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Cold rain lashed The Coyote in the middle of the night. He scrambled around his tent, struggling to resecure the rainfly ripped free by the furious storm. Waves of wind-driven water soaked him through his raincoat, plastering his fur to his skin. He squinted through bleary glasses at tangled lines of orange rope illuminated only the glow of his headlamp. All the while, the rainfly whipped about, metal stakes flailing in the air like the claws of some blind beast. Whenever a particularly strong gust caught the orange fabric, it filled it like a parachute, nearly wrenching it from The Coyote's grasp.

"This is fucking impossible!" The Coyote snarled under his breath. "I shoulda slept in my truck!"

For the second year in a row, The Coyote was spending the weekend after Thanksgiving camping on the gulf coast. Quite literally on the gulf coast, in fact. Along with several friends, The Coyote had set up camp on the sands of the beach. In front of him were the vast, angry waters of the storm-churned gulf. Behind him, the nearly endless stretch of marshland filled with unseen wildlife, from feral hogs and alligators to...well, mostly mosquitoes. So many mosquitoes. At least the rains kept those little bastards at bay, he thought.

The rain was long-predicted, and he'd prepared for it. He'd packed his best raincoat, plenty of dry clothes and towels, and bought a new tent with a sturdy rainfly. The Coyote had even managed get his tent set up during a relative lull in the day long rain. Though some water had gotten in before the rainfly was in place, it was easily managed with a towel. And while the plan was to spend the weekend fishing for enormous redfish, everyone there was content to wait out the rains, relaxing with pleasant conversations and alcohol. The friend who organized the trip even set up an elaborate rain shelter that kept everyone nice and dry through the day.

That evening, The Coyote had cooked a delicious curry for everyone. It hadn't gone completely according to plan, though. It was supposed to be a fish curry, but The Coyote forgot the package of cod he'd bought specifically for the trip. He made do with some of the leftover Thanksgiving turkey. After dinner, they spent the rest of the evening sitting around in the shelter, drinking, talking, and laughing. The rain was just another part of the experience, and eventually, every headed off to bed. The Coyote found his sleeping bag and blankets warm, and dry, and for a little while, he was comfortable. Despite the adverse conditions, he was pleased by how well his preparations paid off.

What he _hadn't_been prepared for, however, was a tropical fucking storm.

All night long, the wind had picked up. His tent shook around him, the poles bent ominously. The walls pressed in on him, bumping up against the end of his cot. His rainfly chattered and snapped in the ever-growing winds. Several times, he considered abandoning his tent for his truck, instead. But each time he decided against it. If something happened to his tent, he wanted to be there to try and fix it. Eventually, something did.

A tremendous SNAP_startled him, and he bolted up on his cot. Water splattered his face. The Coyote pinned his ears back, unsure why he was suddenly getting wet. It took his mind a moment to adjust. He knew _something unpleasant had happened, but for a moment, he couldn't figure out what. Then he realized the orange barrier he'd been staring at through the tent's mesh windows was no longer there. His rainfly was gone, and rain was pouring into his tent, broken up only by thin mesh.

Which was what led him to throw his rain gear back on, and scramble out into the driving storm. He found the rainfly clinging to a single stake in the ground, scant inches from blowing away entirely. If that happened, he'd have no way at all to protect his sleeping space and everything inside from the rain. Already, his blankets were getting soaked. The rains pelted him so intensely that it took only minutes at most for him to be completely sodden. As he struggled to untie the knotted ropes, his cold fingers ached.

The Coyote growled under his breath, cursing the situation again. "This is fucking stupid! There's no way I'm ever gonna get this right." With one knot temporarily undone, he tried to drag the rainfly back over his tent. But it didn't fit properly. His sleep-deprived mind battled to figure out why. When he finally realized it, his heart sank. It was backwards. Or sideways? Or upside down? Probably all three. "How the fuck am I gonna figure out which why is the front now?" He tried to turn it over, growling. "Or which way-damn it!" The Coyote snarled when the winds pulled the whole thing free from his grasp. Once more, it fluttered freely, twisting and writhing in the wind.

As The Coyote hurried after it, a raspy voice suddenly spoke up, right into his ear.

"Winds howling!"

The voice startled The Coyote so badly he jumped, stumbled, and then fell to the wet sands. "Who the fuck is there?"

Whoever it was, they must have been drunk, high, or dangerous. He couldn't imagine any other reasons for someone to sneak up on an isolated campsite, in the middle of a raging storm. The Coyote snatched up his metal camp shovel, brandishing like a makeshift axe. If it was a thief, or some drug-addled psycho, The Coyote wasn't going to go down without a fight. He whirled back towards the intruder, and the light from his headlamp illuminated the shadowy intruder. The Coyote sucked in a shocked breath. It was even worse than he'd feared.

It was Asterbury.

"Die, you psycho!" The Coyote swung his shovel at the urd'thin's head, splitting it like an overripe tomato. "Die, die, die!" Even as Asterbury's lifeless body crumpled to the wet sands, The Coyote kept swinging his shovel, over and over. Blood streamed across the beach, swirling into muddy puddles and rivulets in obscene, yet beautiful patterns. Only when his arms gave out did The Coyote finally stop smashing Asterbury's skull into festive holiday paste. "Finally...finally, he's dead. It's over..."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Scavenger!" Asterbury, somehow alive and well, suddenly stood right next to him, sucking provocatively on a candy cane.

The Coyote sighed, tossing the shovel to the ground. "Damn it. I should have known that was too good to be true."

"You sure should have, old buddy." Asterbury swirled his tongue around the candy cane's tip. "We both know I'm far too sexy to ever die for real."

"Stop that!" The Coyote slapped the candy out of Asterbury's hand. "What do you want, anyway? Don't tell me you came all the way down here just to startle me with a half-assed Geralt impression. That's not even a timely reference."

"Sure it is!" Asterbury pulled his Santa robe open, revealing an immense, 4K monitor affixed to the inside of it. Nearby was an elaborate PC gaming station, complete with a gargantuan tower sporting a 4090 GPU. Vatch sat in a padded desk chair approximately three times to big for him, with oversized headphones seated against his ears. He frantically tapped keys and mouse buttons, engaged in battle with the Wild Hunt. "They just came out with the new Next Gen update! Vatch loves that ray tracing!"

Vatch glanced up at Asterbury and The Coyote from within the pocket dimension. "Vatch never see such pretty graphics!" Then he snarled at Asterbury. "Vatch not give you time off! Why you not on street corner? Asterbury ass not sell itself!"

Asterbury quickly buttoned his robe shut again, clearing his throat with a low growl. "Ahem! Anyway, I've always wanted to do a Geralt impression."

The Coyote held up his hands. "Wait, wait, wait. Is Vatch your husband or your..." He trailed off, scrunching his muzzle. "Nevermind. There's no way I want to know the answer to that. What I do wanna know is, how the hell do you hold more shit in that stupid coat every damn year?" He grabbed at Asterbury's coat, trying to see inside it again. "You're like a fucking Tardis!"

Asterbury slapped his hands away. "Don't call me that!" He rolled his eyes, huffing. "Honestly, Scavenger, I thought you were better than using words like that."

"I said Tardis, you reindeer's sex toy!"

Asterbury folded his arms. "Emphasizing it only makes it worse!"

"Tardis!" The Coyote slapped the back of one hand against his palm. "Tardis! The Tardis!"

"Oh, so now I'm not just_that word, but I'm _the example of it?" Asterbury clucked his tongue. "For shame, my dumpster diving friend! And here, I thought we'd moved past hurtful words like-"

"The Tardis!" The Coyote grabbed Asterbury's shoulders, shaking him. "You dirty little tube of elven ass cream! The Tardis, from Doctor Who! The blue phone booth that's secretly a space ship and time machine? Bigger on the inside than the outside?"

Asterbury's head bobbled back and forth violently, as if attached only by an old, worn out spring. "Doctor Who?"

"Yes!" The Coyote stopped shaking him, scrunching his muzzle. "Gross, by the way. What the hell is wrong with your neck?"

Asterbury's head ended up flopped to the side at an unnatural angle, leaving him staring up sideways at the coyote. "It's all the abuse I'm always taking in these stories! I'm as broken as your immune system!"

"Ouch." The Coyote winced, rubbing the back of his soaking wet neck.

"What, too real?" Asterbury grabbed his head in his hands, setting it into place with an unsettling crunching noise. "How about, I'm as broken as Cyberpunk at launch! Or..." He licked his nose. "Too outdated already? I'm as fucked up as Pokemon Violet! Or, maybe, I'm as damaged as Twitter's reputation! I've fallen apart faster than the political career of-"

"Yes, we get the damn joke!" The Coyote shivered, rubbing his soaking wet arms. "How the fuck are you dry?"

Asterbury looked himself over. "I'm a cosmic deity with vast and ill-defined powers. I only get wet, when I want to get wet." He leaned into whisper into the coyote's ear. "Which is always..." Asterbury rubbed the Coyote's crotch, cooing. "You get can me wet anytime, Scavenger!"

"Get your hands off me, you Christmas pervert!" The Coyote shoved him away, snarling. "You touch my sheath again and I'm gonna shrink your dick down until it looks like a single tiny candy cane stuffed into a giant stocking."

Asterbury only cackled. "Didn't you do that to Valyrym one year?"

Even The Coyote laughed at that. "Looked like an old slinky..."

"And that was _before_you shrunk it down." Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "I bet when Alia gets frisky with him, it looks like she's playing with one of those inflatable flailing arm tube men!" He let his arm hang limp, and then frantically waved it about. "Or an elephant's trunk having a seizure!"

The Coyote laughed harder, flattening his wet ears. "I think that's the reference we made before, actually."

"Of course it is!" Asterbury jabbed The Coyote in the chest. "You're more out of ideas than Hollywood! You both just keep churning out the same crap we've all seen a hundred times before."

"Which is why," The Coyote said, knocking his hand away. "I was trying something a little different this year. Until you showed up."

"Please." Asterbury twirled in place. "I'm the driving force in these stories! Ever since the fourth one, it's been me putting events in motion!" He stretched his arms out, grinning. "Me who's pushed you into all manner of wacky adventures and-"

"Which, again," The Coyote said, snatching Asterbury's muzzle to hold it shut. "We don't do anymore. That's why I thought this year, I'd do a more serious but interesting story about my adventures down on the gulf coast. I think people would-"

"Shit themselves from sheer boredom?" Asterbury twisted free and turned around, speaking out of his ass like Ace Ventura. "I agree with Asterbury! No one wants to read-pppppppffffffftttttttttttttttt!" Asterbury jerked upright. "Oops! That's harder to do without farting than ol' Ace makes it look!"

"Oh, God, Asterbury." The Coyote backed away, cringing. "Come on!"

Asterbury adjusted his robe, making a face. "Speaking of shit themselves..." He cackled again. "Good thing it's pouring rain, am I right? Lemme just strip off and-"

"Alright, we're done here." The Coyote turned away from him. "I'm going to bed. I'll just Christmas magic my tent, and-"

With another loud snap, the tent's remaining stakes all gave way at once as the wind ripped it from its moorings. Poles snapped and broke, and it crumpled into a broken pile of polyester walls, and shattered plastic skeleton. Then the storm's fury snatched the whole thing up and cast it into the air. The ruined tent tumbled down the shoreline, narrowing missing the vehicles and tents set up by his friends nearby. Eventually, the whole thing crashed into a dumpster, down the beach.

Asterbury watched it below away, his head tilted. "Huh. It knows where you live, Scavenger."

"Goddamn it." The Coyote sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I have to do a Christmas story, don't I."

Asterbury gently touched his arm, his voice soft. "You have to do a Christmas story." Then he tightened his grip. "So, maybe as well get it over with!" He grabbed The Coyote's other arm, and hurled him into the sky. "Ya-YEET!"

"Aaaaaaah!" The Coyote screamed as he hurtled up into the clouds. "You...little...fucker!"

From somewhere far below, Asterbury's voice cut through the rain and the wind. "Bingo Bango, I sucked Krek's wango!"

"Your magic words get worse every-"

The Coyote's voice was cutoff as the sky tore asunder. Vibrant bolts of indigo lightning cut through the air all around him, slicing through reality. Shards of existence broke away like shattered glass, leaving glimpses of other worlds in their wake. The Coyote saw universes untold, filled with indescribable wonders. So indescribable where they, that he didn't bother to describe them. But truly wondrous, they were. Wondrous, and indescribable. Those were the two most accurate descriptors, were he to attempt to describe the wonders that he saw. Which he didn't.

Hurtling through a fissure in time and space, reality slammed home around The Coyote. He thumped down onto a wooden floor, pain jolting through him. The impact jarred his glasses, knocking them from his muzzle. They skittered across the ground. With a groan, he rolled over, feeling around for them.

"Damn it, Asterbury."

"Check me out!" Nearby, Asterbury floated in, hanging from an red and white, peppermint striped umbrella. "I'm Cherry Poppin's, ya'll!"

