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The Coyote sat at 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.

The Coyote turned his attention to the only other current occupant, an unusually short reindeer wearing a garish red and green Christmas sweater. Tiny bells jingled from his horns. He stood just behind the bar, polishing a freshly washed punchbowl formerly filled with spiced wine. He watched at the coyote, then sighed. Just as the caribou opened his mouth, realization struck.

"Shit!" The Coyote slapped his hand against the bar, rattling his mug. "I forgot how I was gonna start this dumb thing." He made a quick alteration on his phone, muttering to himself. "Monday...four days before Christmas."

MONDAY - FOUR DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

The canid scrunched his muzzle, staring at the screen. "That's not the beginning. That's like three paragraphs in." He flattened his ears, grunting. "Eh, close enough. No one reads this crap, anyway." The Coyote glanced up at the bartender. "Hey, Rudolph. Gimme your opinion on this."

The reindeer heaved an increasingly familiar, disgruntled sigh. "How many times do I gotta tell you-"

"I know, I know." The Coyote held his hands up. "You're closed, I remember. Just lemme finish my drink, huh?"

"Yeah. And we've _been_closed for three hours now." The deer sighed, putting the bowl away. "But no, not that. I gave up trying to kick you out about four drinks ago."

"Oh." The Coyote perked his ears, glancing at his still full mug. His tail wagged. "Good!"

The reindeer snorted, shaking his head. "I was trying to tell you my name ain't Rudolph."

"It's not?" The Coyote tilted his head, blinking. The reindeer's image was suddenly blurry, wavering in and out of sight, shrinking down and expanding again. "I guess that's kinda speciest, isn't it? Of course, all reindeer aren't called Rudolph." He shook a finger at him. "Plus, the last time I saw Rudolph, he wasn't working at a bar. Or, yanno. Bipedal." The Coyote leaned forward to try and peer behind the counter. "Oh! Did you get kick-ass augmented legs? Yanno, like Deus Ex?"

The deer's image solidified again, and he stared at the coyote, bafflement etched across his open muzzle and splayed ears. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

The Coyote spoke lowered his voice, twisting it into something somehow snarky and monotone at the same time. "My legs are augmented." He barked laughter, slapping the counter. "Hah! Classic J.C. Denton."

"I have no idea what you're babbling about."

"I guess these days, more people know about that kinda stuff from Cyberpunk." He reached for his mug and picked it up, grinning. "Yanno, the people who can actually play it without it breaking, anyway. But J. C. Denton had augmented vision before it was cool." He sipped his egg nog, savoring the sweet, slightly vanilla tinted flavors. "This is really good egg nog."

The deer put a hand over his face, groaning. "I keep telling you, it's gravy."

"Is it?" The Coyote peered into the cup. "Looks like egg nog in my mug, to me."

"It's not a mug!" The deer threw his hands up. "It's a goddam gravy boat! You're drinking gravy, out of a gravy boat, callin' me a reindeer! What in Blitzen's embarrassing, Christmas-night boner is wrong with you, coyote?"

The Coyote blinked a few times, and the wooden mug he was holding shifted form and color, becoming a ceramic gravy vessel. He shrugged, and took another drink. "Still tastes like eggnog."

"That's because you're brain's broken." The Reindeer sighed, folding his arms. "That was from tonight's roast. You know, the special, reservations only dinner, that you_ruined? After you stumbled in here, and started drinking everyone's wine, calling everyone Rudulph? _And ate all the food?" The deer eyeballed him. "Actually, not sure how you managed that. Didn't think even a coyote could fit that much in his belly."

The Coyote patted his stomach. "Oh, that was easy. I'm basically a cosmic diety in these stories. Or, a Christmas spirit, or..." He scowled. "Something? I dunno. I never laid down any hard and fast rules. The point is, that was some fine, fine, Christmas goose."

"That was a pig!" The reindeer slapped the counter. "A whole pig! And you ate all of it! Even the bones!" He quieted, tilting his head. "You're probably gonna die."

The Coyote just laughed, sipping his gravy eggnog. "Everyone's gonna die eventually, Rudolph."

"I'm not Rudolph!" He stomped a hoof. "I'm not even a reindeer! I'm a kobold!" He stomped again, snarling. "How you the fuck you can't tell the difference is blowing my Christmas crackers right now! I barely even come up to a reindeer's fuzzy nutsack, you blind-gravy drunk scavenger!"

That only made The Coyote laugh harder. "You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. About this tall..." He held a hand out above the floor, indicating a short person. "Big ears, bushy tail, gray fur. Real jerk everybody hated. Definitely nobody's best friend. What was his name? Started with A, title with an L..." He swished his tail a few times before it came to him. "Lady Asstwat! That was it, Lady Asstwat."

"Oh, not the Asterbury stories again." The Reindeer dropped his head. "I can only take so much! Every time you get in these moods, it's Asterbury this, Asterbury that!"

The Coyote blinked, finishing off his gravy. Or eggnog. Whatever it was, he didn't care. Something tickled at his brain. "You know, I'm not sure you should put those words, in that order." He pushed the gravy vessel towards the reindeer. Or...was he a kobold? "More eggnog, Reinbold."

"Reinbold?" He snatched the vessel away, shaking his head. "No. How would a reindeer and a kobold even...The deer split her in half!"

The Coyote scratched his muzzle. "I guess if the kobold was male, and he had a step ladder, and-"

"No!" The reindeer held his hands up. "Fucking, no. I don't want that image in my head." He fetched another mug, and filled it up, then returned it. "Here. This is _actual_eggnog."

The Coyote accepted it and took a drink. "This is weird."

The reindeer rolled his eyes. "Probably because you've been drinking straight pork gravy for four hours. I doubt anything's gonna taste right for a week, now."

"I have?" The Coyote tilted his head, licking his muzzle. "I thought this eggnog tasted a little bacony. But that's not what I meant. Felt more like..." He gestured between them. "The roles were reversed. Like...like you were supposed to say something nasty, that incudes grimacing laughter. And then I..." He took another drink, thinking. "I'd be the one telling you to shut the fuck up, and then calling you a sick, vicious, disgusting little bastard or something."

"Hey!" The Reindeer shook a finger. "Kobolds get enough insults and derision as it is!" He ticked off a few...little clawed fingers? The Coyote blinked, wondering if the reindeer was some kind of slow-motion shapeshifter, only changing one body part at a time. "We're monsters. We're evil. We're cannonfodder. Ninety percent of the time we even make an appearance in media, it's as some wicked monsters out to murder, steal, and get heroically slaughtered by the main characters. So I'll be fucked by a broken candy cane before I let you disparage my people! Hell, you're supposed to be on our side! But if you keep talking about kobolds like that, I'm gonna punch you right in your sugar plums."

