A turn for the worser

(Cont.)

Now there was a man named Santa Claus, and he was the President of the Infraboreans. Now, this was not the “Old Saint Nick” from the Bible, who is held to be the opponent of the Good God; no, this was just a regular man whose parents happened to name him Santa Claus.

Then, when the caravan approached the Middling Pole, Moses sent a message to the President, which said:

Dear Santa, please allow us pilgrims to pass through your wonderland. We will not attempt to loot your sweatshop for toys, nor joyride the reindeer from your vineyards. All your property and assets, we shall treat with respect, and leave your elves unmolested. We will not even dare to sip from your sugar-water fountains – not even the dog fount – no matter how thirsty we feel: but we will pace in a straight line directly forward, in single-file; with our heads lowered meekly beneath our cowls, and our eyes downcast. We will not steal your sleigh. None of your students or faculty will see us; they will not even smell us, for we will stay strictly hugging the shoulder of the six-lane highway that bisects your kingdom, until we reach your terminal border, where the trash is burned.

After reading this aloud to his staff amid roaring laughter, the Infraborean Santa smiled and said: “I now have a bright idea, ho-ho-ho!” Then he commanded all his servicepeople to coalesce, and they headed out to meet the division of Moses in the wasteland: and when they reached Jibaro in Jeshimon, they bombarded the caravan:

And as the gifts and presents were landing all around them, Moses raised his voice and addressed his group of fellow-travelers, saying, “O pilgrims, we abandoned our brethren in the workforce: we left them with the Volcano, and we decided to set out on our own. Since then, we have suffered endless affliction. (I, for one, have not felt like myself since Fallout Rock.) Yes, in that brief time, we have weathered every hardship imaginable, and now we are being pelted with projectiles. Let us recall our original goal: the volcano of potential desired for us to mix and mingle with all nations, so that we could help him fulfill his contract, which he signed with my forerunner Joseph, whose bones still glow: for we are to increase and multiply until the planet has been refilled. But these Infraboreans do not seem willing to cooperate. So, I suggest we retreat and reunite with the multitudes who stuck with the Volcano. It’s a long way back, but I think we can take a shortcut through Scylla and Charybdis, in the bad part of Burnsville where Bryan’s mother lives.”

Then the loudest voices among the division argued that as long as our mass of the workforce has chosen to part ways with the Volcano, we might as well forget mixing and mingling, and instead simply fight and conquer these attackers.

Enough of the group was enthused by this contention to sway the rest with their cheers; and Moses got swept along by their current.

Thus the division rioted back against those Infraboreans who were bombarding them, and the workers resisted the jolly forces of Santa. The militia of Moses gained the upper hand, and took into possession all the land from Distant Shores unto Jabbok, which is where the patriarch Israel battled the bat-god, who tried to suck his blood. They conquered all the land, and won the effects and resources up to the kingdom of the Persian Fire-Worshippers: for the border of the Persian Fire-Worshippers was strong.