The Coyote giggled, still trying to find his eyewear. "That reference is really outdated, but I'll admit it made me laugh. Now watch out for my glasses, because if you crush them, I'm gonna-"

Asterbury landed, crunching something beneath his feet. "...Oops."

"...Crush your gumdrops."

Asterbury floated back into the air, reversing time until The Coyote's glasses reassembled themselves.

The Coyote snatched them back up, and put them on. "That's what I thought."

Asterbury touched back down, shaking off his umbrella. "So, Scavenger. Would you say my scene transition was so shocking, that it..."

"Don't say it." The Coyote folded his arms. "Don't you say it."

Asterbury only smirked, tucking his umbrella into his robe. "Knocked your glasses off?"

"No!"

From inside Asterbury's coat, Vatch's muffled voice called. "You watch where you stick umbrella! You almost put Vatch eye out! You do again, you get two hour in Fist Box with Fabio!"

Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "Promises, promises, Chocolate Strudel." He licked his muzzle, then gestured at the Coyote's glasses. "It did, though. Knock your glasses off, I mean."

The Coyote heaved a sigh. "I can see where this is going, so let me just skip to the end. Yes. My glasses were literally knocked off." He waved his hands. "Hah hah, what a funny call back to all the other Christmas stories. Can we move on, now?"

"Well, that's a real shit on the floor." Asterbury scowled. "Just steal all my fun, why don't you?"

The Coyote rolled his eyes. "Any other callbacks you want to get out of the way?"

"Let's see, we've got knocks your glasses off, shit on the floor, what else is there?" Asterbury counted a few of them off on his fingers. "Who diarrhea'd in your dumpster, I can't believe it's not butter, fisted by Fabio...I think that's it!"

The Coyote glared at him. "I can't help but notice you're intentionally forgetting at least one or two."

The urd'thin shrugged, offering an innocent smile. "No idea what you're referring to. Care to enlighten me?"

"A certain Bob?"

Asterbury scratched his ear. "Bob Crackass? Wasn't he the one Valyrym wrote that story about?"

The Coyote grimaced. "A Christmas Carol."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was about Bob Crackass. Remember, he went on the murder spree with that disabled kid, and saved all the turkeys from that old man? Jiminy Cricket?"

The Coyote rubbed his forehead. "Scrooge."

"Bless you!"

"No, you're talking about a character named Scrooge. Jiminy Cricket is..." The Coyote waved his hand. "A whole other story."

"Oh, right, right." Asterbury nodded. "That one was from Krek's fan-fiction for Honey I Shrunk the Kids."

The Coyote blinked a few times. "Krek wrote Honey I Shrunk The Kids fanfiction?"

"He sure did, old buddy!" Asterbury reached into his coat, and yanked out a suspiciously sticky looking manuscript. An unknown voice inside protected, but Asterbury ignored them. "I've it write here. It's called, 'Honey I Shrunk My Cock So I Could Fuck Jiminy Cricket.' It's a real page-turner!"

"That is not what it's called!" The Coyote snatched the manuscript away. "Even Krek wouldn't..." He trailed off as he read the title. "Okay, that is the title. But why would he only shrink his cock?" The canine shoved the papers back against the urd'thin's chest. "That makes me brain hurt. Why wouldn't he shrink the rest of him?"

"Why, that's the sequel!" Asterbury shoved the booklet back into his coat, and retrieved a second, even more stained set of papers. "It's called 'Honey I Shrunk The Rest of Me Too So Jiminy Cricket Can Fuck Me'!" Asterbury flipped through the pages, whistling. "Boy, that is one hung cricket!"

"Ohhh, my god." The Coyote dragged a hand down his muzzle, groaning.

Asterbury smirked at him, putting the story away. "Well, now you sound like Bob, from Bob's Burgers."

The Coyote tossed up a single here. "And there it is. I knew you'd work it in, eventually."

"And speaking of working it in..." Asterbury pulled a third, greasier looking stack of papers out of his robe. "Here's the threequel! 'Honey I Returned To Normal Size And Then Shrunk Down to Slightly Smaller Size To Fuck Bob Burgers From The Hit Show Bob's Burgers, And Also Let Bob Burgers Fuck Me. Part Two." Asterbury blinked. "Wait, Part Two? Where's Part One?"

The Coyote slapped the makeshift book out of Asterbury's hands, scattering papers across the floor. "Hopefully in the fucking trash, where it belongs!"

"Awww." A wounded coo emanated from deep inside Asterbury's robe. "Words hurt, Scavenger. I don't shit on your stories!"

"You have Krek in there, too?" The Coyote snatched at Asterbury's robe, trying to get another glimpse inside. "Just how many of my cast members are inside your goddamn Santa robe, right now?"

Asterbury pulled away, shrugging. "Most of them."

"Well, tell Krek-"

"He can hear you."

"Krek, you _literally_shit on my stories, last Christmas. On an actual pile of printed manuscripts!"

The gryphon's voice called back. "I was drunk! And full of eggnog! It was either that, or the kitchen! Besides, what do you expect me to do when I see a bathroom filled with piles of paper?"

"You were in my closet!"

For a moment, the gryphon was silent. "In that case, you have my apologies."

"I'd rather have the cleaning bills covered." The Coyote muttered, turning away. "Where the fuck are we, anyway?"

The Coyote found himself standing near the polished oak bar of a cozy, dimly-lit tavern. Dark wood panels lined the walls, while plush maroon upholstery adorned booths and chairs. Lamps on elegant copper fixtures shed a warm, orange-gold light. Silver tinsel, sparkling with multi-hued lights, was strung along the arching cross-beams supporting the vaunted ceiling. Wreaths hung on each of the many decorative wooden pillars spanning the tavern. Some were green and dotted with painted pinecones and more lights, others white and decorated with oversized candy canes and gumdrops.

The whole place smelled of eggnog, sugar cookies, warm holiday spices. The warm fire crackling in the brick-lined hearth lent a hint of woodsmoke to the other aromas. Aside from the fire's crackle, the tavern was mostly silent. Frost decorated its windows with graceful spirals. Beyond their frozen panes, the world was white, and silent. Snow fell in ceaseless cascade, piling up against the tavern and smothering all the conical pine trees arranged along the hidden path. Beyond it, where the light faded, the world vanished.

"Wait a minute..." The Coyote rubbed his head, slowly gazing around. "Isn't this the bar, inside the snow globe?"

"It sure is, my faithful holiday Refuse Ravager!" Asterbury hopped up onto a stool, spinning around. "I copy and pasted it from two stories ago! It's the very same place I heroically rescued you from your Christmas delusions a few stories ago!"

The Coyote took a seat next to him, scowling. "That's not how I remember it."

"Oh, the details aren't important-"

"The way I_remember it, you renditioned me!" The Coyote slapped the counter. "With a bag over my head and everything! _And you murdered dozens and dozens of innocent people in the process!"

"Innocent figments of your imagination," Asterbury said, waggling a finger. "They're like, half people at best. Besides, it was your murderous, gunslinging kobold bartender who killed all those poor rabbits."

"Poor rabbits who were wiping out an entire bar full of..." The Coyote relented, slightly. "Holiday NPCs, I'll grant you. But still!" He went quiet, and then scrunched his muzzle. "You know what? I don't really give a shit anymore. Let's just get drunk as fuck."

"That's the spirit!" Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "Let's get drunk, and fuck!"

"That's not what I-"

"Too late!" Asterbury cackled. "Finally, I get to unwrap your holiday gift! I'm gonna keep your yule log nice and warm! I'm gonna melt your candy cane with my mouth, and handle your snowglobes with care, and-"

"Ejector seat!" The Coyote slammed his hand down on an imaginary button. Asterbury's stool exploded into the air, launching the urd'thin upwards. He crashed through the ceiling, wooden debris raining in his wake. "Thank god for that. Now, where's that bartender?" He leaned forward, trying to peer down behind the bar. "Nok? Nok! I need a drink before Crapfus returns." He paused, twisting up his muzzle. "You know, like Krampus, but crappy? No, no, that's stupid, isn't it. I was gonna go with-"

"Yo, what's up, muthafucka!" A booming voice rumbled loud enough to rattle the bar's windows as a towering, black and purple dragoness stood up from behind the bar. How she'd been hidden back there, The Coyote did not know. She loomed over him, slowly lowering her wedge-shaped head towards the canine. "Welcome to Ed, Edd, and Ayly's Edd-Nod Emporium."

"Uh..." The Coyote swallowed. "Hi Ayly."

"Big Ayly." She narrowed her eyes. "Big Ayly in the house, bitches! FR, FR, no cap!"

The Coyote blinked. "Uh...right. So...you're a bartender now?"

"Shit, it be bussin' in here, fr fr, ong!"

"I...uh...don't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth." The Coyote rubbed his muzzle, pausing a moment to wonder just where he went so wrong in writing all these stories. "Anyway, uh...can I just order a drink?"

"Yo, for real, whatcha want, muthafucka?" Ayly tilted her head. "You want a blow job?"

The Coyote nearly choked on his tongue. "Excuse me?"

The dragon snorted, blowing the fur back against his face. "That's the name of a shot, yo."

"Oh, right." The canine gave a nervous laugh. "I knew that."

"Yo, but for real." Big Ayly lowered her head her till her muzzle was brushing his head. "You want me to suck that dick?"

"Ayly!" The Coyote shoved her muzzle away, eyes wide. "Please!"

"Alright, whip that shit out, then."

"No!" The Coyote hunched forward as if to cover up. "I meant, please, as in, please stop!"

Ayly gave a disappointed snort. "Your loss, you fuzzy little dumpster-dickin' prude. What you want to drink, muthafucka?"

"Just give me some eggnog, and some bourbon." The Coyote crossed his arms, grumbling. "When did you get to be as bad as Asterbury?"

Ayly shrugged her wings, pouring a glass of eggnog. "It's your fault, ya little bitch. Yo, fr, fr, two stories back? You made it canon that I was a real creeper."

The Coyote blinked. "I did? I don't remember that."

Ayly passed him the glass. "All night long, I be creepin'."

The Coyote sipped the eggnog, watching her suspiciously.

"Ever since I was small..." She poured the bourbon next. "I be peepin'."

The Coyote threw his hands up. "That was just a reference to an SNL skit! And, I don't think that's even how the song goes."

"Yeah, you didn't know two years ago, either." She passed him the bourbon. "Still made me kinky."

The Coyote drained his bourbon in a single pull, and set the glass back down for more. "Look, I regret at least half of what I put into these stupid stories every year, so...I dunno, my bad?" He glanced around the bar while Ayly poured his refill. "You got any snacks around here? Any Christmas treats or anything."

"Yo, we got the best Christmas shit." Ayly pushed the glass back towards him, then reached down under the counter. "Lemme grab that shit. Fr, fr, ong, best shit ever."

The Coyote dug the heels of his palms into his hands. "I have no idea what you're saying right now."

Ayly retrieved a heavy bowl filled with what initially appeared to by dozens of tiny, fuzzy green brains. She pushed it towards him, a great big grin stretched across her muzzle. "Yo, Merry Christmas and shit, muthafucka."

"Uh...thanks." The Coyote pulled the bowl closer. "What the hell is this?" He studied it out, and then let out a low groan. "Oh, don't tell me-"

"It's Christmas Broccoli!"

"See, Scavenger?" Asterbury rematerialized on the stool next to him. His robe was gone, and in its place was a festive red sweater, adorned with a single, giant piece of broccoli decked out in sparkling lights and ornaments. "I told you Christmas Broccoli was a thing!"

"God damn it, Asterbury!" The Coyote snatched up a piece of broccoli, and hurled it into Asterbury's face. "This whole fucking thing was just a set up for a call back to the stupid Christmas Broccoli bit?"

Asterbury yelped, then rubbed his face. "Easy now, Scavenger. Seems like someone's got a case of the Christmas Crankies."

The Coyote sighed. "There's no such thing as Christmas Crankies."

Asterbury shook a finger at the coyote. "You're telling me, that in the long, long history of Christmas celebrations, no one has ever once been cranky?"

The canine shrugged. "Well, I'm sure someone has been cranky on Christmas."

"There you go, then!" Asterbury slapped the table, rattling a few plates. "Bingo, Bango, Christmas Crankies."

The Coyote shook his head. "Just because someone's been cranky on Christmas, doesn't automatically make it the Christmas Crankies."

Asterbury picked up a piece of broccoli, trying to put it into the Coyote's mouth. "Yes it does! And the only cure for Christmas Crankies, is Christmas Broccoli!"

The Coyote slapped the vegetable out of the urd'thin's hands. "I keep telling you there's no such thing as Christmas Broccoli!"

Asterbury shook a finger at the coyote. "You're telling me, that in the long, long history of Christmas celebrations, no one has ever once eaten broccoli?"

The coyote shrugged. "Well, I'm sure someone has eaten broccoli on Christmas."

"There you go, then!" Asterbury slapped the table, rattling a few plates. "Bingo, Bango, Christmas Broccoli."

The Coyote shook his head. "Just because someone eats something on Christmas, doesn't automatically make it Christmas food..." He trailed off when he realized what was done. "Son of Krampus's fuzzy Christmas goat bag!"

