The Metalocalypse Before Christmas
Dec. 18th, 2010 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: The Metalocalypse Before Christmas
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dethklok runs out of Christmas cookies. Also, mutant elves.
Warnings: Swearing, elf mutilation, Christmas cookie abuse, Ken Burns-dissing
Notes: My Wookiee Life Day present to CLDK. Also, I don’t recall who decided Nathan’s Christmas sweater depicts Cthulhu, but that’s now my head!canon.
Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
capslokdethklok.
Slightly edited to add an epic suggestion from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nugatorytm.
Mordhaus was decked with much brutality for a dark and metal holiday season.
Nathan Explosion irritably picked some lint off his festive Cthulhu-themed Christmas sweater as the boys waited impatiently for their manager to show up at their merry yuletide band meeting.
Charles appeared at last, clutching his fencing saber. Instead of a cheerful red and green sweater, however, he wore what looked like the remains of what had once been a grey business suit, but now consisted of badly torn slacks and perhaps 60% of a dress shirt.
“DOOD!” Pickles exclaimed, pushing the tassels of his green elf hat out of his eyes for a better look. “What happened t’ yoo? Did da Metal Masked dood unexpectedly reappear?”
With one last suspicious glance over his shoulder, Charles shut the door behind him. He set the saber down on the holly-decked conference table and took a seat. “No, I was visiting the, ah, Female Online Division, and this is what, uh, often happens.”
“Didn’t you ams show dems ladies da Facebone sexual gaborsement things?” Skwisgaar reasoned, picking out a very festive metal riff on his Mistletoe-festooned Gibson.
“I fucking LOVE FACEBONES,” Nathan agreed, poking around the tray of colorful holidays cookies for the most brutal dismembered reindeer parts.
“No,” Charles sighed. “I just need to remember, to, ah, always carry my TASER down there. Especially when they’ve, ah, been into the eggnog. Anyway, could we, ah, continue, so I can go change into another, uh, DARKER grey suit?”
“The elvesch have eschaped!” Murderface reported.
“Yes, William, this is a MERRY and, ah, JOLLY time of year, and that, ah OFTEN happens. We’ll simply have them DISEMBOWELED, and things should be fine.”
“You cans not ams disembowels da elveses!” Toki protested.
“Naw, Toki, it’s acschually really schimple, ya just schtick your knife into their jolly little belliesch and….” Here Murderface made a violent ripping motion with his carving knife.
“YOU CANS NOT AMS DISMBOWELS DA ELVESES!” Toki repeated, gripping Murderface rather firmly by the throat to emphasize his point.
“Dood, should Toki be doin’ dat?” Pickles wondered amiably, flicking his elf tassels out of his face once again. They fell immediately right back into his face.
“Could we get some more BLOODY REINDEER COOKIES in here?” Nathan wondered, brushing some Donner crumbs off his Cthulhu sweater.
Murderface had turned a quite lovely shade of blue and had started pounding the table.
“Toki, could you, ah, not STRANGLE your band mate before the, ah, FOURTH FISCAL QUARTER is finished?” Charles inquired, trying and failing to button his shirt, as there seemed to be no buttons left. “It makes it, ah, DIFFICULT to file taxes.”
“You coulds not ams files Form 524J-H?” Skwisgaar inquired, fingering the riff to “Vomit-Filled Reindeer Skull,” one of Dethklok’s lesser known holiday classics.
“Yes, but, ah, Toki is an, uh, IMMIGRANT.”
“Oh, yeah, I ams not remembered dat.”
“Wait, Toki is AN IMMIGRANT?” Nathan growled. “Like, all that ELLIS ISLAND SHIT in that GODFATHER MOVIE? Does that mean he’s FROM THE MAFIA?”
“Dood, no, I t’ink it means he’s got TB,” Pickles explained.
Suddenly, the lights went out.
“That’s, ah, probably not a GOOD sign,” Charles concluded.
Startled, Toki let Murderface go. The bassist gasped for breath.
“Ewww! See, doods, Toki jist gave Murderface TB!” Pickles explained.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!” a hologram of Facebones told them. “THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE.”
