gunpoint by a gun that wasn’t actually operable, went back to his mall Santa gig, reassuring children that he was perfectly fine, and that no matter what he had said earlier, ‘Fred’ was just an alias Santa used every once in awhile when he wanted to go off to Vegas and didn’t want Mrs. Claus to know.

And so it was that a grouchy lawman saved Christmas. Or close enough, anyway. Though he might be more of the temperament to say ‘get the hell out of my face’ as opposed to ‘Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.’

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

7:01 AM. Waking up at home. Strange dreams. I was in a field of catnip, but instead of tasting like catnip, it all tasted like candy canes.

7:04 AM. An examination of the exterior from the back of the couch indicates flying lunches out around the feeders. It also indicates fresh snow in the night. Well, we can’t have that delaying our staff from getting out to work. After all, we’re nearly out of milk.

7:12 AM. Waiting on the staff to get downstairs and start on my breakfast. Fortunately I hear her up and about upstairs, which is a good thing. She hasn’t ignored her alarm clock today. I shall bide my time and be patient with all the elegance and grace one expects of a higher being like myself. Because I am a higher being. 

7:18 AM. Pacing back and forth on the living room floor. Come on, staff, what’s taking you so long?

7:23 AM. The staff finally comes downstairs. It’s about time, staff, I was about to send a search party after you. And by search party I mean me.

7:24 AM. Explaining to the staff my requirements for a substantial breakfast. Now then, as I have told you many times before, I really do not require field rations. And yet you keep pouring them into a bowl for me. It is entirely sufficient to have milk and meat set out for me. And honestly, would it kill you to wake up a half hour earlier so that you could put my plate in the fridge? I’ve also explained to you that the ideal dining experience is to have my meat on a slightly chilled plate. And despite what you might be thinking, I am not a high maintenance cat. I just like having things the way I like having them.

7:26 AM. The staff puts my breakfast down on the floor. The milk and plate of tuna meet with my approval. The bowl of field rations do not. I pass on the field rations and get to work on the milk and tuna.

7:29 AM. Finished my breakfast. I shall leave my staff to have hers in peace.

7:36 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out into the day. Distant barking starting up. It’s that foul hound from down the road. 

He sounds agitated. 

Good.

7:39 AM. The staff is on her way out to that place she calls work. I remind her to pick up some milk on the way home. 

7:41 AM. Watching the staff depart in her car for the day. Musing on how to spend the day. Obviously naps are in order. As I always say, you can never have too many naps.

7:47 AM. The barking continues from off in the woods. Yes, that idiot mutt does sound annoyed.

7:58 AM. The barking seems to have abated. Maybe the hapless dog has figured out that whatever it is he chased is out of his reach and he’s giving up. Just as long as he doesn’t show up around here. Because if he does, I will be quite displeased.

8:07 AM. Watching the weather channel. At least they’ve gotten rid of that forecaster who would panic every time a snowflake fell. But now they’re talking about how in a few days it’ll be time for the Santa tracker from NORAD. Come on, you’re adults. You know and I know and everyone else knows that Santa isn’t real. Why are you wasting time going on about Santa trackers? And doesn’t NORAD have more important things to do?

10:39 AM. Waking up from a nap. Taking a big stretch. Debating whether or not I should get up. On second thought, maybe more napping is in order.

12:15 PM. Waking up again. Heading over to the kitchen as I’m feeling a bit hungry. Coming face to face with the only food that’s out in the open. That bowl of field rations.

12:16 PM. After much reluctance, I help myself to some of the field rations.

1:28 PM. Hearing the distant barking of that foul hound from down the road. I take it the mailman is on time as usual.

2:03 PM. I do some of my routine sharpening of claws at the scratching pole. In doing so, I release some residual scent of catnip from the carpet… and with that, I find myself descending into a catnip frenzy, during which I cannot be held accountable for what I’ve done.

4:13 PM. Waking up from a nap. Looking around. Well, it appears I’ve murdered a Christmas ornament on the tree, have upended two scatter rugs, and have knocked over three nutcrackers. Why my staff likes nutcrackers is beyond me. I mean, the things look creepy as hell…

A catnip frenzy makes a cat do strange things.

5:27 PM. The staff arrives home. She’s carrying a bag of milk and another bag of groceries. This meets with my approval. She notices the things I’ve done during my catnip frenzy. In my defense, staff, it was the catnip. Don’t narc on me.

I walk up and give her a head bonk on the legs and start purring. She responds by giving me a scratch behind the ears. Works every time.

5:32 PM. The staff is setting the nutcrackers back up while I watch. I’ll say this for my staff. She may have a fondness for nutcrackers, which I don’t get. But at least she has better taste than to buy one of those Elf on a Shelf things.

6:07 PM. The staff is preparing dinner. It appears to be pancakes tonight. With bacon.

6:28 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s cut up a couple of pancakes for me. The bacon is particularly appreciated. You know, staff, all we have to do is get you to stop feeding me field rations and I’d rate your cuisine skills as higher.

8:33 PM. Sitting in the living room, staring at the Christmas tree. Wondering why human beings put things like this up in the house, things that we are naturally given to climb, and then protest when we start climbing them.

11:29 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff. Good night. Sleep well. I’ll be down here, knocking nutcrackers over again from time to time. And for the record, it will be in self defense.