"Well, that _would_be where Krampus' son comes from, you're right." Asterbury splayed his ears. "But is he a goat? I always thought he was more of a reindeer demon." He licked his muzzle, his hands sliding down towards his crotch. "A sexy, sexy, reindeer demon, famous for giving people his rod! Mmm, the things I'd let him do to me with a spatula and a sock full of pennies."

"Why do I fall for the same damn bits, every year?" The Coyote shook his head, sighing.

Asterbury lowered his voice to a whisper. "Cause you're lazy, and it's easier to copy and paste your greatest hits?"

The Coyote snarled at him. "Why don't you suck my greatest dick?"

Asterbury blinked. "Your _greatest_dick? Just how many of them do you have?! Cause I'm willing to suck them all, but my jaws are gonna need a rest after three or four." He hopped off the stool, reaching for the Coyote's pants. "Alright, time to decorate that Christmas tree!"

The Coyote slapped Asterbury across the muzzle so hard his head spun around like an old timey cartoon. "Not only no, but Unanimous UN Vote no!"

Asterbury's head spun around a few more times before he caught it, and set it back into place. "Aww, but my tongue was gonna be the tinsel!"

"And when you were done, my dick would look like tinsel, because of all the STD's you'd give me!" He took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "Please tell me you didn't interrupt my camping trip just so you could set up that stupid broccoli bit."

"Of course not!" Asterbury put a hand to his chest, adopting a faux southern belle accent. "Why, I do declare, Coyote, you've no faith in me'a'tall."

"So what did you interrupt me for?"

"To critique your writing, of course!" Asterbury waggled his fingers, and The Coyote's phone appeared in his hand. "Lemme just scroll up to the beginning." He scanned through the story, clucking his tongue. "God, your tenses are all over the damn place. And how many 'hads' do you need?" He shook his head. "You really should have started at the beginning of the camping trip. Starting mid-storm, and then trying to sum up the rest of the day a few paragraphs later? That's just poor structure, and confusing tenses. Is it happening now? Did it happen previously? Who the hell can tell?"

"It's a rough draft!" The Coyote snatched his phone away, growling. "I clean that shit up later."

Asterbury made a patronizing, cooing noise. "Do you, though?"

The Coyote set his phone down, grumbling under his breath. "Sometimes."

The urd'thin hopped back up on his stool. "And...is it really a rough draft, if you've no intention of ever fixing it? Wouldn't that make it...a final draft?"

"Whatever." The Coyote tossed back his bourbon, and gestured for another pour. "Not like it really matters in these stories."

"No, you're right." Asterbury used his powers to pour himself a glass of eggnog. "The three people who actually read this Christmas Crap aren't gonna care about proper use of tense as long as you make them giggle about Valyrym's dead elephant trunk."

That had The Coyote laughing again. "I mean, you're not wrong." He sipped his bourbon, giving the urd'thin a suspicious glance. "Still, that's an awful lot of work for you, just to offer a few mildly cogent points about the quality of the writing in these stories. I get the feeling you're here for something else. You may as well just spit it out."

Asterbury sighed, and spat something out onto the counter. It was red, rubber, and spherical.

"Is that a fucking ball gag?"

"It was, till you made me spit it out." Asterbury folded his arms, grumbling. "Spoilsport."

"Okay, first off?" The Coyote summoned a long stick into existence, just to poke the slobbery ball gag and push it further down the bar, away from himself. "It clearly wasn't working. Second off, what in Tim Allen's cocaine caked nose is wrong with you? And where the hell were you keeping that?"

"In my gizzard!" Asterbury pointed to his throat. "Was saving it for later."

The Coyote made a disgusted face. "How do you get worse every year? Also, that's not where a gizzard is, or what it does! And urd'thin don't have gizzards, anyway."

"Sure we do!" Asterbury rolled his eyes. "Right between our cockswaddle, our poison gland, and our seventeen throat testicles."

The Coyote rubbed his head. "You don't have any of those things."

"Sure I do!" Asterbury pointed lower on his throat. "Right above my life sized internal replica of Arnold Schwarzenegger circa 1982!" He licked his muzzle. "When he was _really_ripped."

"Oh, my god." The Coyote dropped his head down onto the bar, groaning. "This is turning into an April Fool's story."

Asterbury snatched up his ball gag, and popped it back into his mouth. A moment later, and it was gone again. "There's not really much difference anymore, anyway."

"Will you just tell me what else you were here for?"

"Of course!" Asterbury spun around in his stool. "If that's all you wanted, why didn't you ask? As it turns out, I've made a rather important discovery."

The Coyote slowly lifted his head, glaring at Asterbury. "I swear to Santa's rotting corpse, if you say, 'I've discovered we've done all this before!' and launch us into some kind of clip show, Christmas stories past, bullshit... I'm going to kill you. I will kill you dead for real, use my magic to prevent your resurrection, and bury you in a shallow grave behind this bar. Then I'll seal up this snow globe we're inside right now, feed it to a fucking whale, and let it shit you out on the ocean floor."

"Damn!" Asterbury snapped his fingers. "You should have made that this year's Christmas story!" He pulled out a crumpled wad of paper from his pocket. "Lemme just..." Asterbury retrieved a pen, and quickly scratched out the words CLIP SHOW. Then, in it's place, he wrote, MOVIE NIGHT 2. "Nah, my idea was-"

"No." The Coyote folded his arms. "We already did a movie night story. And we already repeat ourselves often enough. If we literally do the exact same plot, we're just gonna be-"

"Hollywood?"

"We already made that joke!" The Coyote leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "God, we really are Hollywood."

"No, you're right." Asterbury twirled the pen around his fingers. "If we just did the same thing all over again, we'd be Call of Duty!"

That made the Coyote laugh. "Yeah, or Ubisoft?"

"Yeah, or Activision!"

"Actually..." The Coyote made a show of looking Asterbury over. "You're basically Activision yourself, you horny little pervert. Anyway, no. We're not doing another Movie Night."

"But..." Asterbury leaned forward. "You haven't heard my discovery, yet."

The Coyote sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I know I'm going to regret this, but what did you discover?"

"There is..." Asterbury reached into his sweater, and slowly retrieved a boxed, VHS copy of something. He set it down, and passed it towards The Coyote. "A Jingle All The Way 2."

"No fucking way." The Coyote sat up, reaching for the old film. He picked it up, sucking in a breath when he read the title. "Holy shit, there really is." He glanced down at the actors, decked out in Christmas sweaters, and looking perplexed. "Oh, my god, it stars Larry The Cable Guy?" Slowly, he lowered the old tape back down. "This might be the worst movie of all time. We...we have to watch this."

Asterbury cackled, rubbing his hands together. "Movie Night 2?"

The Coyote stared at the cover of the terrible, terrible film. He knew, deep in his heart, there was only one right choice to make. "Movie Night 2."

SMASH CUT TO THE WRITER GRUMBLING ABOUT REAL LIFE BULLSHIT

The Writer glared at the text. "The fuck? Maybe sometimes I don't wanna spill my guts every Christmas. You ever think about that, other me?"

There was no reply.

The Writer sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine. I'm always filled with anxiety, and today was supposed to be a fun, relaxing day. But instead, it really kinda sucked, and now I'm in a shitty mood, and I don't feel like writing this dumb story. I'm gonna go watch SNL, and then some Ted Lasso, and then I'm going to bed."

He turned off the computer.

SWIPE RIGHT ON THE NEXT SCENE

"Swipe right?" Asterbury's eyes lit up. "We're finally gonna fuck?"

"No!" The Coyote backhanded down Asterbury across the muzzle. "I meant swipe right in the cinematic sense! So tell your angry candy cane to stand the fuck down!"

Asterbury looked down at the suspicious bulge beneath his overlong Christmas sweater. "He's only angry because he's so alone! No one ever notices him..." He lowered his voice. "Kinda like these stories!"

The Coyote folded his arms. "Oh, shut the fuck up."

"My mistake!" Asterbury held his hands up. "I meant to say, kinda like The Maiden Squad! Oh, look, you got a new fav on it."

"I did?" The Coyote's ears perked up.

"Yeah!" Asterbury cackled. "That makes four!"

The Coyote growled. "I shoulda swiped left on you."

Asterbury waggled his hand. "C+. You shoulda gone with..." His head turned into The Coyote's head. "Your mom shoulda swiped left on your dad."

The Coyote only glared at him. "Your mom shoulda swiped left on you."

Asterbury gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "Whoa, Coyote! Way too dark! Besides, you know my elaborate and tearjerking backstory! Why, my mother-"

"Has no bearing whatsoever on these stories." The Coyote idly spun around on his barstool. "Nothing that happens in Revaramek, or any of the other stories, has any impact on what happens in the Christmas-verse. And perhaps, more importantly, vice versa."

"You mean like, innies and outties?"

"I mean..." The Coyote paused, his head tilted. "Actually, yeah, kinda. Although, not exactly, because you still remember stuff that happens in the real stories, but the real versions don't remember what happens here."

Asterbury leaned forward. "So maybe like the season finale?"

"I guess we'll have to wait and see, but...wait." The Coyote blinked. "You watched Severance?"

"Fuck yeah!" Asterbury slapped the counter. "I signed up for Apple TV with Valyrym's credit card! When I heard it was called Severance, and it was about innies and outies, I naturally assumed it was going to be about amputations and boners!" Asterbury scrunched his muzzle. "Though, hopefully those two things were separate. Even I have a red line somewhere..." He licked his muzzle. "Or do I?"

"Ohhh, my god." The Coyote rubbed his temples. "First, why the fuck would innies and outies make you think of boners? And second-"

"Because," Asterbury said, picking up a piece of Christmas broccoli. "It's called an innie when it's in your sheath..." He popped the broccoli up into the air. "And it's an outtie when you're hard!"

"Literally no one calls it that." The Coyote poured some bourbon into his eggnog, swirling it around in his glass.

"Sure they do! Like, when you're watching Bum Fights with your pastor, and you nudge him and say..." Asterbury lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Watching these poor homeless beat each other bloody is giving me a real outtie."

"Dear God." The Coyote scrunched his muzzle, groaning in disgust.

"Exactly!" Asterbury wiggled his eyebrows, then pressed his hands together in prayer. "Dear God, thank you for those sexy, sexy Bum Fights!"

The Coyote stared at him. "Since when do you have eyebrows?"

"Since I needed to wiggle them provocatively!" The urd'thin cackled. "Anyway, I was pretty sure Severance was about poppin' a total outtie while performing an amputation. I kept waitin' for them to cut off someone's leg!" He shook his head. "So here I am, watchin' it, rubbin' on my outtie..." He rubbed himself through his overlong Christmas sweater. "Sayin' to Earl, I says, when's someone gonna lose a limb? I'm gonna end up with an innie here!"

The Coyote stared at him, his ears slowly flattening further and further back. "You just can't find the bottom, can you?"

"Oh, Scavenger," Asterbury put his hand on the Coyote's knee. "You can find my bottom, anytime."

The Coyote slapped his hand away. "And who the fuck is Earl?"

"My Bum Fights VHS dealer!" Asterbury reached into his sweater pockets, and produced a stack of old, crusty looking VHS tapes. "He's got all the hits! Bumfights Volume 1, Bumfights Volume 2, Bumfights-"

"You need a _dealer_for that shit?"

Asterbury snorted. "You do if you want the good shit. Besides, I met him through Matrix 4."

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "I've only seen like, half of that one. It was okay. I need to finish it."

Asterbury glanced over. "You've only seen half of Matrix 4?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Cause you gotta see the whole thing!" Asterbury gestured with a well-worn tape box. "His cock is incredible!"

The Coyote's eyes widened. "He shows his cock?"

"Oh yeah, and it is..." Asterbury kissed his fingers. "Magnificent!"

"Huh..." He scratched his muzzle. "Didn't really think Keanu Reeves would do that on screen. But now I'm curious."

"Oh, Matrix 4 is way more impressive than Keanu Reeves."

The Coyote took a drink of eggnog and bourbon. "I guess all the performances are pretty great. And the effects are still really good."

"Absolutely! His performance is top notch, he'll fuck you right into a coma!"

The Coyote paused, blinking. "Wait, who are you talking about?"

"Matrix 4, my E dealer!" Asterbury stared back at him. "Who the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the _movie,_Matrix 4." The Coyote folded his arms. "With Keanu Reeves."

"They got Keanu Reeves to play Matrix 4 in a movie?" Asterbury gasped. "That's perfect casting! Except for the dick size. But I guess not everyone can pack a baby's arm holding an apple."

The Coyote grunted, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Austin Powers."

Asterbury sat up straighter. "They got Austin Powers, too? Who does he play?"

"No, Austin Powers doesn't play anyone. That's Mike Myers."

"Wow!" Asterbury slapped the counter. "Keanu Reeves, Austin Powers, and Mike Myers? Who are they gonna cast in the Matrix 4 biography next, John Wick?"