"See?" The Coyote gestured with his mug. "There you go again. Talking like I usually do. A few swears, a few colorful, and festive euphemisms, and generally fed up with everyone's shit." He took a sip, then wiped his muzzle with the back of a hand, and stared at the Reindeer. "Are you really a kobold?"

"Yes!" The Reindeer threw his hands up. "How is that not obvious? I'm shorter than you! I've got scales! I've got-"

"Antlers?"

"Horns!" He snarled, crossing his arms. "Kobolds have horns, not antlers."

The Coyote squinted, inspecting the reindeer closely. His form wavered again, as if the 'yote was watching him through shimmering heat and frosted glass. Gradually, it shrunk down into something less than half its original size. The brown and cream fur fell away, replaced by dark red scales fading to beige. Hooves were replaced with toes, and tiny claws. He stood not behind the counter, but atop a wheeled step-stool just behind it. The Christmas sweater remained, but now bore images of twin revolvers wreathed in tinsel. Small, felt antlers were affixed to his head, with tiny silver bells.

"Holy shit, you _are_a kobold?" The Coyote gasped, looking him over. "Wait...Nok? Are you Nok?"

The little lizard grunted. "I'm not at liberty to give-"

"Cause I'd never thought you'd be caught dead in a Christmas sweater. Even one with guns on it" The canine giggled, glancing at the faux antlers. "Or those felt abominations."

The kobold sighed, reaching up to adjust them. "Oh, shut up. The boss made me strap 'em on."

The Coyote perked a single ear. "Your boss makes you wear a strap on? Pretty sure that's a lawsuit."

"And I'm pretty sure you're gonna get punched right in the knot." He growled under his breath.

"Aww, but you're so cute!" The Coyote tweaked one of the felt-covered anterlters. "Still all felty! What an adorable little young'en. Is this your first molt, little deer?"

"Shut the fuck up, Scavenger!" The kobold swatted his hand away. "Also, joke's on you, fuckstack. Caribou always have antlers. Deer lose them, and grow new ones with felt, and all that. But caribou don't."

"Oh, no." The Coyote waggled his fingers. "My ursine biology was slightly off, whatever will I do? Also..." He tilted his head. "Fuckstack?"

"Yeah, yanno." The kobold shrugged. "Like a smokestack, but for fuckin'."

"So..." The Coyote glanced down at himself. "You're saying I have a huge-"

"Just shut the hell up, dipshit." He groaned, running a hand down his face. "Oh, my god. You're not just delusional today, you're obnoxious too."

"Yeah." The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "Sorry about that. Usually it's the other guy who's obnoxious, and me who's annoyed. What'd you say his name was?" He glanced up again. "Lt. Asstoy?"

A smirk cracked the kobold's muzzle. "No. You said that." He flicked his tongue out. "Well, you said, Lady Asstwat, but same diff. It's Lord Asterbury, though. Whenever you have a few too many, and you start talkin' about how you ended up inside this snowglobe-"

"Snowglobe?" The Coyote blinked, looking around. "This isn't a snowglobe. It's a tavern."

"Right." The kobold poured himself a shot of whiskey, drank it, then set the glass down. "You really egg-nogged away all your brain cells, didn't you."

The Coyote scoffed. "Nah, I got at least like, three or four left."

"Uh huh." He tapped his clawed foot against his step ladder. "So, yeah, you're in a tavern. My tavern."

The Coyote perked his ears, sitting up straighter. "That I remember! It's called, Ed, Edd, and Ayly's Edd-Nod Emporium."

"The fuck it is." The kobold hissed. "First off, who the shit are Ed, Edd, and Ayly? Second off, it's called The Empty Barrel."

The canine bared a few fangs in distaste. "That's a stupid name."

"It's literal lightyears better than that gibberish you said." He stomped his foot. "And we're sure as hell not an egg nog anything! We only have that because you made us stock it, when you first showed up last year!"

"I did?" The Coyote scratched his head. "I don't remember any of that."

The kobold rolled his head. "Of course you don't. How convenient. You showed up last year, in our snowglobe, and proclaimed yourself-"

"Snowglobe?" The Coyote leaned forward, resting his elbow against the counter. "Weren't you gonna explain that?"

With a sigh, the kobold hopped off his stepladder and onto the counter. "Snowglobe!" He drew an invisible line across the ceiling. "This whole world's inside a snow globe. Christmas themed, originally, though you took that to the extreme after you arrived. It's a place populated by-"

"Outcasts from old Christmas stories? Refugees from tales I never finished? Elves who grew up? Children who stopped believing in Santa Claus?" He lowered his voice. "Door to door salesmen?" The Coyote spoke softer still. "Scientologists?"

"What?" The kobold hissed his teeth. "No!"

"Tim Allen?" The Coyote leaned back again. "Is it Tim Allen? Is this snowglobe where he fled too, after I framed him for murdering Santa, and then refused to acknowledge his epic plot to unite all the evil Santas and overthrew me cause I was tired of writing giant Christmas adventures?" He hopped off the bar stool, yanking a knife off the counter. "Shit, where is he?" He turned a slow circle, brandishing his knife. "Bring it on, Tim Allen, I'll shank you right in the Tool Time!"

"It's not goddamned Tim Allen!"

"Uurrrrhhh?" The Coyote spun back around, doing his best to imitate Tim Allen's infamous confused grunting noises.

The kobold only stared at him. "What the fuck was that?"

The canine waved a hand, returning to his stool. "Oh, just youtube it." He drained the rest of his egg nog in a single pull, then handed the cup to the kobold. "Alright, so if it's not Tim Allen and his crack legal team, who does live here?"

"People who want some goddamn peace and quiet!" He snatched the cup away, growling. "And whoever else the hell your egg-nog soaked brain stuck in here." The kobold refilled it, still talking. "And it was nice and peaceful here, until you showed up. Sent here by that Asterbury asshole you always talk about. Said it was a Christmas present, a place to let you just...enjoy the season. The peace of all it."

"Oh yeah..." A smile slowly spread across his muzzle as he took the cup back. "I do sorta remember that. Probably the nicest thing that fuzzy little shit ever did for me."

"And the _worst_thing he ever did for us!" The kobold wiped his hands off with a towel, snarling. "You showed up, proclaimed yourself the King of Christmas, and suddenly, everything had to be Christmas themed, all the damn time! Every fucking place, every fucking day!"