“Awesome! I fucking LOVE FACEBONES!” Nathan enthused, licking reindeer blood-colored frosting from his thick fingers.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Uh, dood, if dere’s a power outage, how are we seein’ da Facebones dood?” Pickles inquired.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Facebones is on a, ah, SEPARATE GENERATOR,” Charles told them proudly.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Yeh, but, why don’t yoo jist run da lights off dat generat’r?”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
Charles glowered in the soft light from the Facebones projection. “I suppose you think you could, ah, run the world’s SEVENTH LARGEST ECONOMY, hah?” he huffed at Pickles.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“I’m jist askin’, dood!”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“There’s a lot that GOES INTO, the, ah, running of a major CORPORATE ENTITY! I mean, do you, ah, know the latest version of POWERPOINT?”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“No.”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Well, see, ah, there!”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Dey kinda ruined da functionality with da latest release I t’ink.”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Dudes, ams dere any ways to fucking turns off da Facebone?” Skwisgaar snorted, attempting to put his fingers in his ears and play his Gibson with his elbows.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Not unless someone destroys the, ah….” Charles began.
“THERE’S A-“
Facebones abruptly snapped off. The meeting room had gone completely dark.
“Destroys the, ah, AUXILIARY GENERATOR,” Charles concluded.
“Dammit, I love Facebones,” Nathan sighed.
“Can you ams calls some guys on da combobulator device?” Skwisgaar inquired.
“Yeah, we need more fucking CHRISTMAS COOKIES IN HERE!” Nathan protested, trying to rub out the cookie frosting he had smeared onto Christmas Cthulhu.
Charles touched a button on his wrist. His communicator suddenly squealed, “There’s a power outage! There’s a power outage! There’s a power outage!”
“Uh,” said Charles.
“Auxiliary generat’r, dood?” Pickles snarked. Charles’ glare was visible even in the pitch dark.
“So, uh, guys, we’re isolated in here, with, ah, RAMPAGING MUTANT ELVES running loose. Plus, the Female Online Division has been, ah, INTO THE EGGNOG. I don’t suppose any of you guys brought along a gun or something?”
There was suddenly the sound of innumerable pieces of weaponry being unholstered and cocked to fire. The room lit up as several high tech flashlight beams were activated, including one, surprisingly enough, that originated from Skwisgaar’s Gibson.
“Nathan, just, ah, asking, but do you always carry a, ah, ROCKET LAUNCHER to band meetings?”
“My rocket launcher is DECKED WITH HOLLY!” Nathan protested.
“All right, well, ah, shall we go find the, ah, HOMICIDAL ELVES?”
“You can’ts nots harms da little elveses! Dey ams helps Santas!” Toki protested.
“No, ah, Toki, we’re simply going to go have a, ah, CONSIDERED DISCUSION with aforesaid elves.”
“That may include ROCKET LAUNCHERS!” Nathan interjected.
“That may or may not include rocket launchers,” Charles concluded. Seemingly satisfied, Toki nodded and gripped his flamethrower. And so they proceeded out the meeting room door.
The marched more or less silently up and down the corridors for some time, encountering no one, not even a Klokateer, and hearing nothing but eerie, disembodied cackles.
At length, they came to a door. There was a steady knocking coming from the other side, as if there were dozens upon dozens of tiny little fists rapping on the door.
There was a small plate glass port-hole in the door, but it was fogged up. Curious, Charles wiped the porthole with his torn sleeve and peered through.
He suddenly reeled back in horror.
The knocking intensified.
And there were eerie voices from within.
“THE FEMALE ONLINE DIVISION DEMANDS A SACRIFICE!” came the voices from beyond the door. And there was knocking and more knocking.
Charles had backed up to the opposite wall. A look of genuine terror haunted his eyes.
Pickles strode over to Charles and grabbed his fencing saber from his hand.
“Don’t worry, dood,” he assured his manager, “We got dis.” And so saying, pushing the tassels of his jolly elf hat out of his eyes for a better look, he poked at a high shelf with the saber, and caught the DVD boxed sets that fell down into his hands. He turned and deposited them into surprised William Murderface’s arms. At a signal from Pickles, Nathan and Skwisgaar each grabbed one of the bassist’s arms and marched him across the room.
“Wait! Dudesch! What’sch going on?” the mustachioed bassist protested.
Toki, who was standing at the ready, suddenly yanked the door open, and Nathan and Skwisgaar shoved Murderface through, into what looked like dozens of waiting arms.
“WAIT! CAN’T WE DISCUSSCH THISCH LIKE SCHIVILIZED SCHITIZENSCH?” screamed the bassist as he was swallowed by dozens upon dozens of well-manicured hands.
Toki slammed and locked the door after him. There was suddenly squealing and cackling from the other side, and then the sound of many, many running feet.
“What DVDs did you ams give Williams, Pickle?” Skwisgaar inquired.
“Dood. Ken Burns’ Civil War, Ken Burns’ Jazz, and Ken Burns’ Baseball.”
“Baseball might just SAVE HIS ASS!” Nathan reasoned.
Pickles handed back Charles’ saber. “Wait,” said Dethklok’s manager, some color finally returning to his face. “No, ah, Sense and Sensibility? Or Fried Green Tomatoes?”