The Coyote ran a hand down his face. "John Wick is Keanu Reeves."

"He is?" Asterbury leaned forward. "So it's John Wick, playing Keanu Reeves, playing Matrix 4? Just like Robert Downey Jr in Iron man! He's a dude, playing a dude, disguised as another dude."

The Coyote grit his teeth. "That's from Tropic Thunder, not Iron Man. In Iron Man, he's Tony Stark."

"Well, blow Santa _and_his elves!" Asterbury's jaw hung open. "So the Matrix 4 Biography stars Keanu Reeves, Austin Powers, Mike Myers, John Wick, Tropic Thunder, and Tony Stark?" He smacked the bar again. "Fist me Fabio, that sounds like a hell of a picture!" Then he scrunched his muzzle. "I dunno, though, Mike Myers might be a little adult for a G-rated holiday adventure. All those murders he's always committing?"

"Not Michael Myers, you Reindeer's cock-sleeve." The Coyote slapped Asterbury across the head. "Mike Myers! The Comedian! From Saturday Night Live, Wayne's World..." When Asterbury only stared blankly, he sighed. "Austin Powers?"

"Oooh, right, the guy who Austin Powers plays in The Love Guru!"

"No!" The Coyote growled through grit teeth, then relented. "Well, sort of. You know what? Fuck it. But also..." He drained his egg nog, and then slammed down the glass. "Why the hell would your E dealer's biography be a G-rated holiday adventure?"

Asterbury grinned. "Doesn't G stand for Good-Ass Drugs?"

"No! It stands for-"

"And no one wants to watch a bunch of murders when you're high as hell on some good-ass drugs!" Asterbury shook his head. "That'll really turn your outtie back into an innie."

"Oooh, my god." The Coyote thumped his head down against the counter.

"Aww, Trash Puppy fall down, go boom?"

The bar muffled the canine's voice. "Trash puppy want go home. Trash Puppy want spend Christmas with someone less stupid."

"Too bad we don't always get what we want, eh Scavenger?" Asterbury patted the Coyote's back. "Say, weren't we gonna watch an incredible movie?"

The Coyote slowly sat back up, grimacing. "We're going to watch A movie, anyway." He refilled his eggnog. "Assuming I get around to watching it in real life, so I can write up a few notes to make jokes around."

Asterbury watched him pour his drink. "Wasn't Ayly tending bar?"

"She was, but I got tired of writing her cringy dialogue." His muzzle twisted up. "Yuck. I feel gross just saying cringy." He glanced over at the urd'thin. "By the way, have you seen Valyrym this year? I was gonna give him and Alia run of the house while I was away, so they'd have some alone time. But we're gonna need him for movie night."

"Way ahead of you, old buddy!" Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "I wanted to make sure their holiday was an especially merry one, so I sent them into some hot and steamy fanfiction."

"Oh, no." The Coyote pinned his ears back. "Please tell me you're not-"

"Hey, gang!" Asterbury hopped up onto his stool, spreading his arms. "Remember that time Valyrym was trapped in that boob-flation fanfiction?"

*****

SMASH CUT TO VALYRYM'S DUNGEON ONLY SEXIER

*****

Alia Silverbush was totally naked as she breasted her way down the stairs to the sex dungeon. She swayed her hips as sexfully as she could with every step, making a pouty face. She was super wet and totally horny and the only thing that could satisfy her was dragon [insert word here]. Her tits were so excited they stood up, erect like a dick, only sexier because tits. Her nipples trembled with lust. Her clit was probably doing whatever clits due, but considering my apparently lack of knowledge of actual female anatomy, it's a wonder I've even heard of a clit.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, was a dragon. His name was Valyrym and he always had a total outtie for human girls. He looked at Alia and had never seen tits so big before. They were like two enormous hot air balloons battle for supremacy, each filled with its own festive holiday glow. They swayed back and forth and bounced up and down with every step, knocking each other back and forth like world-sized ping pong balls. It was probably really bad for her skeleton and her muscles but she was acting so sexfully it gave him a raging outtie.

"Ah-OOOOH-GA!" Valyrym's shot out of his sockets like a cartoon wolf. "Check out them bazungas!"

"Excuse me? Who's there? I can't see you past my own planetoid sized gazongas!" Alia turned to the side, and her gargantuan bazoombas swung into Valyrym, sending him toppling through the air.

"This the best way to diiiiie!" Valyrym screamed in delight as he was hurtled through time and space by the sheer power of Alia's tit-jutsu.

"Oops, sorry! These silly things are always in the way, teehee!" She giggled, causing them each to bounce up and down, one at a time, like a whackamole, only sexier. "Uh oh, I think I'm having a tit-quake!" She bent forward, winking at the camera. "It's about a 10.0 on the Sexter scale!"

CUE LAUGH TRACK

Meanwhile, Valyrym was sent crashing through realities, into an even worse fanfiction.

*****

SMASH CUT TO TEH DARGON IN HET DUNGUN

*****

Hi its me off the weedz ur favorite write. Ive practiced a lot and now I can right better I hope you like it. Also this 1 has relly big boobies and I used all my best syn... signonyms...snycophants... words that mean other words for big boobies and then I paid my friend Matrix 4 to edit the dialogue so I hope it looks good thanks everyone

{put a space here because thats what wilds does]

[put more space I guess]

Aldia Silverfish took off her dark greek shit and was totally naked and u could see it all. It was like super hot and you had a total outtie just from seein her boobs which were really big bobs. She went down on the stairs and the stairs were like oh murr. Haha that's a joke. She walked down on the stairs and it was a long stares so her boobs were breastily bouncing and valyryms thing got raging hard. Booing

"Oh baby check out them lady bobblers." Valyrym was like wow that's hot

"I know I am but what are you" said Allen Sliverphone

Also her bazooms was the biggest sweater puppies that he ever saw and that made his inner the outtie. The big outtie. She went to him and was like "let me give you a tit jab" and then she did him with her bobs I mean a better word like chest butts. She rubbed her chest butts around his thingamadick and he was like oh ya baby behave

Alia was so impressed by his Michael myers impression that she cremed her jeans only she didn't have jeans cause she was tots naked so she just creamed the floor I guess

'oh baby u just made me cream corn'

That's hot."

"No u

Know u

Now ewe

Now show me what da mouth doe

So he showed her but I didnt right that part yet but he probably did lady oral B

Suddenly, Korvarak appeared.

Hey weight I didert rite this part

"The Coyote says, this is going on way too long!" Korvarak snatched up Valyrym's tail, hoisting it. "So you know what that means!"

Oh ya I red that storee. It means sunrise buttsex!

"Ass Taser!" Korvarak held up a taser in his free forepaw.

Oh snap plot twist not even Mid Night Schwarma would see that cumin well thats my chapter see u all next Fisted By Fabio signed Off Teh Weedz

Korvarak tasered Valyrym right in the ass.

"OW!" Valyrym rocketed up off the ground, smoke pouring from his ass like Mario after landing in lava. "He tasered me right in the ass!"

CUE LAUGH TRACK

*****

Back in the tavern, Valyrym suddenly crashed through the ceiling. Debris rained down around him as he smashed into the floor with a sickeningly wet thud, limbs snapping and bones crunching. The old dragon crumpled into a twitching heap. His breath came only rasping wheezes.

"W.T.F, Asterbury!" The Coyote jumped out of his seat. "I told you to send someone to fetch him, not shoot him out of a cannon!"

"It could be worse!" Asterbury hopped off his stool, cackling. "He could have landed on a jellyfish!"

"Will you just fix him?" The Coyote followed him towards the dragon.

"Can do, best buddy!" Asterbury pulled an old, rusty set of shears out of his sweater pocket. "No more little hatchlings for you!"

"W.T.F!" The Coyote slapped the shears out of the urd'thin's grasp. "I meant heal him, not neuter him!"

"Then you should have said so!" Asterbury picked the shears back up, tucking them away. "I'll just stash these for now, in case you change your mind. Now, what the fuck does W.T.F mean?"

The Coyote stared at him. "What the fuck."

Asterbury threw his hands up. "You don't have to get angry at me, just because I don't know what the fuck W.T.F. means."

"I just told you!" The Coyote grit his teeth. "What the fuck."

"You did?" Asterbury perked his ears. "Must have a bit too much wax in the ol' ears. So what's it mean?"

"What the fuck."

"I know, I know. I really oughta clean my ears out more often." Asterbury reached back into his pocket. "Lemme see if I got a cue tip in here, somewhere."

The Coyote grabbed his wrists. "Oh, no. Whatever disgusting joke you're preparing, we're gonna skip over it. W.T.F stands for What the Fuck."

Asterbury blinked. "Then why don't you just say what the fuck?" He scrunched his muzzle. "That really fries my bacon."

"Ah hah!" The Coyote let him go, only to point a finger in his face. "I told you people say that!"

"You did?"

"Yes!"

"When?"

The Coyote growled, fur bristling. "When you renditioned me! Like two years ago. Maybe last year, too. I can't remember which callbacks we use when, anymore. Now, will you just heal Valyrym?"

Asterbury turned towards the mangled dragon. "I'm not sure. Might be easier just to finish him off, and give him his Christmas respawn."

"What?" The Coyote blinked. "There's no such thing as a Christmas respawn."

"Sure there is!" Asterbury cackled. "Just ask Jesus!"

"Christmas was when he was born." The Coyote slapped the urd'thin across the head. "And really, Christmas was basically Yule, and...you know what? I don't wanna get into that whole discussion."

"Why not, my Dumpster Diva?" Asterbury adjusted his sweater, grinning. "Afraid you'll offend the ones of readers who might somehow be both devout Christians, and also deeply enjoying this story? Because the Venn Diagram there is gonna be as empty as your favorite Christmas trash can after garbage day."

The Coyote sighed, pointing to Valyrym. "Just fix him so we can get on with it."

Asterbury reached into his sweater pocket.

"Heal him."

Asterbury tilted his head, gazing down at the mutilated dragon, little more than a jumbled pile of scales and broken limbs. "I think we're gonna need a doctor for that. Oh!" He clapped his heads, pivoting on his heel towards the Coyote. "Who was that doctor you mentioned earlier?"

The Coyote folded his arms. "Yeah. Who was the Doctor I mentioned."

"Right." Asterbury tilted his head. "Who is he?"

"The Doctor?"

"Exactly." Asterbury nodded. "Who's the doctor?"

The Coyote grit his teeth. "That's correct, Who is the doctor."

"Okay, but..." Asterbury held his hands out. "Who is he?"

"The Doctor!"

"That's who I'm asking about!"

The Coyote's ears splayed in growing exasperation. "I know!"

"Then why won't you tell me his name?"

The Coyote blinked. "Who?"

Asterbury stared blankly at him. "The doctor!"

"Doctor Who!"

"That's what I'm asking!"

The Coyote grabbed his shoulders. "Who! Who is the doctor!"

"That's...what...I...wanna know!"

"Who!" The Coyote shook him. "The Doctor's name is Who!"

"Don't...you mean...what?" Asterbury's head bobbled around. "What is the doctor's name?"

The Coyote paused. "What?"

"No!" Asterbury shook his head, cackling. "What's on second! Who's on first!"

"That's it!" The Coyote stepped back, clearing his throat. "Oh, Amaleen! Can you come do your thing?"

Asterbury only smiled when Amaleen didn't suddenly appear. "Sorry, Coyote, but I've shipped her off on a tropical vacation this year. And the only thing she does off screen is spontenously combust!"

"Crap!" The Coyote thumped his fist against the bar. "I just killed Amaleen offscreen."

"Again!"

"She's gonna be real mad, too." He splayed his ears. "I'll worry about that later. In the meantime, I'll make do with characters already established as being here." He leaned across the counter. "Oh, Big Ayly!"

Big Ayly emerged from her temporal hiding spot, seemingly growing larger and larger as she moved out from behind the counter top. "Yo muthafucka, I'm gonna roast your chestnuts like Christmas broccoli, fr fr, no cap!"

Asterbury blinked, turning towards the coyote. "W.T.F is she talking about?"

Ayly took a deep breath, and then spat a stream of roiling, red-orange flame across the urd'thin. Asterbury instantly ignited from head to toe, roaring fire engulfing him.

"Huh..." The Coyote merely watched, his head tilted. "I guess Amaleen's not the only one who's flammable."

"What the hell!" Asterbury, still burning. "My sweater was made of asbestos!"

"Yo, muthafucka, you got a fire." Ayly stepped closer. "Better put that shit out." She stomped down on the burning Urd'thin with a forepaw, crunching him flat like a folded-up accordion. Flames and embers spat into the air around her paw, but did not seem to harm her. Then she twisted her foreleg back and forth, grinding Asterbury's remains into the floor until the flames were quenched. "That muthafucka was annoying, fr, fr."

"No cap." The Coyote folded his arms.

A disembodied voice echoed around them. "Oh, yeah, grind me underfoot like a cigarette, that's my jam!"

"Oh, god damn it. Now he's a ghost." The Coyote sighed, walking towards Valyrym's ruined form. "Don't you even think about trying to Christmas Carol me! Again."

