'Twas the FRIGHT Before Xmas, Part SIX.

RECAP:  This is a serialized story.  The kind Charles Dickens wrote. Well, he didn't write this kind of story.  Or maybe he did?  Who knows what he did in his spare time? Actually, I do, because I and only I know that Charles Dickens is actually the spirit that inhabits every Magic 8 Ball, everywhere.  Aw, I probably shouldn't have told you.  Anyway, it turns out that what Charles Dickens did in his spare time is "Ask Again Later."  I KNEW IT.

Anyway: serialized story.  Part one is here.  But if you don't feel like starting at part one, by all means, read this recap:

Gene's Xmas tree escaped and there was a 

 and then Nick wrote some poetry and the cops arrested a whole bunch of Nick's and Sexy Cop is back and look if the story could be told in one paragraph it wouldn't have taken five parts so far so here we are:

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Ahem.  Where were we? Oh,  yes, the poem.

What? No, don't worry.  It's perfectly legal.

Now.

I assure you, nothing bad can come of it.

I'm holding it right here, see? The entire poem.  And nothing bad is happening to ME, is it?  Of course not.  In fact, I am doing better than ever.  I have sobered up a bit, I have a job, and that slight ache in my knee that I worried was an impending stroke has eased a bit and now I think it was just perhaps that I hurt my knee by hitting it with a hammer.

What?  

Oh.  To see whether it would hurt it, of course.

Anyway:  THE POEM. Here it is, and, remember, nothing bad can possibly happen as a result of reading poetry, anymore.

Twas the Fright Before Xmas, when all through the world, 

Those creatures had been grown by boys and by girls: 

Their tails a-glowing, their claws all a-light, 

The monsters would liven up THIS Xmas night?

For while Sexy unveiled a rocket inside, 
With visions of conquest alight in her eyes,
And as Gene sadly trudged up the stairs to his job, 
Outside, on his lawn, formed a new... tiny... mob.

This mob was unruly, unsightly, but yet

There was something about it, a bit hard to get.

For this mob,  so demented,was, somehow, still cute!

Little fangs, tiny bug-eyes: each creature a beaut!

The moon glistened down in the night on the mob

For Gene had paid extra (he has a good job

And so can afford to splurge on his snow)

But I am digressing, so on with the show!

Or, rather, let's get back to reading this poem

From which no harm can come, now that...

BANG BANG BANG BANG

ARGLELBARGLEABAARRRARARAGRAHAHARHARHAS

CRASH!

THUD.

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Nick hardly even looked up at the sounds coming from above him.  The narrator wasn't his problem; it had just been meant to distract others from his work. 

His work: He typed feverishly, sitting at the computer screen, the printer humming away next to him.

"Come on, come on, come on," he said to himself.  "Faster faster faster."  He turned to look at the printer for a second, and picked up the frosted mug of carrot nog he'd rather improvidently made a batch of at Thanksgiving, trying to surprise Other Sexy Cop with it in hopes that she would not notice that he had not gone in to work at the UFO Shop in over six months. 

Which, technically,  had not been his fault, in that the UFO Shop had been closed for seven months.  

The carrot nog had not been a major hit either. 

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"How does a rocket hover, anyway?" Asked Gene.

Sexy Cop ignored him while she pounded her perfectly-shaped, smooth-skinned, long-fingered, delicately-fingernail-painted hand on the slightly-rounded, pink console.

Gene felt himself sweat, just a little.

"We have just had our time cut short," Sexy Cop said.  "I had hoped that we would be able to simply leave it up to..."

She paused and looked at him, hesitating only long enough to lick her lips and make them shine in the dim, pink light.

"...it... to do the work.  But it might not get here in time."

"What might not..."

"Unless..." Sexy Cop said, and angled her legs to make her hip stick out.  She placed the back of her wrist against it and nibbled her lip while she thought.

Gene loosened his collar and looked for a place to sit down.

"Am I really necessary..." he began, but she interrupted him:

"Quiet!  I'm thinking!" and she undid a button on her shirt, causing her firm, rounded breasts to swell even more against the tight enclosure of the too-small shirt.

"But..."