“NOOOOOOOO!” howled Nathan.
“Dudes, you ams not wants to give dems da chicks flicks!” Skwisgaar scoffed. “What ams you t’inkings?”
“Dood. It only incenses dem furder!” Pickles sighed. “No wonder yoo always end up like dat when ya go deal wit’ dem!” he laughed, fingering Charles’ badly torn shirt.
“Let’s go HUNTING ELVES!” Nathan boomed. “And also, find more CHRISTMAS FUCKING COOKIES!”
Suddenly, there was a tiny rustling sound. Something - bigger than a rat, but smaller than a Yeti – skittered across the floor and out the door.
“WOWEE! IT AMS DA TINY JOLLY SANTAS ELVESES!” Toki squealed in, it must be admitted, a not terribly metal manner. He hiked up his flamethrower and went charging after the tiny, vicious creature.
“TOOOOOKIIIIIIIII!” Nathan thundered, to no avail.
“I ams t’inks it ams times for his Auto Tune singings,” Skwisgaar told him sadly.
“Dood, should we go after him?” Pickles worried, pushing the tassels of his elf hat out of his eyes. His band mates rolled their eyes and nodded.
“Guys, just watch out for, ah, MUTANT ELVES,” Charles warned. “And, ah, possibly, INCENSED BUNNIES.”
“And ams bads singsing,” Skwisgaar muttered, hoisting his Gibson.
“Toki songs ain’t brutal,” Pickles pouted.
“Yeah, dat’s easies for you to say, Mr. Rocks Operas,” Skwisgaar snorted.
“CUT THE CHATTER!” Nathan scolded. “I think I smell COOKIES BAKING.”
They soon emerged up on the dragon’s backbone that was Mordhaus’ vast roof. It did indeed smell like delicious warm Christmas Cookies and fresh pine needles and gingerbread men and sugarplums, whatever the heck they are.
Toki was there too, looking confused. “Where ams the jollies elvese gone to? Oh, dere he is!” He grinned as a tiny elven creature crept up and stood staring, wide-eyed at him.
“Oh, and lookses! He ams broughts his friendses!” Toki laughed. Indeed, there were now three tiny elves. And then six. And then twenty.
And they were also appearing off to the side.
And behind the band, blocking their escape.
Dozens of them. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Mordhaus’s roof was a wriggling carpet of little elves, save one small bare spot directly around the band members. Said bare spot was growing ever smaller and smaller.
The first elf grinned, showing pointed little teeth.
“Maybe dey ams just needs da hugses!” Toki protested.
“Uh, yeah, Toki, I’m sure that’s what we need to do,” Nathan grumbled, shouldering his rocket launcher. “Now I’ll never get my FUCKING COOKIES!”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of jingle bells.
And then there was an explosion from within one flank of the massing elves. There was a high-pitched squealing and a rain of bloody elf parts.
Dethklok ducked for cover. There were more explosions, surrounding them, killing and mutilating and driving off the mutant elves. The roof ran red with Christmas blood.
And then the rounds died down, and onto the elf carcass- and elf part-littered roof of Mordhaus, a sleigh alit.
Santa had landed.
He had a fiery red-gold beard that ended in a braid, and a dashing eye patch. Instead of the traditional red Santa hat he wore a gold helmet festooned with two proud horns. He was clad in chain mail. He hefted a huge spear in one hand. A raven sat on either of his shoulders. A tiny Christmas angel with dark wings was perched beside him in his sled.
“Whoa, Santa is pretty fucking cool,” muttered Nathan.
“It ams Scandanavian Santas!” Toki gushed.
“Uh, WHAT?” asked Nathan.
“Scandanavians Santas,” Skwisgaar explained, playing a very excited riff on his Gibson. “Every year da peoples of Scandanavias ams rides arounds wit’ hims. We ams gives presents to da goods little childrens, set randoms arsons fires, pillaging da neighborings villages, and den get drunks and picks up some hookers.”
“Scandanavian Santa sounds AWESOME!” Nathan agreed.
“ARE YOU READY TO RIDE WITH SCANDANAVIAN SANTA, TOKI AND SKWISGAAR?” the being asked.
“Yup!” agreed Skwisgaar, mounting the sleigh.
“Wowee!” said Toki, following Skwisgaar.
“OH FUCK YEAH!” said Nathan.
“WAIT,” said Scandanavian Santa, suddenly suspicious. “ARE YOU REALLY SCANDANAVIAN?” he asked Nathan, blocking the lead singer’s entry to the sleigh with his mighty spear.
“Uhhhhh,” reasoned Nathan.