"Who doesn't love Christmas?" The Coyote sipped his egg nog, smiling.

"Everyone, when they're stuck living it every damn day!" The kobold thrust a finger towards one of the iced-over winters. "We used to have summers, here."

"In a snowglobe?" The Coyote splayed his ears. "That doesn't seem very likely."

"Why the hell not?" The Kobold leaned forward, growling.

"Because isn't it always winter, in a snow globe?"

"We get sun!" The kobold waved a hand. "Sometimes we get put on a windowsill. It's nice and warm."

The Coyote pressed on, ignoring him. "And...wait, if we're in a snowglobe, shouldn't we all be dead? They're filled with liquid! Even if it's non-toxic, I'm pretty sure we'd have drowned like, immediately." He sucked in a breath, eyes. "Oh shit, am I dead? Or am I still dying? Has this last year just been my dying brain manufacturing a scenario where I'm still alive and stuck in an endless Christmas?"

The Kobold stepped towards him. "What the fuck are you on about? I oughta slap the dipshit right ought of your empty scavenger head! In fact..." He slapped the Coyote hard across the muzzle, jerking his head to the side. "You gonna stop now, or should I put on my pimp rings and try that again?"

Wincing, The Coyote rubbed his muzzle. "You have pimp rings?"

"That's not the point!" He jabbed a finger towards a window. "Just forgot about the snowglobe, as a concept. While this place technically exists inside one, it's also a protected pocket dimension within the snowglobe. The snowglobe's more like an outer shell. It's like the protective part of atmosphere of our tiny little world."

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "That makes my brain hurt."

"That's what you get for asking for details!" He flicked the tip of the canine's ear, grunting. "Just accept that we're in a snowglobe, and move on, like the rest of us did."

"Fine, fine." He rubbed his nose, then dropped his hand down. "So what were you saying, like a page and a half ago?"

"Fuck if I know." The Kobold poured himself another shot, then settled down to sit on his step ladder, feet hanging over the edge. "Is this how all your Christmas stories go? You get one little idea, and then it takes you seven pages to get there?" This time, he only sipped his liquor. "And when you finally make it, you've half-forgotten what you planned in the first place?"

"Pretty much." The Coyote leaned back, grinning. "Got to be a real grind. It was..." He trailed off, sipping his egg nog. The canine took a few moments to consider his words. "It wasn't that I stopped having fun, it was just that...they felt like more work than they were worth, anymore. Not as many people read them, and yet they took me longer, and longer every year. So...I started trying to..." He waggled his fingers. "Cut back. Make them shorter and shorter, so I could get them done faster. But even then, stories I thought I could squeeze out in ten thousand words took me three times that much! So...I didn't really want to do that, anymore. Felt like I was just...grinding on them every year."

The kobold smirked. "Kinky."

The Coyote snorted laughter. "Yeah, shoulda said, they were a grind. Anyway, I decided I didn't want to do them anymore, and..."

"And your old pal Asterbury sent you here." The kobold kicked his feet in the air, sipping his liquor again. "To let you...enjoy the Holiday I guess?"

"Yeah, something like that." The Coyote shrugged. "I didn't bother to look at last year's story."

"Well, whatever." He tapped his chest. "From our perspective, Mister King of Christmas over here..." He waved a hand at the Coyote. "Really fucked everything up. Wanted us to all feel the..." He waggled his fingers. "Peace of Christmas, or some shit. But we didn't get any peace. We just got our lives turned upside down!"

The Coyote leaned back, his ears splaying. "Holy shit...I'm like...the Asterbury of this place, aren't I?"

The Kobold tilted his head. "Yeah, kinda. And the further you've drifted into this whole..." He twirled a finger around his head. "Delusion, you're stuck in, the worse you got. It's like the more you talked about that Asterbury fucker, the more you acted like him."

"Did I really talk about him a lot?" The Coyote scratched an ear. "Cause that doesn't sound like me."

"Not at first," the kobold said. "First it was just Christmas this, snow that. You made us all watch every episode of Bob's Burgers-"

"It's Bob Belcher!" The Coyote slapped the bar. "I'm not doing this."

"No, the show is called Bob's Burgers." The Kobold rolled his eyes. "The character, is Bob Belcher. And what aren't you doing?"

The canine swished his tail. "Actually, I think we just did it. Only, you said the part I'd usually say and..." He trailed off, amending himself. "See, in the older stories, I kept this running joke, based on a joke from the show. About how one character thinks Bob Burgers is his name, when actually-"

"Yeah." The Kobold drained his whiskey, then poured himself another shot. "Hilarious. I've heard about that, actually. Several times. See, the closer we got to Christmas...your Christmas, the more this shit started bubbling up in your head. And more you started talking about Asterbury."

The canine didn't like the sound of that. "What would I say?"

"Oh, you'd tell all about how obnoxious he is, how disgusting he can be, what a pervert he is..." He took a sip. "All the weird adventures you went on, fighting the undead, parodying movies, and TV shows, something about a meat grinder and someone's Uncle Roy..."

The Coyote shook his head, wiping away a tear. "Right in the meat grinder."

"But above all? You wouldn't shut up about how fucking crazy he drove you every year."

The Coyote gasped, then gave a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank god. I thought you were gonna say, how fucking crazy I was for him. Cause if that was a real memory, I was gonna have to take a magnet to my hard drive, and a fifth of vodka to my brain to erase it."

The kobold smirked. "I mean, I wondered, sometimes. Cause it was always, Asterbury, Asterbury, Asterbury!"

Something clicked in the coyote's head, and sent a little shiver down his spine. "I...really don't think you should put those words together, in that order."

The kobold only shrugged. "What words? Asterbury, Asterbury, Asterbury?" He sipped his whiskey...then blinked, and stared at something just beyond the coyote's shoulder. "Huh...Weird."

"What's weird?" The Coyote swallowed, turning to follow the kobold's gaze.

"I don't remember having bay windows put in." The kobold set his glass down. "Or ever having them at all." He glanced up. "The skylights are new, too."

"Ah, fuck." The Coyote hung his head, sighing. "You Beetlejuiced him."

"I did not juice his beetle." The kobold grabbed himself, adjusting his crotch. "Beetle's a weird name for it, too."

The Coyote finished off his egg nog, then set the mug aside. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't understand that reference." He rubbed his hands together, then slowly parted them. A set of kobold sized body armor, replete with Kevlar and ceramic plating, materialized between the coyote's hands. When it was fully formed, he passed it across the counter to the kobold. "Here, put this on."