"Aww, but I was gonna be the Ghost of Christmas Fuck!" Asterbury's cackling laughter rolled through the tavern.

"Could have been worse. At least you aren't the Ghost of Christmas Broccoli."

"I was gonna show you all the times we could have fucked at Christmas!"

"Nevermind." The Coyote nudged Valyrym's twitching, shattered body with his foot. "I'd rather have the broccoli ghost. Lemme just heal Valyrym myself." He held his hands out over the dragon. "Christmas magic, or whatever!"

Festive strings of lights and lines of glittering tinsel sprang forth from The Coyote's fingers. Chiming bells sounded all around him. A flurry of snow burst into being, swirling all around the wounded dragon. The lights and tinsel wreathed themselves around his broken limbs, anointing him with holiday cheer. Then they wrenched and twisted, pulling shattered limbs back into place, setting broken bones and dislocated joints.

"AAAAAAH!" Valyrym screamed, his eyes wide. "It hurts! Oh god, it hurts!"

"Ahhh...huh." The Coyote scratched his muzzle. "Asterbury makes this look easier."

Slowly, the magic did it's work. Each of Valyrym's maimed extremities was gradually pulled back into place. Then the lights and tinsel wrapped tighter, forming casts to hold shattered bones in place. The healing was slow, wounds ever so gradually knitting back together. And all the while, Valyrym screamed.

The Coyote pulled out his phone, checking the time. Then he glanced at the date, scowling. "Huh. It's already the 19th. I guess I better just wrap this scene up so we can move on." He tucked his phone away, then waved a hand over Valyrym. "And...you're healed."

All at once, Valyrym was fully healed. But his psychic trauma remained. He slowly lifted his head, a haunted look drifting across his eyes as he stared at The Coyote. "I've never known such agony. Every moment was like a thousand years of torment. How could you put me through that? I thought we were friends. All...all you had to do was heal me normally, like you've done in other stories! But...you...you..."

"Oops." The Coyote rubbed the back of his head. "Broke him. Lemme just...uh..." He waved his hand over the dragon again. "Christmas Respawn!"

Valyrym popped out of existence entirely. A moment later, and he reappeared, now fresh out of the fanfiction. "What the hell?" He looked around, confused. "Where am I? Wait...wait, am I in that stupid Christmas story bar?" His gaze fell upon the Coyote, and a smirk crossed his muzzle. "I should have known! It must be Christmas story time, eh? Well, it's good to see you, either way, you mangy mutt!" Valyrym sat back on his haunches. "Give me a hug!"

"Sure thing, Val!" The Coyote hurried forward, happy to hug his best, and oldest, Christmas story friend. His tail wagged as he hugged the dragon's chest. As strange and bizarre as the Christmas stories had grown, his connection to Valyrym remained a genuine one. The dragon always supported him through his toughest times, offering a scaly shoulder to cry on, a wing to hide beneath, and- "Uh, Val?" The Coyote blinked as something solid bumped against him. He glanced down, and then gave a startled yelp, dancing away from the dragon. "Why are you hard!"

"Hah!" Asterbury barked a single laugh as he spun himself back into existence from his own ashes. He now wore a brand new sweater, with a beautiful wintry scene. Trees were decorated with golden tinsel and red spheres. Reindeer streaked across the sky above snow-draped pines, pulling a magical sleigh. It would have been a genuinely nice sweater, if not for the beautiful golden script that read, Santa's Sack, and the arrow pointing towards Asterbury's balls. "Your dragon's got an outtie!"

"It's not _my_fault," Valyrym said, covering himself with a wing. "You sent me off to some kind of sexy fanfiction! I was about to cream Alia's corn!" He blinked. "I think. What...what does that mean, exactly? And wait...since when does Alia have breasts bigger than I am?" Valyrym stomped a forepaw. "Scavenger, your stories make less and less sense every year." A smirk soon returned to his muzzle. "No doubt the reason they also have fewer and fewer readers every year."

"Boom!" Asterbury clapped his hands. "Got 'em, chat."

Valyrym blinked, tilting his head. "Who is Chat?"

"Oh, it's a reference to the Scavenger's Twitch career." Asterbury made air quotes. "And trust me, career is definitely in quotes. Why, he's got literally tens of viewers some nights! No, wait, lemme do that again." He made air quotes again. "Career in quotes! He's got literally ten of viewers! No, wait...ones of viewers!"

Valyrym only stared at him. "I have literally no idea what you're saying."

"Yo, same, tho," Big Ayly said. "Fr, fr, ong, no cap."

Puzzlement etched itself across the old dragon's features. "Coyote, have you started writing your stories in a new language?"

The Coyote laughed. "I'm wondering that myself, actually. Come on, Val. We're gonna watch a movie. Apparently, Asterbury thinks we should watch it in this bar. Nok's got a big projection TV and a couch somewhere." He started towards the back room. "I think it's back here."

Valyrym cocked his head. "Who the hell is Nok?"

"The kobold who was the bartender here a few years ago."

Valyrym curled his neck into an S. "I think that was a reindeer named Rudolph?"

"No, no." The coyote shook his head. "I was only hallucinating that. Remember, we'd already met the real Rudoph, a few stories earlier than that."

"Oh, that's right." Valyrym licked his muzzle. "Where's he at these days?"

"Probably sucking Comet's cock, if I remember the continuity right!" Asterbury adjusted his sweater, grinning. "I got next!"

"Ugh." The Coyote grimaced. "Aren't those reindeers tired of you yet?"

"Oh, no!" Asterbury shook his head. "Not after I showed 'em what dat mouth do!"

The Coyote ran a hand down his muzzle. "Of course you did. Alright, it's movie time." He swirled a finger in the air, and an enormous glass of highly alcoholic eggnog appeared in front of the others. "Drink up, everyone. Let's booboo!"

"Oh!" Valyrym reached for his glass, taking it in a paw. "Are we watching The World's End?"

"I wish!" The Coyote barked happy laughter. "I'm surprised you got that reference. Earlier, Asterbury and I did a whole riff on the W.T.F. joke."

"Oh!" Valyrym took a long drink, then licked eggnog from his muzzle. "I'm sorry I missed that. Afterwards, did you tell him playtime's over?"

The Coyote chuckled. "Wrong Cornetto trilogy movie, Val. That's hot fuzz."

"Thank you, Scavenger." Asterbury slunk up to him, putting an arm around his waist. "I think you're pretty hot fuzz, too. And you can booboo me anytime you-"

"Smoke bomb!" The Coyote hurled a smokebomb against the ground, and pungent, green-gray smoke erupted everywhere, spiriting them to the next scene.

*****

"Ugh!" Valyrym coughed, stumbling towards the coach they'd suddenly found themselves next to. "Why did your smoke bomb smell like old weed?"

"Stole it from Asterbury!"

"Damn it!" Asterbury grumbled to himself. "I was gonna hit that later!"

The Coyote flopped down onto the couch. He glanced around, trying to spot the TV remote. "Anyone see the remote?"

"Oh, I think I got it," Asterbury said, reaching behind himself. He scrunched his muzzle his muzzle in effort. "Lemme just...pull it out..."

"No thank you!" The Coyote spun a finger in the air, magicking up a new remote. "There's no way in a Reindeer's fuzzy sugar plum pouch that I'm touching anything that's been inside your ass-Tardis."

Asterbury gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "That's a terrible thing to call my ass!"

"We're not doing this bit again." He turned on the immense projector Television, then nagivated to the Disney+ app. "Valyrym? You wanna be dog sized again so you can sit on the couch with us?"

"Might as well be," Valyrym said, padding over to the sofa. As he walked, he shrank down to a much smaller size. The years also melted away, scars fading, gray scales brightening to blue. "Ah, there we are! I do love getting to be young again, in these stories. Although..." He climbed up onto the sofa, settling himself down, then cast the Coyote a withering glare. "I do rather miss the days these stories were about heartwarming reunions."

Asterbury cackled. "Do you also miss that time the scavenger banged your girlfriend?"

"Hey! I did not! Oh, wait..."

Valyrym gave a low, grumbling growl.

"Oh, shut up." The Coyote folded his arms. "Amaleen was your ex by then, anyway."

"Only because she was dead!"

Asterbury nudged the Coyote with an album. "You old Christmas corpse-banger!"

The Coyote punched him on the shoulder. "She was not a corpse!"

"Nothing says Christmas like a little festive necrophilia, am I right?" Asterbury rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Wait, is that what the movie corpse bride is about? Banging corpses?"

"No!" The Coyote slapped the urd'thin's muzzle so hard his head spun around, Exorcist style.

"This is getting disturbing, even by your standards. We should move on! But, for the record..." The Coyote gestured with his remote. "Amaleen was alive when we had our..." He scrunched his muzzle. "Self-insert adventure."

"Oh, yeah!" Asterbury nudged him with his elbow again. "You inserted yourself, alright. You really stuffed her Christmas turkey! You gave her a candy cane lane a real festive frosting! You tied a real knot in her holiday bow! You really tinseled all over her tree! You really tossed your trash into her dumpster! You really-"

"We get it!" The Coyote snatched Asterbury's muzzle in a hand, silencing him. "Shut up already."

"Wait...let me get this straight..." Valyrym stared at him around the wriggling urd'thin. "You had sex with Amaleen? How dare you!"

"Goddaamn it, Valyrym!" The Coyote released Asterbury, jabbing a finger at the dragon. "You were there! You were watching! At least..." He shrugged. "I think you were. I hadn't read that first Christmas story in years. Sometimes I forget how kinky the first couple of these things were. Anyway, even if you weren't there, we've referenced it before! Multiple times! You know I fucked Amaleen!"

Asterbury held his hands up towards the Coyote. "Wait, let me get this straight. Amaleen was alive when you banged her, but she later burned to death."

The Coyote stared at him. "Well, two different stories and universes, but yes."

"Holy shit, Dumpster Dicker, you fucked her so hard she lit on fire?!" Asterbury gave a low whistle. "Okay, now I am impressed!"

The Coyote sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just watch this piece of shit movie." He navigated through the menu, to the extensive list of Christmas films and shows. "Whoa! Look at all these great Christmas movies. They've got the original Home Alone! And the sequel, which is also pretty good. A re-tread, sure, but still fun." He tilted his head. "Huh...they've also got Home Alone 3, 4, 5...let's just pretend those don't exist."

"Kind of how all your DitD readers like to pretend all your other stories don't exist!" Asterbury laughed. "Especially Maiden Squad!"

"Pretty much." The Coyote snorted. "Although, I did get a kick out of the pseudo-sequel/reboot last year."

Asterbury blinked. "You rebooted DitD already?"

Valyrym rumbled, swishing his tail. "He did! It had Alia L Jackson in it. She had to keep both eyes open!"

The Coyote rubbed his muzzle. "That was an April Fools story. I was talking about how I actually liked Home Sweet Home Alone."

"Yeah, being home alone is pretty sweet." Asterbury made a stroking motion. "You can just whip your dick out and jack off everywhere! Especially in the eggnog!"

The Coyote scrunched his face, groaning. "And that's why I only drink from bottles I open myself. Oh, look! Die Hard! Now that's a classic Christmas movie."

Valyrym slowly turned his head towards the Coyote. "They have Die Hard on Disney Plus?"

The Coyote shrugged. "Not in real life, but who cares, right? Wait, aren't you gonna argue about Die Hard being a Christmas movie?"

"Nope." Valyrym shook his head. "Happens at Christmas, has a Christmas party, has Christmas trees. It's a Christmas movie."

"Absolutely!" The Coyote wagged his tail, glad the dragon agreed.

"Hey Scavenger." Asterbury retrieved a phone from inside his sweater. "Didn't we do a Die Hard one yet?"

"Oh, yeah." The Coyote nodded, grinning wide. "Back when we were still doing zany holiday adventures everywhere? We totally did a fucking Die Hard. Way before Rick and Morty did one, too."

Valyrym licked his muzzle. "Was that the one with the Easter Bunny hit squad?"

"Uh huh." The Coyote rolled his eyes. "Something about...The Easter Bunny wanted to take my powers, and my rarely used gryphon sona was going to help him, in return for control of my Christmas stories."

Valyrym gave him a blank look. "Okay, now I remember why we stopped doing those adventures. They made about as much as sense as nuts on a truck."

"Oooh, truck nuts." Asterbury gave a sensual grown, rubbing himself. "Now there's something I could melt my candy cane over."

"Jesus, Asterbury!"

Asterbury flashed him a toothy grin. "He's the reason for the season!"

"That's not what I meant!" He slapped the urd'thin across the head. "I meant, is there anything that doesn't turn you on, lately?"

Asterbury only shrugged. "Tax returns." Then he titled, his head. "No, wait, gettin' rigid just thinkin' about fillin' out that W-2..."

Valyrym snorted, shaking his head. "This is your fault, you know. Every year, more and more of your Asterbury jokes are just about what a filthy little pervert he is. You really had no where else to go but down."

"Yeah, and every time I think I've finally hit rock bottom, Asterbury's jerking it to truck nuts and doing his taxes."