“He’s ah, he’s ah, he’s from ICELAND!” Charles supplied.
“Yeh, dood’s totally from Reykjavik!” Pickles agreed.
“That’s true! I’m from, uh, Rik-, uh, Rok-, uh, Rak-, uh, THERE!” Nathan explained.
“Pfffft, dose Finlanders,” scoffed Skwisgaar.
"Can we hurry it up?" asked the little Christmas angel, irritably flapping her dark wings. "I gotta get back in time to pick up my dry cleaning."
Scandanavian Santa reluctantly let Nathan into his sleigh, and then with a, “Giddyup, ya lazy bastards,” to his trusty reindeer, they were away.
“Well, dat held some interest,” Pickles concluded, waving to his band mates and pushing the tassels on his elf hat out of his eyes.
Charles irritably grabbed the end of Pickles’ elf hat and sliced it off with a quick flick of his fencing saber. He held the cut end out to Pickles.
“Hey, dood, dat’s my tassels!” the drummer protested.
“They were annoying.”
“You ain’t currently in da position t’ comment on anudder’s haberdashery, Charles,” Pickles laughed.
“OK. Point. I need a smoke,” Charles sighed.
“I got somethin’!” Pickles supplied.
“Is this the stuff that made me vomit in Technicolor last time?”
“No, dood, dis is da good stuff! Dis will put visions of sugarplums dancin’ in yer head!” Pickles bragged, grabbing his manager in a friendly headlock.
“Pickles. What the fuck is a sugarplum?” asked Charles.
“You’d radder go try yer luck wit’ da Female Online Davision?” Pickles laughed.
“Yeah, OK, point. Lead on.”
And so they strolled back into Mordhaus, where not a creature was stirring, as the elves had all recently died brutal and awesome deaths, and the only sound was the insistent drone of Hour 16 of Ken Burns’ Baseball, which had sent both William Murderface and the entire Female Online Division into a peaceful and festive long winter’s nap.
Oh, and, FYI, if you ever have a chance to see the notorious Star Wars Holiday Special - DON'T! Yes, it's really that bad. Yes, eye-melting bad. And not in an awesome metal way.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dethklok runs out of Christmas cookies. Also, mutant elves.
Warnings: Swearing, elf mutilation, Christmas cookie abuse, Ken Burns-dissing
Notes: My Wookiee Life Day present to CLDK. Also, I don’t recall who decided Nathan’s Christmas sweater depicts Cthulhu, but that’s now my head!canon.
Cross-posted to
capslokdethklok.Slightly edited to add an epic suggestion from
nugatorytm.Mordhaus was decked with much brutality for a dark and metal holiday season.
Nathan Explosion irritably picked some lint off his festive Cthulhu-themed Christmas sweater as the boys waited impatiently for their manager to show up at their merry yuletide band meeting.
Charles appeared at last, clutching his fencing saber. Instead of a cheerful red and green sweater, however, he wore what looked like the remains of what had once been a grey business suit, but now consisted of badly torn slacks and perhaps 60% of a dress shirt.
“DOOD!” Pickles exclaimed, pushing the tassels of his green elf hat out of his eyes for a better look. “What happened t’ yoo? Did da Metal Masked dood unexpectedly reappear?”
With one last suspicious glance over his shoulder, Charles shut the door behind him. He set the saber down on the holly-decked conference table and took a seat. “No, I was visiting the, ah, Female Online Division, and this is what, uh, often happens.”
“Didn’t you ams show dems ladies da Facebone sexual gaborsement things?” Skwisgaar reasoned, picking out a very festive metal riff on his Mistletoe-festooned Gibson.
“I fucking LOVE FACEBONES,” Nathan agreed, poking around the tray of colorful holidays cookies for the most brutal dismembered reindeer parts.
“No,” Charles sighed. “I just need to remember, to, ah, always carry my TASER down there. Especially when they’ve, ah, been into the eggnog. Anyway, could we, ah, continue, so I can go change into another, uh, DARKER grey suit?”
“The elvesch have eschaped!” Murderface reported.
“Yes, William, this is a MERRY and, ah, JOLLY time of year, and that, ah OFTEN happens. We’ll simply have them DISEMBOWELED, and things should be fine.”
“You cans not ams disembowels da elveses!” Toki protested.
“Naw, Toki, it’s acschually really schimple, ya just schtick your knife into their jolly little belliesch and….” Here Murderface made a violent ripping motion with his carving knife.
“YOU CANS NOT AMS DISMBOWELS DA ELVESES!” Toki repeated, gripping Murderface rather firmly by the throat to emphasize his point.
“Dood, should Toki be doin’ dat?” Pickles wondered amiably, flicking his elf tassels out of his face once again. They fell immediately right back into his face.