The kobold hesitantly hefted it up. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yup." The Coyote grimaced. "It's plot armor."

The kobold perked his little frills. "Really? That your joke for smart people, this year? Cause I'm not sure that even qualifies for a joke."

"Just put it on it, Nok." The Coyote sighed. "Something really dumb's about to happen."

"I told you, I ain't him." The Kobold quickly geared himself up, slipping into the armor and expertly snapping every clasp and buckle into place with practiced ease. "I'm an anonymous bartender."

Tuesday - Three Days Before Christmas

Suddenly, people were everywhere in the bar. Christmas revelers mingled in every corner, crammed into every booth, and occupied every seat at the bar. People of all species laughed and ate and drank. Lights blinked on battery-operated Christmas sweaters. Fake horns adorned heads, festive bells were buckled around tails. Servers carried platters filled with holiday treats or laden with alcoholic drinks. Everyone was joyful, and cheery laughter filled the room.

"Huh." Totally Not Nok scratched his muzzle. "That's weird."

"Aw, damn it," The Coyote said, scowling. "This is about to get really ugly." He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, you got your War Mongers somewhere?"

The little lizard cleared his throat with a growl. "I've no idea what you mean, Sir, I certainly wouldn't keep weapons in-"

Windows and skylights exploded all at once as rabbits decked out in full tactical gear smashed through them. Some of them tumbled across the floor, while others repelled down from the ceiling on long cords. People screamed as shattered glass flew everywhere. The kobold cursed and ducked under the bar as the rabbits took up positions behind cover.

"Contact!" The lead bunny opened fire, spraying bullets at the crowd of revelers. As they screamed, and stumbled into pools festive holiday blood, the other rabbits began firing as well. "Get some, motherfuckers! Get some!"

"Hey!" The Coyote hopped off his stool, snarling. "You can't just magic in a bunch of NPCs for target practice!" He stepped over a body, trying not to get blood on his shoes. "Sure, these people might not really be 'people'..." He made air quotes. "In the literal sense. They might as well be cardboard cutouts with no personalities, no character development, no discerning traits or motivations whatsoever, aside from an overwhelming need to celebrate a festive holiday! And true, they were only whisked into existence to be gunned down, but still! You can't just..." He blinked, trailing off. "Forgot where I was going with that. Just stop shooting all these poor random jackoffs, okay?"

On the contrary, the bunnies continued doing exactly that. They moved throughout the bar, shooting festively dressed foxes and lions with submachineguns, grenading gnolls in Christmas sweaters, and bayonetting a trio of drunkenly caroling reindeer. Before long, the bar was a bloody mess. Cold air and snow blew in through the shattered windows, settling into pools of blood. When all the barely existent, paper-thin background characters were dead, the bunnies turned towards the coyote.

In a flash there were dozens of muzzles aimed at him. Gun muzzles, that was, not face-muzzles. Face-muzzles? Is that a thing? You know, muzzles like animals have on their faces. Which, I guess technically speaking, those were aimed at him too. After all, rabbits have muzzles, and all the rabbits were staring at him. Or at least, they were looking down their gun sights. Or is it gunsights? One word, or two? Oh, who cares. All the rabbits were aiming their muzzles at him, both their guns and their faces.

Hah, I bet you were just starting to think he wasn't gonna go on one of those weird tangents this year, right? This story wasn't quite weird enough, so far? And it was funny, but just like, hah hah, he made a joke funny. Not like, what the fuck is he smoking, funny? You know, like usual. But he's not smoking, you should know better. He's drinking! He's not even drunk though. Not yet anyway. But also doesn't really give a shit, and this dumb tangent made him smile like an idiot, so there you go. Anyway, back to the story, or whatever.

"Target located!" The lead rabbit, a female, stepped forward. She slung her rifle over her shoulder, and retrieved a phone-sized tablet. Or maybe it was a phone. Who knows what weird, easter-related technology the Spec Ops Bunnies from those older stories had these days. She stared at the image on the screen, then at The Coyote. "ID confirmed! Coyote, The! Bag him!"

"Bag this, bitches!" Nok sprang out from behind the bar, a kobold-designed revolver in each hand. Two more now sat in holsters strapped at his sides, with empty holsters at his hips. He moved in a tiny red blur, guns spitting fire and lead. Rabbit heads exploded, bullets tore through openings in armor, and bunnies dropped to the floor, already dead or screaming their last. "Run, Coyote! I'll cover you!"

"Run?" The Coyote tilted his head. "And miss you doing your thing?"

The rabbits scattered, some jumping for cover while others returned fire on the kobold. Bullets exploded through chairs and booths, splattered wreaths and decorations, and dug into walls. Nok darted and wove, an unstoppable flash of red scales and black body armor. He rolled through one rabbit's legs, firing up to blast through his chin and into his brain. Then he stepped around the crumpling body, blowing another rabbit's knee off. As he collapsed, Nok scaled him like a ramp, leapt into the air, and pirouetted over two more, shooting each in the back of the head before landing on his feet.

The Coyote tilted his head. "Did I give him too much gun-fu, or not enough?"

"He's got the matrix!" One of the rabbits screamed at his friends as he dove behind the bar.

The Coyote turned towards him. "No, that's not even a thing. You don't 'have' the Matrix, you-"

The rabbit fired a burst of rounds over the counter, each one of them missing the kobold, who leapt from booth to booth, reloading on the fly. "Yes he does! Look at him! He's doin' flips and tricks and shit!"

"Okay, first?" The Coyote ticked off a finger. "That's a line from a song, that they use in the Other Guys, not the Matrix. Second, you don't have the Matrix-"

"Yes I do!" The Rabbit ducked down, popping in a new clip. "Got it on 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray for Christmas last year!"

"That's not what I meant." The Coyote rubbed his muzzle, groaning. "Look, I meant, the kobold doesn't have the Matrix-"

"Oh, then you should buy it for him!" The bunny popped back up, firing another volley. "It makes a great Christmas gift!"

"I mean he doesn't have Matrix-style powers!"

Another bunny slid into cover, alongside his friend. "Yes he does! He's dodging bullets and shit, he's definitely got The Matrix!"

"No," The Coyote said, snarling in frustration. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying, those powers aren't called The Matrix! The Matrix is a setting, it's the simulated world most of the movie takes place in! It's not something you can possess."

"What if you're the lead robots?" The second bunny popped up, firing off a few shots. Each one exploded into the wall behind Nok, just missing him even as the kobold continued downing more hapless rabbits. "Then you own the Matrix!"