Valyrym lifted his frills. "Dare I ask what truck nuts are? Are they like those aeromorph planes with penises, only for trucks?"

"No, they're...wait, how the fuck do you know about aeromorph porn?"

The dragon shrugged his wings. "I get the internet when I'm here, you know!"

"Not any more you don't." The Coyote rubbed his face. "But no, they're...rubber testicles people put on trucks. Real trucks. It's really stupid. Anyway, yeah, we did a Die Hard a while back. We turned my house into Nakatomi Plaza, and Vatch got to play Mclain!"

"And I got to slice up rabbits with that chainsaw I stole from Ash!" Asterbury yanked a battered old red chainsaw out from inside his sweater. Dried rabbit blood still crusted it with festive, rusty patches. Asterbury yanked the cord, and the chainsaw roared to life. "Screw me!"

"Ugh!" The Coyote switched the chainsaw back off. "I keep telling you, Ash's catch phrase was 'groovy', not screw me!"

"Oh, I know!" Asterbury said, tucking the chainsaw back into the void inside his clothes. "I just want you to screw me!"

"Oh, my god." The Coyote hung his head, groaning under his breath.

"Now that's a real Bob's Burgers!" Asterbury cackled.

"That doesn't even make sense!" The Coyote balled up his fists. "Not even by your standards! You're just trying to get on my nerves, now."

"Who, me?" Asterbury placed a hand across his chest. "Nonsense, Garbage Dog, I only live to make your life easier! Why do you think I'm always flashing back to greatest hits? That way, all you've got to do is copy/paste something you already wrote! Case in point..." Asterbury hopped up onto his face, atop the sofa. "Hey gang! Remember that time-"

"Hey gang!" The Coyote jumped up to his feet, as well, speaking over Asterbury. "Remember that time Asterbury got repeatedly shot in the face by the Easter Bunny?"

*****

SMASH CUT TO THE DIE HARD PARODY FROM A FEW YEARS AGO

*****

"Hey Egg, Hey Nog!" Asterbury peered down at his crotch. "How're you doing down there? Feeling better? Good to hear it."

"What the hell are you doing?" The rabbit leaned forward, a low growl creeping into his voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you still here?" Asterbury glanced up. "I was just talking to my balls, because even they're more interesting than you and your shitty backstory."

"Hmmph." The Easter Bunny drummed his fingers on the model. "How did this scene end, again? Oh, that's right." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and shoot Asterbury in the head. Blood splattered the far wall as Asterbury fell backwards in his chair, lifeless. "Now...I assume that The Coyote's around here somewhere, probably as McClain."

A moment later and Asterbury said back up, groaning. He rubbed the bullet hole in his head as it closed up. "You know, you could have warned me!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you still here?" The Easter Bunny shot Asterbury in the head again, blasting him out of his chair this time.

A few moments later, and Asterbury wobbled back to his feet. "Look, Asshole-"

The Easter Bunny shot him in the face.

The next time Asterbury came back to life, he glared at the rabbit. "Are you about done?"

The rabbit shook his head. "Nah, I got at least ten rounds left." He shot Asterbury again, and reached into his jacket, removing another clip. When Asterbury staggered back to his feet, he waggled the clip at him. "And a whole nother clip to go!"

"You fucking-"

BLAM!

"You're really ruining this nice suit!" Asterbury struggled to his feet, gesturing at the model. "And you're getting blood all over-"

BLAM!

"Don't worry. I'm sure half The Coyote's readers are cheering me on right now. Everyone's fed up with you, and your bullshit. First, you hijack his short, simple comedy novel, and turn it into...what, four books of labyrinthine garbage? And now you're doing the same to his Christmas stories?" He waited for Asterbury to suck in another ragged breath, then promptly shot him in the eye. "Really, he should be thanking me. The readers should be thanking me. Once The Gryphon and I take over these stories, they'll be straight to the point, full of laughs and good feelings, and then they'll be done. The days of The Coyote's bloated excess are over."

"Says the rabbit who keeps shooting someone in the face over...and over...and over!"

The rabbit shot Asterbury in the face again. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sounds of your repeated deaths."

Asterbury wheezed and struggled to stand again. "You know, you haven't even asked me for anything yet! Aren't you supposed to ask for a safe code or something?"

"Sure." The easter bunny shot him, then tilted his head. "What's the safe code? Oh, damn." He glanced at the gun. "Did that backwards, didn't I." As soon as Asterbury came back to life, he smiled over at him. "What's the safe code?" Then before Asterbury could reply, the rabbit shot him in the throat. Asterbury went down, gagging...and just before he died, flipped the rabbit off with both fingers. "Aww, look at that, we're both having fun, huh?"

Soon enough, Asterbury gasped and sprang back to life once more, coughing up blood. "You can't just repeat the same damn thing over and over till it gets funny again! This isn't The Damn Family Guy."

"I think it's just Family Guy." The Rabbit shrugged. "And I'm not doing this to make anyone laugh. I'm doing this for me." Smiling, he shot Asterbury in the head once again. "Murdering Asterbury is my Christmas present."

*****

Back in the current scene, The Coyote laughed to himself. "You know what? Murdering Asterbury is my Christmas present, too."

The Coyote pulled out a gun and shot Asterbury in the head. Blood, skull, and gray matter splattered the sofa and the dragon seated nearby. Asterbury flopped over, dead, his corpse sliding off the sofa, and brushing across the Valyrym's forepaws. Blood gushed from his ruined head. Valyrym scrambled back, shaking his paws.

"Ew!" He hissed, grabbing a nearby bottle of hand sanitizer. "You made me touch Asterbury! Gross!"

"Oops, sorry about that." The Coyote waggled his fingers, restoring Valyrym to factory settings. "No one should ever have to touch Asterbury."

The dragon glanced at himself. "Factory settings?"

"It just means like new. You're clean, okay? And quit reading my text."

"If you say so." Valyrym stared down at the twitching corpse. "How long is he gonna stay dead for?"

"Not long enough." The Coyote resumed flicking through the menu, looking at all the different movies and TV shows available. "Also, I'm gonna worn you right now, we're probably not gonna finish this movie. The real me made it about halfway through, taking notes for jokes, and..." He curled his lip, a few fangs exposed. "It's not good."

Valyrym snorted, tail wrapping around his paws. "That bad, hmm?"

"It's just..." The Coyote searched for the right word a moment. "Yeah, it's a pretty bad movie, but it's not even the fun sort of bad like the original. It's completely missing the bizarre charm. There's nothing even close to the weirdness of Booster, let alone the whole Mall Santa black market scene."

"Booster, Booster..." Valyrym tilted his head. "Was he the purple fursuiter, in the diaper?"

The Coyote laughed. "That was him, yeah. This movie's got nothing that head-shakingly strange. And it really misses Arnold's Charisma, and Sinbad's slightly unhinged performance. Jingle All The Way 2's biggest success is it makes you appreciate Jingle All The Way 1, in hindsight."

"So, if it's that bad..." The dragon pointed at the screen. "Why don't we watch something else? They have Santa Claus The Movie! With Dudley Do Right!"

"You mean Dudley Moore," The Coyote said, wagging his tail. "It's got John Lithgow in it, too, in full scenery chewing mode! It's great!" Then his ears drooped. "Honestly, we should have watched that, and done the MST3K thing for it, instead. I would have enjoyed watching it a hell of a lot more. Maybe I'll throw it on later, just for nostalgia's sake." He sighed, smiling wistfully. "I loved that movie as a puppy. But, I already made my choose and spent an evening writing down lines to use, so...gambled and lost, I guess, and now we gotta stick with it. Honestly, we're probably gonna give up halfway through or earlier. Anyway, let's go-"

"What the hell?" Valyrym pointed to the screen. "They made a movie about Asterbury?"

"Ugh, no." The Coyote scowled, as Asterbury emerged from inside one of the movie boxes, then scrambled across the screen towards another. "He's just doing...I dunno, the She-Hulk thing?"

"Isn't that a spoiler?" Valyrym cocked his head.

"Not without context."

"Hey, Garbage Gobbler!" The tiny Asterbury in the TV pointed towards another holiday offering. "How about this one? Ernest Saves Christmas! You used to love that one, right?"

"As a kid?" The Coyote nodded. "Yeah, I did."

Asterbury cackled, taking a seat on the title letters. "And I love how he's always trying to fuck Vern!"

"What?" The Coyote blinked. "That is not what's happening."

"Then why's he always hitting on him?" Asterbury shifted his voice to a pitch perfect Ernest P Whorl impression. "Know what I mean, Vern? Want my cream, Vern? Juggle your beans, Vern? Sex machine, Vern?"

The Coyote growled. "Only one of those is accurate."

Valyrym glanced over. "What does the P in Ernest P Whorl stand for?"

"Penis, of course!" Asterbury laughed again, kicking his feet from atop the lettering.

"It does not!" The Coyote slapped the arm of the sofa. "His name is not, Ernest Penis Whorl!"

"That was one of my porn names!" Asterbury jumped up to his feet, strutting across the title letters. "Ernie Penis World!" Then something else caught his eye, and he sucked in a breath. "Holy shit, Dog Dick, there's a Tim Allen TV show?!"

"Oh, yeah." The Coyote smiled. "It's a TV series based on The Santa Claus movies. I just watched a few episodes last night. It's kinda for kids, but I still enjoyed it. Gives you those warm Christmas vibes, and it's got some good laughs. I haven't seen those movies since I was a kid, so it was fun to return to that universe."

Asterbury rubbed his muzzle. "Is it all about how he got out of elf prison."

"No, that was our version of-"

"I bet he had to make a shank, out of a candy cane!" Asterbury magicked a candy cane into being, and stuck it into his muzzle, sucking it provocatively. "And then he stabbed some elf guards right in the liver!" He mimed stabbing with his sharpened candy cane. "And they were writhing on the ground, screaming, while glitter and sprinkes gushed out of their rent guts!" He took a breath, changing his voice to a terrified wail. "Oh, god, I don't wanna die! I never even had elf sex! I'm still an elf virgin! I only wanted to bring joy and love to the children of the world! Oh, god, I can see my own tinsel, it's all falling out of me!"

"There is something seriously wrong with-"

"And then Tim Allen stands over the dying elf, and says..." Asterbury glowered down at an invisible elf. "It's Tool Time, muthafucka!" He pulled out an immense an immense sander from inside his sweater. "And he sands off the elf's face!" He revved it up. "More power! Ugh ugh ugh!"

Valyrym flattened his frills. "Is he coughing?"

"I think he's trying to do a Tim Allen impression. He used to do this..." The Coyote gestured with his remote. "Weird grunting thing, in his stand up comedy. And on Home Improvement."

Asterbury went on. "And then Wilson shows up in a hijacked sleigh, running over reindeer and elves alike! There's squished gumdrop organs and broken gingerbread bones everywhere! Tim Allen jumps into the sleigh, and they make their getaway, shooting back at the elves with nail guns and-"

"And will you just get out of my damn TV so we can move on already?" The Coyote glanced at the story's word count. "We're already like, 4K away from last year's total, and we haven't even gotten to the movie yet."

"Guess it's gonna be another long tale, eh Refuse Ravager?" Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "Alright, here I come! Wing Wang Woon, Kylaryn's got a great poon!"

Valyrym gave an approving rumble. "She sure does..."

Asterbury stepped forward through the TV, emerging through the screen like that girl from The Ring. Man, that was a creepy movie, right? I remember I saw that in the theater, with friends. We got there late and the only seats left were the absolute front row. So we were just staring up at this massive screen as the tension slowly ratcheted up. Then at the end, when she's climbing out of the goddamn TV? I was white knuckling that shit, squeezing the armrests. Only movie that really left me genuinely unsettled on the drive home.

Wait, where I am? Why am I talking about the ring? Oh, yeah, I was gonna do a parody with Asterbury or something, but nah, I can't be bothered. Look, full disclosure, I don't feel great tonight. I might be getting a little sick, or something. Been holiday shopping, and there's a so-called Tripledemic going around. Covid, Flu, RSV...no, Asterbury, RSV doesn't stand for Really Sexy Virgins. Or Randomly Sexed-up Villains. Or Red Scrotum Virus. I mean, the virus part is right, but...What? No, Santa's sack isn't red because of Red Scrotum Virus. No, Santa's sack is a reference to his bag of toys. No, his bag of toys isn't what he calls his balls. No, actual toys. You know, like action figures and shit. What? Your left testicle is shaped like an action figure? You might wanna get that checked out.

Where the fuck was I? Something about a movie, or whatever?

"Coyote?" Valyrym reached around Asterbury, gently shaking him. "Are you having one of your festive, Christmas story strokes?"

"Uhh..." The Coyote blinked. "I guess so."

Asterbury settled back on the couch. "Do you smell burnt toast?"

"No," The Coyote said, chuckling. "I'm not having an actual stroke, Asterbury."

"What?" The Urd'thin shrugged. "I don't care about that. I just wondered if my toast was burning!" He peered into his sweater. "Oh Chocolate Strudel! Be a dear and check on my toast, will you?"