“Could we get some more BLOODY REINDEER COOKIES in here?” Nathan wondered, brushing some Donner crumbs off his Cthulhu sweater.
Murderface had turned a quite lovely shade of blue and had started pounding the table.
“Toki, could you, ah, not STRANGLE your band mate before the, ah, FOURTH FISCAL QUARTER is finished?” Charles inquired, trying and failing to button his shirt, as there seemed to be no buttons left. “It makes it, ah, DIFFICULT to file taxes.”
“You coulds not ams files Form 524J-H?” Skwisgaar inquired, fingering the riff to “Vomit-Filled Reindeer Skull,” one of Dethklok’s lesser known holiday classics.
“Yes, but, ah, Toki is an, uh, IMMIGRANT.”
“Oh, yeah, I ams not remembered dat.”
“Wait, Toki is AN IMMIGRANT?” Nathan growled. “Like, all that ELLIS ISLAND SHIT in that GODFATHER MOVIE? Does that mean he’s FROM THE MAFIA?”
“Dood, no, I t’ink it means he’s got TB,” Pickles explained.
Suddenly, the lights went out.
“That’s, ah, probably not a GOOD sign,” Charles concluded.
Startled, Toki let Murderface go. The bassist gasped for breath.
“Ewww! See, doods, Toki jist gave Murderface TB!” Pickles explained.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!” a hologram of Facebones told them. “THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE.”
“Awesome! I fucking LOVE FACEBONES!” Nathan enthused, licking reindeer blood-colored frosting from his thick fingers.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Uh, dood, if dere’s a power outage, how are we seein’ da Facebones dood?” Pickles inquired.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Facebones is on a, ah, SEPARATE GENERATOR,” Charles told them proudly.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Yeh, but, why don’t yoo jist run da lights off dat generat’r?”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
Charles glowered in the soft light from the Facebones projection. “I suppose you think you could, ah, run the world’s SEVENTH LARGEST ECONOMY, hah?” he huffed at Pickles.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“I’m jist askin’, dood!”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“There’s a lot that GOES INTO, the, ah, running of a major CORPORATE ENTITY! I mean, do you, ah, know the latest version of POWERPOINT?”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“No.”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Well, see, ah, there!”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Dey kinda ruined da functionality with da latest release I t’ink.”
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Dudes, ams dere any ways to fucking turns off da Facebone?” Skwisgaar snorted, attempting to put his fingers in his ears and play his Gibson with his elbows.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Not unless someone destroys the, ah….” Charles began.
“THERE’S A-“
Facebones abruptly snapped off. The meeting room had gone completely dark.
“Destroys the, ah, AUXILIARY GENERATOR,” Charles concluded.
“Dammit, I love Facebones,” Nathan sighed.
“Can you ams calls some guys on da combobulator device?” Skwisgaar inquired.
“Yeah, we need more fucking CHRISTMAS COOKIES IN HERE!” Nathan protested, trying to rub out the cookie frosting he had smeared onto Christmas Cthulhu.
Charles touched a button on his wrist. His communicator suddenly squealed, “There’s a power outage! There’s a power outage! There’s a power outage!”
“Uh,” said Charles.
“Auxiliary generat’r, dood?” Pickles snarked. Charles’ glare was visible even in the pitch dark.
“So, uh, guys, we’re isolated in here, with, ah, RAMPAGING MUTANT ELVES running loose. Plus, the Female Online Division has been, ah, INTO THE EGGNOG. I don’t suppose any of you guys brought along a gun or something?”
There was suddenly the sound of innumerable pieces of weaponry being unholstered and cocked to fire. The room lit up as several high tech flashlight beams were activated, including one, surprisingly enough, that originated from Skwisgaar’s Gibson.
“Nathan, just, ah, asking, but do you always carry a, ah, ROCKET LAUNCHER to band meetings?”
“My rocket launcher is DECKED WITH HOLLY!” Nathan protested.
“All right, well, ah, shall we go find the, ah, HOMICIDAL ELVES?”
“You can’ts nots harms da little elveses! Dey ams helps Santas!” Toki protested.
“No, ah, Toki, we’re simply going to go have a, ah, CONSIDERED DISCUSION with aforesaid elves.”
“That may include ROCKET LAUNCHERS!” Nathan interjected.
“That may or may not include rocket launchers,” Charles concluded. Seemingly satisfied, Toki nodded and gripped his flamethrower. And so they proceeded out the meeting room door.
The marched more or less silently up and down the corridors for some time, encountering no one, not even a Klokateer, and hearing nothing but eerie, disembodied cackles.