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "I think, technically, they're AI, not robots, so-"

"Did you hear they're doing a Matrix 4?" The First bunny emptied an entire clip, but Nok sheltered behind a pillar just in time. "I'm really excited!"

The Second bunny tossed the first another clip. "I'm cautiously optimistic!"

A third rabbit leapt over the bar, just as bottles of alcohol exploded all around him from Nok's counterfire. "Are you guys talking about Matrix?"

"Yeah!" The other two answered in unison.

"Awesome!" Rabbit number 3 pulled the pin on a colorful, easter-egg styled grenade. He hurled it across the room. "I love that guy!"

"What guy?" Rabbit Number 1 covered his ears just before a tavern-shaking boom erupted through the room, and festive, colorful shrapnel shredded a few already dying rabbits.

"Matrix!" The third rabbit pulled another grenade. "John Matrix! Colonel John Matrix!"

The Coyote blinked, splaying his ears. "From Commando?"

"Yeah!" The rabbit hurled his grenade, turning his attention towards the canine. "From the smash-hit action film Commando, released in 1985 and starring Arnold Schwarzenegger!"

A fourth rabbit vaulted over the bar just as the grenade went off, framing her in a cool explosion. "Arnold Schwarzenegger?" She scrambled up alongside the others, drawing her side arm. "Star of the smash-hit holiday classic Jingle All The Way?"

All four rabbits called out at once. "I love that movie!"

The Coyote put his face in his hands. "Oh, my god."

"Well, now you sound just like Bob Burgers!"

The Coyote jerked his head up at the sound of the obnoxiously familiar voice. "Asterbury?"

"Smoke bomb!" An urd'thin in a golden-hued Santa robe hurled something against the ground. It exploded in an enormous eruption of strangely green-hued smoke that obscured his form, leaving him just a shadow.

The Coyote sighed. "You're supposed to do that when you're making a quick exit, not when you're arriving."

"But then how would I make my grand entrance with this cool smoke silhouette?" The urd'thin figure spread his arms inside the green hued smoke cloud, only to start coughing. "This is...some good...smoke bomb!"

The Coyote sniffed the pungent stuff, flattening his ears. "Why does your smoke bomb smell like weed?"

"Made a stop..." The urd'thin coughed a few more times, waving away some of the smoke. "In Colorado!"

The Coyote rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. What do you want, Asterbury? Whatever it is, you really coulda done it without..." He looked around. The once festive tavern was now filled with blood, death, and suffering. And a four-bunny conversation about a petition to get Arnold Schwarzenegger to star in The Matrix 4. "You know, murdering everyone."

The urd'thin stepped forward, out of the smoke, triumphantly lifting his arms. "Hah-hah! It was me all along! Everyone's best friend, Asterbury!"

The Coyote glared at him. "I literally just called you that, you candy-cane dicked elf-fucker."

"You're shocked and amazed, I know, and surely, overjoyed to see me!" Asterbury stepped forward, flourishing his santa robe. "And why have I made my surprise appearance, asks the Trash Puppy? Well, in the name of our long-lasting best friendship, I've mounted a rescue mission!"

"Okay, first off." The Coyote thumped him on the nose. "We're not best friends. Nor have we ever_been best friends. Nor has anyone ever been _friends with you-"

"It's great to see you two, best friend!" Asterbury wrapped his arms around the Coyote's waist in a large, unwanted, and legally actionable hug. "I missed you so much!" Asterbury slid his hands down, squeezing the Coyote's butt. "And I missed your ass even more!"

"Get the hell out of me!" The Coyote shoved him away, snarling. "Whaddya mean, rescue mission? I don't _need_to be rescued! And you sure as hell didn't need to get dozens of people murdered in the process!"

"Who, them?" Asterbury turned to survey all the carnage. "Oh, the bunnies get murdered every year. They always come back to life!"

The Coyote growled under his breath. "That's not the point-"

"I know, I know..." Asterbury flourished a hand. "Murder and bloodshed's not very festive. So, how about this. Yippity Yoppity, lemme suck that knottity!" He slapped his hands together, and a wave of colorful light washed over everything. In an instant, all the blood was replaced with chocolate, the bullet wounds filled with gum drops, and all the shattered bones jutting from gory wounds with candy canes. "How's that, better?"

"No!" The Coyote grabbed his ears, dragging them down over his face. "That's worse! Just...bring everyone back to life, or-"

"Zombies? You got it, old pal!" Asterbury clapped his hands again. "Knick knock knock, lemme rub that cock!"

All around them, the slaughtered bunnies began to stagger to their feet. The anonymous murdered patrons rose with them. Broken candy canes and bloodied gumdrops fell from wounds. Some of the slipped on pools of chocolate blood. Others stumbled towards them, moaning. One of the nearest rabbits grabbed at the coyote, clumsily grabbing for his pants.

"Knots!" The zombie moaned louder, trying to undo The Coyote's jeans. "Knooooots!"

"Fuck-a-doodle doo!" The Coyote shoved the zombie away, stepping back. "You turned them into knot-eating zombies!"

"Eating?" Asterbury blinked, scratching the base of one of his little horns. "Is that what zombies do to brains?"

"Yes!" He moved around behind Asterbury, growling. "They fucking eat them! What'd you _think_zombies did to brains?"

"Lovingly caressed and suckled them, of course!" Asterbury gave a cheerful laugh. "Guess that's egg on old Asterbury's face, huh? We'll be talking about this one for ages! Hey, gang, remember that time everyone's best friend Asterbury accidentally made knot-eating zombies, and The Coyote got his-"

"NO!" The Coyote snatched Asterbury's muzzle, holding it shut. "We are not flashing back to that happening! Especially not to me!"

Asterbury wriggled free. "Well, who else would it happen to?" The urd'thin patted his crotch. "I might be girthy on a scale that can only be measured astronomically, but I haven't got a knot. And last I checked, neither do bunnies!"

The Coyote glared down at him. "What about kobolds?"

Asterbury tilted his head. "Oh, I don't think they have knots, either."

"Nope." Nok spoke up from behind Asterbury, leveling a revolver with the urd'thin's head. "Just guns."

Nok pulled the trigger, and Asterbury's head exploded in a festive shower of glittering tinsel, snowflakes, and Christmas lights. The urd'thin's limp body crumpled, chocolate iced in peppermint stripes flowing out of his ruptured skull. Both The Coyote and the kobold tilted their heads, staring down at the Christmasy corpse.