"... Still thinking!" Sexy Cop said.  She unbuttoned another button, and then said:

"Yes.  It would work.  But there's no time to waste.  In fact, I don't even have time to sit down!"  And she hunched over the computer terminal, tapping her fingernails and beginning to type.  Behind her, Gene saw her skirt ride up to the very top of her slightly-plump thighs, caught a glimpse of lacy red underwear that is the exact shade of red which will make men faint when mixed with a hot pink glow, and he fainted.

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Nick put the carrot nog down and began typing again.  Off to his side, paper after paper rolled off the printer.

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Sexy Cop ignored Gene and tapped away on her computer.  Off to her side, a series of monitors lit up, each showing a different section of the planet from outer space.

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Nick paused to load more paper into the printer.

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Sexy Cop clicked away from a pop-up ad that had appeared on her screen and wondered if she should check her email.

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Nick moved the keyboard a little closer to him so his elbows wouldn't get so sore...

OK, hold on a minute here.

Is this really happening?  A typing montage?  In a STORY?  This is the best that can be done? Look, I know it's the holiday season and all but, really,  honestly,  this kind of thing can't just be phoned in.  Is this how Rowling would have done it? I mean,granted, she had that whole thing in Book 7 where the kids, well, they weren't kids anymore, did you see that one that played the wizarding nerd on TV last week?  Whew. So, yeah, Rowling had them going after that one book of fairy tales or something, the whole plot line didn't make sense and it was probably just a way for her to make a few billion extra dollars off the tie-in after Book Seven but even SHE didn't have a typing montage.

The point is: make something happen.

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Sexy Cop stood up and said "There.  That's it.  It's done."

The monitors off to her right each lit up in sequence as the satellites she had linked into, satellites which usually are used just to beam re-runs of old television shows to receivers around the world, a hundred billion dollars of technology used to recycle pratfalls, that's the best that could be done with it?

Apparently not, as the satellites, when linked into by Sexy Cop, lit up with energy and began to stream ray beams down into the water below.

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Nick stood up, and said "There.  That's it.  It's done." He cracked his back and watched as the thousands of sheets of paper began shaking and springing to life and jumping around and dancing, all the little monsters he had printed up coming to vibrant, crayon-colored life and playing on the recliner, the old one that Other Sexy Cop had ordered him to throw away because it was coming apart at the seams and the stuffing was coming out and it had also developed the bad habit of drinking all the coffee before she could get to it, so he'd just brought it downstairs and hidden it from her while he tried and tried to come up with a business that would work this time so he could afford to get Other Sexy Cop an Xmas present without borrowing the money from her.

"And this is that plan!" he announced, as he watched the orders totalling up on his website.  All around the world, parents were ordering Paper Monsters for their kids, the DNA sequences being emailed to them and assembled from amino acids in the special print cartridges, printing up tiny paper pets for their kids to play with, monsters their kids could design on their own.

"I am going to be RICH!" Nick said  "WE are going to be rich!  And I am going to be able to get Other Sexy Cop that necklace she's been wanting, the one in the window of the store run by the old guy who sees me lingering outside the window, looking at it, and only shakes his head and thinks there's that failed UFO maker, wishing he could afford a nice necklace for his wife, who is a clone created by a madman in a machine that nearly destroyed the world... poor sap.  Well that guy is wrong!  About the poor sap, part, anyway, he is right about Other Sexy Cop and the clone but I don't care because clones are people too and she's wonderful!"

Nick was so excited that he ran up the stairs and was about to run into the living room and tell Other Sexy Cop the good news but as he opened the door from the basement he saw a group of Riot Police use an Official Police Battering Ram (TM) break down his front door and watched through a crack as the police, and his wife, arrested him and dragged him off out the door, protesting the whole time.

After it was all over, Nick walked slowly and carefully into his living room, where the couch whimpered. He patted it absently as he looked at the overturned desk, the battered-down front door, the bootprints on the carpet.

"What the..." he said, and he picked up a piece of paper on the floor.  He scanned it with his eyes and turned pale.

"Oh... no..." he said.

"This... is terrible..." he added.  The couch crept off to the corner and hid behind the grandfather clock, which itself was sobbing quietly and trying to drink a spot of tea.

"It's worse than you can imagine..." a voice said behind Nick.

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Find more Nick & Other Sexy Cop adventures in "Santa, Godzilla, and Jesus Walk Into A Bar... a/k/a The Greatest Xmas Story Ever Told (by me)", available for just $0.99 here.