Vatch's voice called back. "Toast already done, but not for gimp! Vatch already eat. Gimp want toast, he get to street corner, make Vatch money!"

"Damn it!" Asterbury huffed, crossing his arms. "This marriage is gonna end up on the rocks, if Vatch keeps eating my Christmas Toast every year."

Valyrym glanced down at him. "There's no such thing as Christmas toast."

"Oh, no." The Coyote wagged a finger at them. "We're not starting that again."

"Yeah, Valyrym," Asterbury said, laughing. "If you keep drawing the scavenger into this ridiculous, recycled bits, you're gonna get such an ass-tasing."

The Coyote held his hands up. "Everyone shut the hell up, and let's just watch this piece of shit." When the other two fell silent, he navigated through the menus to Jingle All The Way 2. "Let's see...Two dads compete to be the best father, and make Christmas amazing." The Coyote blinked. "Oh, god, it's exactly the same movie!"

Valyrym flicked his tail tip. "Yes, you just defined sequels, well done."

"Don't worry, Scavenger." Asterbury patted The Coyote's knee. "You keep writing the same story and no one seems to mind."

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "I guess we are just doing the same thing we did last year."

"I'm talking about all your stories!" Asterbury dramatically flourished his hands. "There's a girl, and she meets a grumpy and or sarcastic dragon, with a tragic backstory! Oh, and then there's the one where the dragon's the girl! What a twist!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." The Coyote hit play. "Alright, let's booboo."

Asterbury sat up straighter. "Oh, are we watching The World's End?"

"No, Valyrym already asked me that." As the movie began, The Coyote settled back against the couch.

"Because you keep using that line." The Dragon snorted, lashing his tail. Then he turned his attention to the screen. "Wait, WWE Studios? They make movies now?"

Asterbury nodded. "They make movies now!"

The Coyote splayed his ears. "Did you two shit nozzles just do a 'they fly now' reference in my story?"

"Technically," Valyrym said. "You did."

"Damn it!" The Coyote gnashed his teeth. "You're right."

"So..." Valyrym waved a paw. "Is this a wrestling movie?"

"Ooh, I hope so!" Asterbury licked his muzzle. "I can't wait to see The Terminator naked mud wrestling with Santa Claus!"

"You know what?" The Coyote tilted his head. "That would actually be way more entertaining than this movie. Arnold's not even in this one. In fact...no one from the original is in this. In fact, I have absolutely no idea why this movie was even made. It has none of the original cast, and no real connection at all to the first movie. original cast, It's as if someone fell in love with the original movie as a kid, wrote a letter to Santa asking for a sequel, and then Santa took a shit in a stocking, and wiped his ass with the letter. Then, 18 years later, he mailed that shit-stocking to a wrestling company, who turned it into a movie."

Valyrym gave the canine a blank look. "Is that what you use those stockings on the mantle for?"

Asterbury cackled. "That's what I've been using them for." He nudged the coyote with his elbow. "And with all those meats and cheeses you put out for Christmas Eve, you're gonna get one hell of a stocking stuffer this year!"

The Coyote rubbed his forehead, wincing. "I swear to god, Asterbury, I'll put you in that stocking, and leave you in there for 18 years."

As the movie started, it began with a trailer festively decorated with strings of lights. The camera zoomed in, and cut to a large, rotund man asleep. His alarm went off, and he rolled over towards the camera, revealing his face and distinctive goatee as he slapped at the snooze button.

"Holy shit!" The Coyote sat up straight. "It's Larry The Cable Guy!" His jaw dropped. "I mean, I saw his name in the credits, but...until now, my brain couldn't process that they'd downgrade from Arnold Schwarzenegger to Larry the Fucking Cable Guy."

"He's fucking Cable Guy?" Asterbury lowered his voice to a whisper. "Does Jim Carry know? Pretty sure those two are a thing."

The Coyote sighed. "They're the same person."

"I know, right?" Asterbury leaned back, grinning. "They're practically perfect for each other."

"No, they're literally_the same person. Jim Carry _plays The Cable Guy. And no, Larry isn't fucking him. That's his name."

"His name is Larry Isn't Fucking Him?" Valyrym swiveled his ears. "What an oddly specific moniker."

"Oh, my god." The Coyote hunched over, groaning. "Why do you two do this to me, every year? No, the actor's name is, Larry The Cable Guy."

As the movie went on, no one really paid any attention to it. The gist of it was, Larry was divorced, spending time with his daughter, and about to take her ice fishing. Trust me when I tell you, as dumb as this conversation is, it's still better than the movie.

Valyrym cocked his head. "Who would name their child Larry The Cable Guy?"

"Exactly," Asterbury said. "Whoever heard of someone named that?"

"Cable Guy isn't-"

"No, I mean Larry!" The urd'thin folded his arms. "Whoever heard of someone named Larry?"

The Coyote stared at him. "Literally everyone. It's a very common name."

Asterbury shrugged. "Name one famous Larry!"

"Larry The Cable Guy!" The Coyote pointed at him. "You're looking at one on TV, right now!"

Valyrym cocked his head. "I don't know, Scavenger, I may have to argue your definition of fame, at this point."

"Fine, fine," The Coyote said, laughing. "How about The Larry? The Three Stooges?"

Both urd'thin and dragon stared at him blankly. After a moment, Valyrym said, "So his full name is The Larry The Three Stooges?"

"No! I'm talking about the guy named Larry, who was a member of The Three Stooges!"

"Three Stooges..." Asterbury tilted his head. "Is that a mob picture? About some underlings who take the fall for their boss's crimes?"

The Coyote rubbed the back of his head. "No, but...I mean, that might have been an episode. They were comedians, known for doing a lot of physical comedy. Come on, we've totally referenced them before!"

Valyrym curled his neck, snorting. "You honestly expect me to remember half of the strange, disgusting, and occasionally mildly amusing things we've done in your Christmas tales?"

"Well...no." The Coyote chuckled. "I guess not. Okay, so the three stooges were basically known for pratfalls and stuff like, slapping each other, poking each other in the eye-"

"Like this?" Asterbury poked The Coyote in the eye. "In 3D!"

"OW!" The Coyote grabbed his eye, wincing. "You little fucker!" He slapped Asterbury across the muzzle, sending him stumbling back into Valyrym.

"Hey, what's the big idea!" Valyrym made a fist, and punched Asterbury in the head.

Asterbury reeled from the blow, turning towards the dragon. "Why, I oughta..." He tried to poke the dragon in the eye, only for Valyrym to held his hand up between his eyes.

"Nyuck nyuck nyuck!"

Asterbury lifted both hands, swishing them back and forth in front of the dragon's face, then suddenly jabbed him in both eyes. "In 3D!"

"Stop saying that!" The Coyote slapped Asterbury across the head. "That 3D joke doesn't even work when it's isolated like that!"

"Works better than your Three Stooges riff," Asterbury said, sitting back down. "Which, by the way, you've done before."

"Yeah, yeah, and the Simpsons did it first." The Coyote waved him off.

"So...back to Larry. Your world's humans have first, and last names, correct?" Valyrym cocked his head. "Is his last name Cable, or Guy."

The Coyote crossed his arms. "Neither."

"His full name is Larry the Cable Guy Neither? Must be a cultural thing in your world, to be Larry the Something."

"No! It's just a stage name. He's a stand up comedian, and being a cable guy is just..." The Coyote waved a hand. "Part of his persona."

"Let me get this straight." Asterbury leaned forward in thought. "You can just name yourself after your profession? In that case, I'm gonna be Asterbury the Male Prostitute!"

"Oh, no..." The Coyote groaned. "Please tell me you're not actually-"

"Vatch is my pimp!" Asterbury smiled at them. "It's a very festive profession, you know."

The Coyote blinked. "How so?"

Asterbury spread his arms wide, cackling. "I'm a hoe hoe hoe!"

The Coyote cringed. "Vatch shoulda just kept you in that gimp box from a few years ago."

Back in the movie, Larry's Little Girl was trying to get him to get out of bed to take her ice fishing.

The Coyote rolled his eyes. "Aww, he'd rather sleep than spend time with his daughter. How hilarious. And why is his girl wearing a purple bathrobe? Does she think she's forty?"

"Speaking of purple..." Asterbury licked his nose, murmuring. "When does Booster show up? I can't wait to see that sexy, sexy golden diaper all pressed up tight against his purple fur."

"In the hopes of keeping you in your sheath," The Coyote said. "Booster's not in this one. Neither is Turbo Man, or-"

"I want the Turbo Man Action Figure with the arms and legs that move!" A little hatchling suddenly sprinted out of the previous story, and into this one. The tiny black, purple and blue dragon shouted dialogue at the top of her lungs, making the most of her brief yearly appearance. "And the boomerang sword and the rock and roller jetpack and the realistic voice activator that says FIVE different phrases including..." She skidded to a halt, calling out in a deeper voice. "ITS TURBO TIME!" She leapt up onto the sofa, flopping down alongside her grandfather. "Accessories sold separately, batteries not included."

"Sorry, Ayly." The Coyote reached over to rub the little dragon's head. "But this is the sequel. Turbo Man's not in this one."

Ayly's eyes went wide. She slowly lifted her head, gazing up at the Coyote in sad disbelief. "No Turbo Man?"

The Coyote shook his head. "Afraid not. No Turbo Man."

Ayly stomped a paw. "Yo, this movie sucks, fr fr, ong, no cap!"

"Oh, no!" The Coyote gave a frustrated snarl. "I refuse to let Original Ayly talk like that. I'm just gonna magic you back into another story where you can watch Turbo Man!"

"Yo, Turbo Man be bussin'!" Ayly hopped around on her paws. "Fr Fr, no cap, Turbo Man's poggers!"

"And that's enough of that." The Coyote wreathed the little hatchling in Christmas Magic, and sent her hurtling off to a happier story where she could watch her favorite movie, over and over."

"Coyote, are you _sure_Booster's not in this movie?" Valyrym gestured at the little girl in the purple bathroom. "Because it looks like she's murdered him, and is wearing his skin like Buffalo Bill!"

The Coyote laughed, pinning his ears. "Yeah, that or she's wearing The Grimace's hide. But if you know who Buffalo Bill is, I really do need to cut off your internet."

"Ooh!" Asterbury jumped up onto the back of the sofa. "Check out my Buffalo Bill impression!" He hiked up his sweater, then tucked his sheath and balls between his legs, lowering his voice. He lowered his voice. "Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me." Then he lifted it back to his normal, higher tone. "I sure would, Buffalo Bill!"

The Coyote stared at him, confused. "How the fuck did you tuck your sheath? Isn't it attached to your body?"

"Easy!" Asterbury hopped back down, tugging his sweater back into place. "I did myself a serious injury!"

In the film no one was really paying much attention too, Larry and his daughter drove out to their ice fishing spot. Along the way, the sang that old Hawaiian Christmas song. The sound of Larry's off-key singing hurt the Coyote's ears.

Soon, Valyrym clapped his paws against the sides of his head. "Gods, I'd rather listen to the Coyote howl show tunes to his trash-eating kin than listen to this!"

"No kidding," The Coyote said, wincing. "Makes me wish I was on that road just so he could run me over and end my misery!"

Once they arrived at the ice fishing spot, it turned out that Larry owned a rather impressive ice shanty. And, somehow, it was literally the only one on the lake. Despite the fact that the Coyote knew from living up north, lakes were nearly always covered in clusters of ice shanties. There was never just one fancy shanty on an entire lake.

"Yes, scavenger," Valyrym said. "Everyone shall be quite impressed with your ability to point out the plot holes and inconsistencies in this bad movie no one's ever seen."

Soon, Larry shoved a pair of Cheetos into his mouth, like Walrus tusks. He turned to his daughter, and asked, "What am I?"

The Coyote answered for her. "A washed-up comedian in a straight to video sequel!" He laughed to himself, then rolled his eyes at the so-called plot developments in the movie. "Ah, now we're learning he's divorced, and his wife just got remarried. Gee, I wonder who the other dad he competes with is gonna be."

The girl hooks a fish, and Larry exclaims that he's never caught a fish there in six years!

"Then try a new spot, dipshit!"

"He's just like the USA's covid response," Asterbury said, cackling. "They've tried nothing and it's not working, guess we'll keep at it!"

"Pretty much."

The Coyote fetched himself some eggnog, as the movie went on. Before long, Larry and his daughter reached his ex's wife's house. She'd moved in with her new husband, and of course, he was a rich a douchebag with a giant house. The girl said she was going to be a princess there, and Larry said, he guessed that made him the troll.

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "This whole movie's a troll. We're over 5 minutes into this 'comedy' and no one's laughed once."

Valyrym looked over at the canine. "I'm starting to see what you mean, Scavenger. This movie's boring."

"I tried to tell you. In fact, I...ew, gross! Look at that fish!" The Coyote watched as Larry handed New Dad the trout that his daughter caught. Yet, despite supposedly having just been caught, the fish looked as if it had been dead for an entire ice age. "How old is that thing? They clearly just went to the grocery store to buy a fish, but..." He shook his head. "Not even a good grocery store. It's like they found a Dollar General with a seafood department."