"Thanks," The Coyote said, dusting tinsel and peppermint splatter off his shirt. "That guy really fries my bacon."

"Welcome." The Kobold holstered his pistol. "Never saw that, before."

"I have." The Coyote dusted off a bit of tinsel and peppermint splatter. "He dies in like, half these stories."

"Like that, though?" Nok crouched down, examining the chocolate blood stream.

"Well, no..." The Coyote stepped over Asterbury's body. "Not exactly like that. Anyway, you get everyone?"

"Everyone but those four." Nok turned towards the bar, where the four bunnies had completely given up on the battle.

"Yeah, Neo and Morpheus slash fic is great and all," said the third bunny. "But have you seen Neo slash John Matrix?"

"Oh yeah," the female bunny said. "Who hasn't polished their mini-egg to a little, Neo and John Matrix fuck-fic? But, have you guys read the Neo slash Arnold Shwarzenegger fic? It's so good! See, the real Arnold gets pulled into the matrix, where he meets Neo! They fall in love, but then, the real Keanu Reeves gets pulled in, too! And Keanu and Neo fight for Arnold's affections! And then, John Matrix shows up, with his quad rocket launcher! And just as he's about to blow them all away, The Terminator shows up, and says, 'come with me if you want to orgasm!' And then..."

Nok quickly reloaded his revolvers. "Lemme take care of this real quick."

The Coyote gently pushed Nok's gun back down. "No point. This shit happens every year." He glanced around, scowling. "Where the hell did Asterbury's body go?"

"Smoke bomb!" Asterbury popped up behind him, yanking a burlap bag down over his head.

The Coyote yelped in surprised, struggling against the bag. Gun shots rang out around him, followed by cackling laughter. He tried to pull the bag up, snarling. "You can't just yell smoke bomb every time you try to do something surprising!"

"I can't?" Asterbury fought back, pivoting with The Coyote, holding the back in place. "Well, that's a real shit on the floor!"

"Oh, don't you start that again!" The Coyote managed to get his fingers under the bag and started peeling it off his face.

"And away we go!" Asterbury managed to keep it in place, just long enough to complete whatever dumb thing he was working on. "Tingy Tangly Talls, lemme play with those balls!"

The world dropped away, and The Coyote fell. He shrieked in surprise as his stomach lurched, plastering itself against his brain. His bones all pressed together as he tumbled through nothingness. A great sense of weight pressed against him, as if he were deep under water. Then something clung to his fur, tugging and pulling on it, as if slowly passing through some immense membrane, a soap bubble the size of city. A moment later, and the feeling was gone. Then there was cold, frigid, icy cold. Just as quickly there was warmth, and something soft and leathery beneath him.

"This had better be an actual leather seat!" The Coyote snarled, pulling at the bag. "And not some giant dragon's scrotum, you fuzzy little pervert!"

The Coyote ripped the bag off his head, and found himself seated on a large, plush, black-leather seat in the back of an enormous limousine. An older black dragon sat nearby, his ebony scales marked by hints of gray and blue. Near him, a human woman sat sipping champagne out of a fluted glass. A black, purple and blue hatchling bounced from seat to seat, giggling like mad. Asterbury was seated next to the canine.

"Oh...uh..." The Coyote gulped, glancing around. "Hey, everyone."

"Extraction complete!" Asterbury dusted off his shoulder. "Trash Puppy rescued! And you wouldn't believe the filthy dumpster I found him scrounging around in! Pretty sure he was living in an actual hobo's toilet this time."

The little hatchling came to a sudden stop, peering intently at The Coyote. "What's a scrotum?"

The Coyote swallowed again, his ears pinned. "It's, uh..." He glanced up at the bigger dragon. "Valyrym? You wanna take this one?"

"Not on your damn life, Scavenger." He curled a foreleg around Ayly, muttering. "It's a word for adults, little one. You'll learn it when you're older."

"So it's a swear?" Ayly heaved an exaggerated sigh, crossing her forelegs. "No one ever teaches me swears! Oh, scrotum!"

"Ayly!" Valyrym growled at her, though he kept it soft. "You've gotten to swear plenty of times in these stories!"

Asterbury nudged The Coyote with his elbow. "And if he lets her keep saying that one, Trouble's gonna have Valyrym's scrotum in a-"

"Can everyone please stop saying scrotum in front of the hatchling?" The human woman threw her hands up in exasperation. "We've got to stop bringing her to these Christmas stories."

"Sorry, Amaleen." The Coyote leaned forward to take a glass of champagne from the built-in table. He noticed the limousine was moving, but glancing out the tinted windows revealed only a snowy landscape. "It's not my fault, though."

"Yes it is!" Amaleen glared at him. "You said it first."

"Because I thought I was just talking to Asterbury!" He thumped his elbow into Asterbury's ribs, and was dismayed when he earned only a Pillsbury Doughboy-esque giggle and squirm. "I didn't realize he'd just magic'd me into a limo with everyone else. Which, by the way, hello Amaleen, Ayly, and Valyrym."

"Hello, Scavenger." Valyrym stretched his neck, gently licking the coyote between the ears. "It's good to see you again. I hope you enjoyed your vacation."

"I was enjoying it just fine, until this Holly Jolly Jackoff came and kidnapped me." He glared at Asterbury for a few moments, but then melted under the dragon's affection. Soon, he rubbed Valyrym's nose, and then hugged the dragon's head. "But it's good to see you again, too. I missed you."

Amaleen leaned forward to pat the Coyote's arm. "And we missed you, as well."

"Which is why we decided to rescue you!" He looked back and forth at the others. "And it's a good thing I did! When I arrived, he was surrounded by bloodthirsty zombies!"

"The fuck I was!" The Coyote snarled at him, slapping Asterbury across the head. "I was happily-"

"Coyote said a swear!" Ayly bounced up and down. "I get to say a swear too!"

"Fine, Ayly." The Coyote held up a finger. "One swear." He took a sip of champagne.

The little hatchling gave a solemn nod. She took a deep breath, and then shouted at the top of her lungs. "Fuckassshitbitchballscocktitsvagina!"

The Coyote spat his champagne all over Asterbury. "Ayly!"

"Hey!" Asterbury wiped his eyes.

Valyrym rumbled laughter. "C'mon, Scavenger, even you had to know she was gonna cram as many swearwords into one breath as she could."

The Coyote shrugged. "Technically, the last one was a scientific term. Besides, I just wanted an excuse to spit on Asterbury."