At length, they came to a door. There was a steady knocking coming from the other side, as if there were dozens upon dozens of tiny little fists rapping on the door.
There was a small plate glass port-hole in the door, but it was fogged up. Curious, Charles wiped the porthole with his torn sleeve and peered through.
He suddenly reeled back in horror.
The knocking intensified.
And there were eerie voices from within.
“THE FEMALE ONLINE DIVISION DEMANDS A SACRIFICE!” came the voices from beyond the door. And there was knocking and more knocking.
Charles had backed up to the opposite wall. A look of genuine terror haunted his eyes.
Pickles strode over to Charles and grabbed his fencing saber from his hand.
“Don’t worry, dood,” he assured his manager, “We got dis.” And so saying, pushing the tassels of his jolly elf hat out of his eyes for a better look, he poked at a high shelf with the saber, and caught the DVD boxed sets that fell down into his hands. He turned and deposited them into surprised William Murderface’s arms. At a signal from Pickles, Nathan and Skwisgaar each grabbed one of the bassist’s arms and marched him across the room.
“Wait! Dudesch! What’sch going on?” the mustachioed bassist protested.
Toki, who was standing at the ready, suddenly yanked the door open, and Nathan and Skwisgaar shoved Murderface through, into what looked like dozens of waiting arms.
“WAIT! CAN’T WE DISCUSSCH THISCH LIKE SCHIVILIZED SCHITIZENSCH?” screamed the bassist as he was swallowed by dozens upon dozens of well-manicured hands.
Toki slammed and locked the door after him. There was suddenly squealing and cackling from the other side, and then the sound of many, many running feet.
“What DVDs did you ams give Williams, Pickle?” Skwisgaar inquired.
“Dood. Ken Burns’ Civil War, Ken Burns’ Jazz, and Ken Burns’ Baseball.”
“Baseball might just SAVE HIS ASS!” Nathan reasoned.
Pickles handed back Charles’ saber. “Wait,” said Dethklok’s manager, some color finally returning to his face. “No, ah, Sense and Sensibility? Or Fried Green Tomatoes?”
“NOOOOOOOO!” howled Nathan.
“Dudes, you ams not wants to give dems da chicks flicks!” Skwisgaar scoffed. “What ams you t’inkings?”
“Dood. It only incenses dem furder!” Pickles sighed. “No wonder yoo always end up like dat when ya go deal wit’ dem!” he laughed, fingering Charles’ badly torn shirt.
“Let’s go HUNTING ELVES!” Nathan boomed. “And also, find more CHRISTMAS FUCKING COOKIES!”
Suddenly, there was a tiny rustling sound. Something - bigger than a rat, but smaller than a Yeti – skittered across the floor and out the door.
“WOWEE! IT AMS DA TINY JOLLY SANTAS ELVESES!” Toki squealed in, it must be admitted, a not terribly metal manner. He hiked up his flamethrower and went charging after the tiny, vicious creature.
“TOOOOOKIIIIIIIII!” Nathan thundered, to no avail.
“I ams t’inks it ams times for his Auto Tune singings,” Skwisgaar told him sadly.
“Dood, should we go after him?” Pickles worried, pushing the tassels of his elf hat out of his eyes. His band mates rolled their eyes and nodded.
“Guys, just watch out for, ah, MUTANT ELVES,” Charles warned. “And, ah, possibly, INCENSED BUNNIES.”
“And ams bads singsing,” Skwisgaar muttered, hoisting his Gibson.
“Toki songs ain’t brutal,” Pickles pouted.
“Yeah, dat’s easies for you to say, Mr. Rocks Operas,” Skwisgaar snorted.
“CUT THE CHATTER!” Nathan scolded. “I think I smell COOKIES BAKING.”
They soon emerged up on the dragon’s backbone that was Mordhaus’ vast roof. It did indeed smell like delicious warm Christmas Cookies and fresh pine needles and gingerbread men and sugarplums, whatever the heck they are.
Toki was there too, looking confused. “Where ams the jollies elvese gone to? Oh, dere he is!” He grinned as a tiny elven creature crept up and stood staring, wide-eyed at him.
“Oh, and lookses! He ams broughts his friendses!” Toki laughed. Indeed, there were now three tiny elves. And then six. And then twenty.
And they were also appearing off to the side.
And behind the band, blocking their escape.
Dozens of them. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Mordhaus’s roof was a wriggling carpet of little elves, save one small bare spot directly around the band members. Said bare spot was growing ever smaller and smaller.
The first elf grinned, showing pointed little teeth.
“Maybe dey ams just needs da hugses!” Toki protested.