Asterbury mimed talking to the grocery. "I say there, what's that horrific, foul-smelling pile of dead-eyed slime you've got there? Looks delicious! Lemme take that off your hands for you before the Health Department shows up and condemns you for it!"

Valyrym smirked at The Coyote. "He just described himself."

Larry then refers to his honeymoon with his now ex wife as... "The sizzler, and a movie." Which, I guess counts as a joke. It's the first noticeable joke they've delivered, anyway. It made me smile, but I still hadn't laughed at this point. And also, no wonder she left you, dude.

Asterbury whispered to the Coyote. "You're mixing tenses, again."

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

We soon learn that New Dad is the head of the Baxter Box Empire. He owns a cardboard box company, I guess? Before long, they're arguing about who gets to spend Christmas with the daughter. The little girl suggests they each spend half a day with her, which sounds like a genuinely reasonable solution for two dads in this situation. Guess the little girl's the only one with a brain in this whole movie.

Eventually, Baxter Bald Dad lights all his Christmas lights, which are as expected, gorgeous. Then a bulb pops, and Larry says... "Hey Ben Franklin, you gotta bulb out!"

"Wait, what?" The Coyote furrowed his brow. "What does he think Ben Franklin did? Invent the fucking Christmas light? Or is he mixing up Ben Franklin and Thomas Edison?" He scratched his muzzle, ears splayed. "I honestly can't tell if that's a joke, or if Larry The Cable Guy actually thinks Ben Franklin invelted the light bulb..."

Valyrym scrolled through an oversized table, reading Wikipedia. "It says here, Humphy Davy invented the light bulb."

The Coyote shrugged. "Well, technically-"

"Hump Me Davy?" Asterbury scowled. "Who the hell is this Davy, and why does he get to hump you, and I don't?"

"That's not what I-"

"Is it Davy Crockett?" Asterbury adjusted his sweater. "I know he's got a sexy hat, but I've got a sexy taint!"

"Ew!"

"Besides, Davy Crockett may be a Texas hero, but he's also dead!" Asterbury paused, scratching under a horn. "Then again, that didn't stop you from banging Amaleen's corpse."

"I didn't bang anyone's damn corpse!"

Meanwhile, in the actual movie...still no laughs.

Asterbury huffed. "This is the driest comedy since The Bible!"

"Whoa!" The Coyote put his hands up, warding off the urd'thin. "I disavow that joke and do not approve."

"And yet..." Valyrym flicked his tail tip. "You wrote it."

"I wrote it for him," The Coyote said, jerking his thumb at Asterbury. "Trust me, his standards are different."

In the movie, Larry meets with Larry's Friend at a diner. As they discuss how to "win Christmas", we get a first look at the coveted 'Hottest Toy Of the Year'. This time, instead of Turbo Man, it's... Harrison Bear. An even uglier, even more annoying Teddy Ruxpin ripoff. God only knows why millions of children would want a deformed teddy bear suffering from gigantism for Christmas, but nothing else in this movie makes any sense, either.

Soon, Larry claims he's got a great idea, and we...smash cut to Larry's yard, where he's hooked up a bunch of used car parts to some kind of Christmas monstrosity. He's got break lights, head lights, jumper cables hooked up to his electric grid, and so on. It's really stupid, but it also finally earned a small laugh.

"Wow." The Coyote checked his phone. "Twelve minutes and forty seconds in, and this so-called comedy finally got a tiny chortle out of me." He waved his phone at the screen. "When he turns this thing on, he's gonna get electrocuted, right?"

Valyrym nodded. "Probably thrown through the air."

Asterbury rolled his eyes. "And I bet he'll end up all charred and soot-crusted like a looney tunes character."

Larry gestured at the set up. "You're not gonna find better lights that anywhere, not even at K-Mart!"

"He's right about that," Said the Coyote. "Since K-Mart doesn't exist anymore!"

Larry's family showed up, and just as everyone expected, he flipped the switch on his Christmas lights, and got blasted through the air. They all gathered around him, as he lay stunned, soot-smeared, and making...well, it was certainly an expression.

"Did he just blow his load?" Asterbury stared at the TV, his ears up. "Cause that looks like his O-face! It's okay, Larry, I jizz in my pants whenever I'm electrocuted too!"

*****

SMASH CUT TO LONEY ISLAND'S POPULAR MUSIC VIDEO

*****

"Nope!" The Coyote shook his head. "Not doing it! And further more..." He tasered Asterbury right in the ass.

"OW!" Asterbury rocketed up off the ground, smoke pouring from his ass like Mario after landing in lava. "He tasered me right in the ass!"

"Great!" Valyrym tossed his head. "Now you made him jizz in his pants!"

The Coyote tasered Valyrym right in the ass.

"OW!" Valyrym rocketed up off the ground, smoke pouring from his ass like Mario after landing in lava. "He tasered me right in the ass!"

Both of them smashed through the bar's arched ceiling. Asterbury crashed through it and kept going, rocketing up into the atmosphere, only to squish like a bug against the snowglobe containing this particular part of the Christmas-verse. Valyrym broke his neck, dying instantly. Then his corpse hung from the rafters, dangling like a macabre Christmas ornament.

"Oh, no!" The Coyote clapped his hands over his muzzle. "Now who I am gonna riff off of?"

"Yo, that muthafucka dead!" Big Ayly, making a timely appearance, stared up at Valyrym's course. "Fr, Fr, ong!"

The Coyote considered it, then shooed her back into the other scene. "Nah, not doing that. Lemme just resurrect them. Uh...again."

The Coyote picked up a cherry flavored candy cane, and waved it over the couch like a magic wand. "Okay, Christmas magic, bring back the idiot and the asshole!"

Two well-known political figures immediately began to materialize on his couch. The Coyote gave a startled yelp, stumbling back. "Nevermind, nevermind! Bring back Valyrym and Asterbury, the Christmas versions!"

Before the two-well known political figures could finish materializing enough for the readers to identify them, they vanished again. It was like one of those ink blob tests. The one that says more about you than about me. You know, whoever you imagined, that probably...uh...I dunno, says something, about something? Look, it's late, and I don't feel great, I'm doing my best here, okay?

Anyway, what's that test called? Whore Shark? No, that's not it. But that sounds like a hell of a SyFy channel movie. First, there was Sharknado. Then, there was Sharknado 2. Then, there was Sharknado 3. Then...wait, you can all see where this joke's going right? Okay, cool. Anyway, then there was Whore Shark.

SMASH CUT TO WHORE SHARK: THE MOTION PICTURE

*****

The Beachfront was dark. The city was infested with brackish crime. Gangs of murderous fishermen ran rampant. Only one person could clean up the briny streets.

Whore Shark.

CUT TO:

Whore Shark walked sexfully down the street, waving her fins. She sauntered that sexy, sharky strut, and every red-blooded American man stared at her, hard as a fucking log in his paint-stained workpants. Or was it paint? It was certainly white and crusty, but it was probably paint. Anyway, real men totally get hard as border wall steel over anything with tits, and Shark Whore had some amazing tits. And she walked around on her tail fins, like that purple shark from the Hanna Barbara Cartoons. What was his name?

I'll tell you.

America.

Whore Shark called out to the nearest Red-blooded American man. "Yoohoo, Sailor, can I interest you in a salty treat?"

Then they totally fucked, because the only way he could prove his toxic masculinity was to bang a shark.

SWIPE RIGHT ON WHORE SHARK

A whistle in the distance drew her attention. She slipped into the alley, lit by neon sighs and cool cyberpunk shit that we couldn't afford, so we just implied it with some bad lightning. There, Whore Shark sees her only ally waiting for her...

Alia L Jackson.

She wore two eye patches because she was a badass, but she always kept both eyes open. Under her eyepatches, I mean. So, she was still totally blind. She stumbled down the alley, tripping over a trashcan and falling on her sexy, sexy ass.

CLOSE UP ON HER ASS

Instant boners everywhere in the theater. Unless you're a commie!

Whore Shark helps her up. "You gotta keep both eyes open, Alia L Jackson."

"I know you are," Alia L Jackson said, taking the chewing gum out of her mouth, and sticking it to Whore Shark's nose. "But what am I?"

"Eaten by a fucking shark!" Whore Shark bit off her head, because apparently, sharks hate having gum on their nose.

THE END

WRITTEN BY: Krek

CO-WRITTEN BY: That One Character No One Ever Remembers

DIRECTED BY: That One Director Obsessed With America And Being Straight!

PRODUCED BY: Alia L Jackson's Left Eye Patch But Not The Right Eye Patch That Guy's A Real Deadbeat

*****

Back in the not so real world...

"Ah... Coyote?" Valyrym gently tapped The Coyote's head. "You okay in there?"

"Huh, what?" The Coyote jolted out of his...whatever the hell that was. He tugged his shirt down, as if to hide to himself. "I don't have a boner for Whore Shark, you got a boner for Whore Shark!"

"I sure do!" Asterbury said, cackling laughter.

Valyrym ignored him, tilting his head. "Do you have a fever? Or are these stories just drifting closer and closer to April Fools Story territory every year?"

The Coyote shrugged. "Both, probably."

Valyrym gently rubbed the Coyote's ears. "Maybe you should take a break, for the night."

"Probably." The Coyote leaned into the gentle affection. "But tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and I really don't wanna spend all day trying to finish this story."

"Well..." The Dragon pulled him closer, gently hugging him. "Maybe you should just end it here, then?"

"Here?" The Coyote blinked, but found himself resting up against the dragon's warm, comfortable scales. "But...I have so many more jokes to get too! I have like, eight more pages of notes!" He pointed to the screen, paused on Larry's electrocution scene. "I was gonna say, maybe they're giving him the death penalty for being in this movie!"

"I know, I know." Valyrym gently stroked The Coyote's arm, holding him. "You love your silly Christmas stories. But look how many words the first three pages of notes became. You added in so much more silly banter and weird jokes that you wrote more_words for your first two and a half pages of notes, than you did for your entire thirteen page notation document! Hell, you just wrote 8,000 words..._tonight. I think you've written enough, Scavenger."

"Huh. Maybe I have." The Coyote closed his eyes, leaning his head against Valyrym. The dragon was warm, comfortable, and the steady thumping of his heart was almost enough to drown out the world. "We...we used to do this, didn't we."

"We did." Valyrym curled a wing around The Coyote. "Every Christmas story, we used to have a scene where...you'd pour your heart our to me, or I'd bring up all your fears and troubles, and make you face them, even if only for a little while. And then I'd just hold you, or comfort you, or...whatever I could, to make your life easier. Even if only for one night."

"Yeah." The Coyote's ears perked up. "I liked that." He wagged his tail.

"Me too, Scavenger. Me too."

"Not much of an ending if we stopped it here, though."

"Ah, but I disagree." Valyrym stroked the Coyote's back, smoothing his fur. "Think about it, Scavenger. None of your readers really care what happens in this terrible film. They care about you. They care about your real stories. And they wouldn't want you to overextend yourself, when you're not feeling well. Besides...what's a better ending, than The Coyote getting to spend Christmas Eve, savoring peace and comfort with an old friend?"

"I mean..." The Coyote opened his eyes to bleary slits. "You're not wrong."

"Tell you what." Valyrym hugged The Coyote tighter against him. "Tomorrow, if you're up for it, you can keep writing until you think it's done. And if you don't want to work on it anymore? Then you can be happy with what you've already created. And all those jokes you didn't get to use yet? I think we both know you'll find a way to recycle them next year. Because for all the times you told us, and all the times you told yourself that you didn't want to do this anymore?" The dragon rumbled soft laughter. "We both know you love these stupid stories. What you don't love is spending your whole Christmas Eve, grinding a way, trying to bring it to a close. So? Tomorrow, if you don't want to spend your day writing it?" Valyrym shrugged his wings. "Don't. Let that be _your_Christmas present, this year. A Christmas Eve where you look at the story you've already got, and you say...good enough. And you post it, and people laugh, and you go on spend Christmas Eve with your family. The way you want to."

The Coyote swallowed, closing his eyes again. "That's...actually a pretty good idea. I'll think about it."

"You'd better." Valyrym hugged him tighter, sighing. "If nothing else, you can always just post the notes separately for the die-hards to read. And, if you do write more tomorrow, don't over do it. Skim through your notes, squeeze in a few more of your favorite jokes, and then call it good enough."

"Alright, alright." The Coyote snuggled against his oldest, Christmas-verse friend, sighing happily. ". That's a good name, actually. A Good Enough Christmas Story."

"So it is, Scavenger. So it is."

"Merry Christmas, Valyrym."

"Merry Christmas, Scavenger."

******

And that, Believe it or not, is the ending. Because that's exactly what I did. Decided it was good enough, and let myself enjoy Christmas Eve without trying to write the rest of the story. If you ask me, that's a pretty good ending.

Merry Christmas, Everyone, maybe your holidays be bright and joyful!