"Well, I do like being spit on!" Asterbury leaned closer, opening his muzzle. "And into! Go on, Scavenger, spit on me again! Call me your little whore-boi!"

"Oh, god." The Coyote dragged a hand down his face. "How is it he still finds a way to get more and more perverted every year?"

"I'm waiting!" Asterbury leaned closer.

"Fuck off, you cockacidal maniac!" The Coyote shoved Asterbury's head into the wall. "I didn't let you drag me back here just so we could do this bullshit for another twenty five pages."

Valyrym fetched a pair of earmuffs from under the seat, and put them on Ayly's head to cover her ears. "I'm putting these on her, since clearly you can't control your tongue."

"Don't worry, old pal," Asterbury said, grinning. "I've got enough tongue control for everyone."

The dragon groaned, tossing his head. His horns brushed the ceiling. "I wish he'd just stay dead."

Amaleen flashed The Coyote a wry grin. "You stole that cockacidal maniac line from Shaun of the Dead, didn't you."

The Coyote smirked back at her. "I also borrowed 'fuck-a-doodle-doo'. Great movie, by the way."

"And, it's in 3D! It's..." Asterbury paused for dramatic effect, then thrust his fingers into the coyote's face. "Amazing!"

"Cut it out!" He tried to bat Asterbury's hands. "First off, it's not in 3D, and second, that joke's not even from Shaun of the Dead. It's from a Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas. In which, I should add, they also shoot Santa."

"Because..." Asterbury thrust his fingers into the Coyote's face again. "It's amazing!"

This time The Coyote only sighed. "That joke only works in an actual, 3D movie, making fun of the over-reliance of 3D images. It definitely doesn't work in print."

"Oh, I'm not making a 3D joke." Asterbury smiled. "I just wanted to poke you in the eyes." Asterbury poked The Coyote in the eyes.

"OW!" The Coyote jerked away, rubbing his eyes. "You little reindeer's fucktoy!"

Amaleen gave a frustrated groan, leaning her head back. "Is that our theme, this year? Unusually sexual, holiday themed insults?"

Valyrym flicked his tail against the limo's floor. "You say that as if that's not a theme _every_year."

"Point to the sexy dragon!" Asterbury cackled, reclining back in the seat. "Besides, you shoulda heard the dumbass thing our favorite scavenger said earlier."

"Oh, shut up, Asterbury." The Coyote rubbed his eyes again before picking up his champagne.

"Well, go on." Valyrym tilted his head. "Enlighten us!"

"He said, completely seriously, and without any sense of ironic humor..." Asterbury leaned forward towards the others. "That I, quote...really fry his bacon."

"You...what?" Valyrym lifted his head, frills up. "You fry his bacon?"

Amaleen poured herself another glass. "What does that even mean?"

"It means he's annoying!" The Coyote snapped his teeth.

"No." Valyrym stared at him, golden eyes half-lidded, his voice flat. "It doesn't."

"Sure it does," The Coyote said, draining his own drink and going for more. "People say that."

"Who?" The dragon tilted his head. "Who, when annoyed, proclaims that something..." He cleared his throat, lifting his voice a few octaves. "Really fries my bacon?"

"I dunno, people!" The coyote flicked his tail, grunting. "And I don't sound like that."

The dragon slapped the table, rattling the bottles and glasses. "Name one, then."

"Name one, what?"

Valyrym drummed his claws against the wood. "Name one person who says, that really fries my bacon."

"I dunno." The Coyote shrugged. "Farmers?"

"Farmers?" Valyrym snorted. "Who else?"

The Coyote swallowed. "Farmer's mums?"

"Oh, I see." Valyrym leaned back, spreading his forelegs. "He's just ripping off The Cornet Trilogy, now."

"Cornetto." The Coyote sipped his champagne, sullen.

"Bless you," Asterbury said, cheerfully.

The Coyote glanced over. "What?"

"You sneezed!" Asterbury crossed a hand over his chest. "So, I said the polite thing. Bless you."

"No," The Coyote said, shaking his head. "I said, Cornetto. A cornet is a musical instrument. So it's not the Cornet trilogy, it's Cornetto."

"Bless you!"

"What?" Amaleen furrowed her brow, looking at Asterbury in confusion.

"No, who!" Asterbury shook his head.

Amaleen scowled. "Who?"

"Now, he's on first." Asterbury waggled a finger at her.

"What?" Amaleen tilted her head.

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

"Who is?"

"Yes, exactly!"

"No!" The Coyote leaned over and slapped Asterbury across the muzzle. "Not! Again!"

"Ow!" Asterbury rubbed his muzzle, grimacing. "Who bukkake party'd in your trash can this morning, Scavenger?"

The Coyote only glared at him. "You, probably."

Asterbury glanced away. "Not this morning."

"Oh, my god." The Coyote squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate you so much right now."

Asterbury only cackled. "We're all best friends! Say gang, remember that time I showed everyone my tongue control?"

***

Asterbury stood in the front of a classroom. All the gang was there. Valyrym, The Coyote, Amaleen, Ayly, Krek, and of course, Vatch. They were all crammed into desks that didn't fit at all. Valyrym was in the smallest desk, and struggling to break as it cut off his airflow. Vatch was in the largest desk, and was wandering aimlessly, struggling to find a way out. Everyone else was there too.

Like that Other Dragon that everyone always asks about. What was his name? Johnny Black Collar? You know what, it's been so long since I wrote his story I don't even remember his name anymore. It's Johnny Black Collar now. And he's a real bad boy. Always wearing his leather jacket, styling his frills into a mohawk, playing with a switch blade. Yeah, a real bad boy. But with a heart of gold. The teachers were always trying to help him out, and get him into a good college so he could support his sick mother. Anyway, he was there too, and he was carving graffiti into his desk with a switch blade, chewin' some bubble gum, and...I dunno, taking names or something? What do bad boys do these days? Send threatening text messages?

Everyone else was probably there, too. Like Alakor, the mysterious snow gryphon. But he was mysterious, so I guess he wasn't there after all. Or maybe he was, but he was facing backwards, and he wouldn't tell anyone why. Marrakesh was there, too. No, wait, that's a city, not a dragon. Who was that dragon, that I gave a name kinda like that? Ahh...Malamute? Sure, let's go with that. No, wait, that's a dog.

Aw, fuck it.

Yeah, that was it. AwFuckIt. He was there too, brooding and ominous, and fucking it.

And Ellamyriss was there, but she was distracted by necking with Nesh, in the hallway. And by necking I mean, she accidentally broke his neck during sex, and was trying to set his head back the right way. I know that's dark, but hey, tis the season for jokes about potentially fatal injuries during sex with a dragon.