“Uh, yeah, Toki, I’m sure that’s what we need to do,” Nathan grumbled, shouldering his rocket launcher. “Now I’ll never get my FUCKING COOKIES!”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of jingle bells.
And then there was an explosion from within one flank of the massing elves. There was a high-pitched squealing and a rain of bloody elf parts.
Dethklok ducked for cover. There were more explosions, surrounding them, killing and mutilating and driving off the mutant elves. The roof ran red with Christmas blood.
And then the rounds died down, and onto the elf carcass- and elf part-littered roof of Mordhaus, a sleigh alit.
Santa had landed.
He had a fiery red-gold beard that ended in a braid, and a dashing eye patch. Instead of the traditional red Santa hat he wore a gold helmet festooned with two proud horns. He was clad in chain mail. He hefted a huge spear in one hand. A raven sat on either of his shoulders. A tiny Christmas angel with dark wings was perched beside him in his sled.
“Whoa, Santa is pretty fucking cool,” muttered Nathan.
“It ams Scandanavian Santas!” Toki gushed.
“Uh, WHAT?” asked Nathan.
“Scandanavians Santas,” Skwisgaar explained, playing a very excited riff on his Gibson. “Every year da peoples of Scandanavias ams rides arounds wit’ hims. We ams gives presents to da goods little childrens, set randoms arsons fires, pillaging da neighborings villages, and den get drunks and picks up some hookers.”
“Scandanavian Santa sounds AWESOME!” Nathan agreed.
“ARE YOU READY TO RIDE WITH SCANDANAVIAN SANTA, TOKI AND SKWISGAAR?” the being asked.
“Yup!” agreed Skwisgaar, mounting the sleigh.
“Wowee!” said Toki, following Skwisgaar.
“OH FUCK YEAH!” said Nathan.
“WAIT,” said Scandanavian Santa, suddenly suspicious. “ARE YOU REALLY SCANDANAVIAN?” he asked Nathan, blocking the lead singer’s entry to the sleigh with his mighty spear.
“Uhhhhh,” reasoned Nathan.
“He’s ah, he’s ah, he’s from ICELAND!” Charles supplied.
“Yeh, dood’s totally from Reykjavik!” Pickles agreed.
“That’s true! I’m from, uh, Rik-, uh, Rok-, uh, Rak-, uh, THERE!” Nathan explained.
“Pfffft, dose Finlanders,” scoffed Skwisgaar.
"Can we hurry it up?" asked the little Christmas angel, irritably flapping her dark wings. "I gotta get back in time to pick up my dry cleaning."
Scandanavian Santa reluctantly let Nathan into his sleigh, and then with a, “Giddyup, ya lazy bastards,” to his trusty reindeer, they were away.
“Well, dat held some interest,” Pickles concluded, waving to his band mates and pushing the tassels on his elf hat out of his eyes.
Charles irritably grabbed the end of Pickles’ elf hat and sliced it off with a quick flick of his fencing saber. He held the cut end out to Pickles.
“Hey, dood, dat’s my tassels!” the drummer protested.
“They were annoying.”
“You ain’t currently in da position t’ comment on anudder’s haberdashery, Charles,” Pickles laughed.
“OK. Point. I need a smoke,” Charles sighed.
“I got somethin’!” Pickles supplied.
“Is this the stuff that made me vomit in Technicolor last time?”
“No, dood, dis is da good stuff! Dis will put visions of sugarplums dancin’ in yer head!” Pickles bragged, grabbing his manager in a friendly headlock.
“Pickles. What the fuck is a sugarplum?” asked Charles.
“You’d radder go try yer luck wit’ da Female Online Davision?” Pickles laughed.
“Yeah, OK, point. Lead on.”
And so they strolled back into Mordhaus, where not a creature was stirring, as the elves had all recently died brutal and awesome deaths, and the only sound was the insistent drone of Hour 16 of Ken Burns’ Baseball, which had sent both William Murderface and the entire Female Online Division into a peaceful and festive long winter’s nap.
Oh, and, FYI, if you ever have a chance to see the notorious Star Wars Holiday Special - DON'T! Yes, it's really that bad. Yes, eye-melting bad. And not in an awesome metal way.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 12:18 am (UTC)I thought it said "sexual endorsement" for a moment there. Skwisgaar would endorse anything sexual.
“YOU CANS NOT AMS DISMBOWELS DA ELVESES!” Toki repeated, gripping Murderface rather firmly by the throat to emphasize his point.
I see Toki has been in the Christmas candy again.
“Uh, dood, if dere’s a power outage, how are we seein’ da Facebones dood?” Pickles inquired.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Facebones is on a, ah, SEPARATE GENERATOR,” Charles told them proudly.
“THERE’S A POWER OUTAGE!”
“Yeh, but, why don’t yoo jist run da lights off dat generat’r?”
Pickles has a point, Charlie, I'd listen to him.
There was suddenly the sound of innumerable pieces of weaponry being unholstered and cocked to fire. The room lit up as several high tech flashlight beams were activated, including one, surprisingly enough, that originated from Skwisgaar’s Gibson.
Oh, gahd, Skwisgaar has a machine gunitar. Probably a leftover from his endorsement deal. I laughed so hard when I read that.
Mordhaus’s roof was a wriggling carpet of little elves, save one small bare spot directly around the band members. Said bare spot was growing ever smaller and smaller.
The first elf grinned, showing pointed little teeth.
“Maybe dey ams just needs da hugses!” Toki protested.
Ya know, Toki would probably say the same thing about the raptors in Jurassic Park.
Santa had landed.
He had a fiery red-gold beard that ended in a braid, and a dashing eye patch. Instead of the traditional red Santa hat he wore a gold helmet festooned with two proud horns. He was clad in chain mail. He hefted a huge spear in one hand. A raven sat on either of his shoulders.
YAY! WOTAN CLAUS! Too bad he didn't have a little Christmas angel with him... ;)
I cracked up at them trying to pass Nathan off as Icelandic, just so he can ride with Scandie!Santa. Who wouldn't want to ride with him, Wotan Claus is so cool!
Dude, I totally saw that Star Wars Holiday Special when it first came out on TV. The things George Lucas will do to make a buck...
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 12:59 am (UTC)He would probably endorse those Cthulhu dildos someone posted the other day!!
Pickles has a point, Charlie, I'd listen to him.
And Charles was so darned proud of that extra generator! Though, to be honest, on the show, for an eeeevil geenyus, he does a lot of teh dumb.
Oh, gahd, Skwisgaar has a machine gunitar.
I know! I WOULD STAND ON IT!!
Too bad he didn't have a little Christmas angel with him... ;)
Hahahaha. Oh, god, I should go back and add that! That's too funny.
This is a true story about the Star Wars Holiday Special: a few years ago (before YouTube), it was kind of difficult to get a copy, but OF COURSE my husband had a DVD. So, our local Star Wars club *begged* us to play it at one of our monthly meetings. So, we started it off. LIke 15 minutes later, there's NO ONE in the living room any more! It is THAT BAD.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 02:09 am (UTC)Yup, he sure would, and then tell all the ladies that the zombie one was patterned after Toki's dick, which is why Toki never gets laid.
Skwisgaar: Ja, ands den since Toki ams got de rottesed dick, he ams fucks you wit' da squid.
Groupie: Ewwwwwww....
Though, to be honest, on the show, for an eeeevil geenyus, he does a lot of teh dumb.
Perhaps the guys are rubbing off on him.
Hahahaha. Oh, god, I should go back and add that! That's too funny.
And you did! Thank you!
Heh, according to Weird Al Yankovic, you aren't a total nerd unless you own a copy of that holiday special. I really want to watch it now, just to refresh my memory of what it was about. Something about a lost boy, IIRC, but my mind may be playing tricks on me.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 02:43 am (UTC)Groupie: Ewwwwwww....
*dies*
And he would so do that too!!!
And you did! Thank you!
I wanted this to be free of my OCs, but I don't think you need to know my AU, and it's funny if you do.
The Holiday special is supposed to be about Chewbacca trying to get back to Kashyyk for Wookiee Life Day. It's sort of like a train wreck, only, unlike a train wreck, it is QUITE EASY to turn away. The Boba Fett cartoon is cool. Otherwise, there's Jefferson Starship, Bea Arthur, and Art Carney. Oh, and if you want to see Harrison Ford looking supremely uncomfortable, that's the place.
Supposedly, George Lucas had absolutely nothing to do with it, and, if he had his way, would go house to house, destroying every extant copy.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 04:45 am (UTC)I'm thinking that not too long after this aired, they made the cartoon series, Droids and Ewoks.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 05:08 am (UTC)If you get a chance to watch the old Droids cartoons, those actually aren't half bad.
Some of the most valuable vintage Star Wars items are the ones in the Droids packaging. That was just before the original franchise kinda died off for a while.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 05:54 am (UTC)Who guards Starsky and Hutch now?? Did you need me to send you a Boba Fett? :D
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 06:12 am (UTC)If worst comes to absolute worst, I'll pull out my G1 Transformers. If they don't do proper guard duty, nothing will.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 06:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 04:19 pm (UTC)Looks like I'll have to scrounge eBay and see if I can find them on the cheap.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 06:28 pm (UTC)