I mean, I think that's the season? Look, I don't get paid for this.

Oh yeah, and Cousin Roy was there. This was back before the Meat Grinder Incident. Unlike Asterbury, he was literally everyone's best friend. That's why he tried to save everyone when they got stuck in that Saw-style death maze, based on a super meat boy level. But then he fell into the meat grinder, and everyone found the exit door anyway. And, really, it was just too much work to walk down three steps to turn the meat grinder off, and save him. Anyway, he was still alive right now.

Oh, Blue Jay was there, too. And he was sitting in the back, cause he was playing some pocket pool. Only gryphons don't have pockets, so he was just playing with his nuts out in the open. C'mon Blue Jay, not cool.

Wait, where was I going with this? Oh yeah, some dumb joke about Asterbury's tongue control.

"Alright, Class." Asterbury stood before everyone, smiling. "Today we're going to practice rolling our R's. So, repeat after me! Rrrrrrr!" Asterbury eloquently, extravagantly rolled his R's in an exquisite example of elocution. "Rrrrrrr! Rrrrrrr! Rrrrrrr!"

Then, Asterbury turned to the camera, pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and said, "Betcha thought that gonna be a sex joke, right? Get your mind out of the gutter, you sexy, sexy piles of hot sexy sex."

***

As soon as the flashback was over, The Coyote slapped Asterbury across the muzzle again. "No! No! That was the dumbest thing this year! We're dumber for having suffered through it! In fact, that was such complete and utter dog shit, I wanna rub your damn nose in it!"

"Oh, no, even I draw the line at that!" Asterbury held his hands up. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

Amaleen stared blankly at him. "Why did he do that?"

The Coyote rolled his eyes. "It's his safe word."

"No, I mean..." She groaned, rubbing her temples. "Why did he do that to my poor brain?"

"It wasn't _that_bad." Valyrym shrugged his wings. "At least there weren't any jelly fish involved. And my head didn't explode, that time."

Suddenly, Valyrym's head exploded.

"Fuck!" The Coyote threw his arms up, trying to shield himself from the eruption of dragon brains. "What the hell, Asterbury!"

"Oh, he was just asking for it, that time!" Asterbury cackled like a madman, blowing invisible smoke off his fingers. "Besides, Ayly loves it when that happens!"

"She most certainly does not!" The Coyote snarled. "That's very traumatizing to-"

"Wheeeeeee!" Ayly danced around in bits of brain, and skull. "Exploding grandfather ride!"

The Coyote gaped at her in horror. "Ayly!"

Ayly giggled to herself, still dancing. "Grandfather's head went BOOM!"

Amaleen pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "As much as I hate to say it, she's used to that by now. It's been happening in these stories long enough now that she knows he's going to be just fine." She glanced down at Ayly, curling her lip. "At least, I hope that's what's happening, and she's not secretly a tiny little psychopathic serial killer in the making."

Asterbury whispered to The Coyote. "It's definitely the second one."

The Coyote smacked Asterbury across the ears. "Just clean up this mess!"

"Can do, best buddy!" Asterbury hopped up onto his feet, reaching into his robe. He retrieved an immense role of plastic tarp, and stretched it out across the limo floor. Then he hopped across the table, to the other seats, and rolled Valyrym's corpse onto the plastic. "You know, I really shoulda put the plastic down before I killed him. Oh, well, live and learn." He started rolling the plastic up around the dead dragon. "Don't worry though, old pal, I know a great car wash and detail service that never asks questions."

"Not like that!"

Asterbury paused, glancing up. "Huh? How else am I supposed to remove a dragon's body?"

"I meant, bring him back to life!" The Coyote glowered down at him. "Now!"

"Alright, alright!" Asterbury held his hands up, then muttered under his breath. "Wouldn't wanna fry your bacon."

"Oh, goddamn it." The Coyote rubbed his muzzle. "I'm not living that one down this year, am I."

Asterbury cackled, clambering over Valyrym's half-wrapped body. "Oh, I think we'll talking about frying your bacon for years to come!" He flopped into the seat next to the Coyote, swirling a finger in the air. "Bingo, Bango, I wanna make out with Rango!"

Valyrym's head knit itself back together in an instant. The dragon jerked upright, gasping. All the blood, brains and gore that littered the inside of the limo and everyone's clothing turned into candy and sprinkles. Ayly kept dancing just the same. Valyrym shook himself, then snarled at Asterbury, baring his fangs.

"I'm gonna pop your skull like a water balloon!" Valyrym lifted a forepaw, making a fist. "Gonna crush it between my paws, and-"

"Oh, Val," Asterbury said, his voice practically a purr. "You know I'd rather be crushed between your thighs!"

Valyrym sagged, then let out a long, slow sigh. "Oh. I forgot, you're literally into everything in these stories." He snorted, then tossed his head. "Well, that really fries my bacon."

"Ah hah!" The Coyote pointed at him. "See? I told you people say that!"

Valyrym only glared at him, the hint a smirk twitching at his muzzle. "Yes, I'm sure that really knocks your glasses off."

"Damn it." The Coyote sat back, folding his arms. "That callback's a real shit on the floor."

"Ah hah!" Asterbury pointed at The Coyote, mimicking him. "See? People say that, too!"

"Oh, my god." The Coyote pressed his face into his hands, groaning. "It gets worse every year. It's like the Simpsons, no matter how bad it gets, it still just won't die."

"Ouch, low blow." Asterbury smacked the back of his hand against his palm. "There's a lot of hard work put into that show, you know. And even if it's not as good as it used to be, it's still got moments of hilarity. It's still funnier than _most_shows! And it...wait..." He trailed off, looking around. "Have we had this conversation?"

"Probably." Valyrym returned to his seat. "At this point, I doubt there are many conversations we _haven't_had."

"Exactly!" The Coyote sat up straight, glancing around. "That's my point exactly! That's why I didn't wanna do these, anymore. We keep re-using jokes...hell, we're reusing conversations about reusing jokes! And..." He waggled his hand at the urd'thin. "I get these great ideas for new Christmas stories. For new parodies we haven't done, new ways to approach it, stuff that would genuinely_surprise people! But they'd take _so long. They'd take like, a month or more just to write them. And if I wanted to do the really surprising stuff, the stuff that would really make people think about what they're reading, or whatever? Then I'd have to actually revise and edit it, get the structure right, hide the clues in there, make sure the big twists hit the way they needed too. And I just..." He shook his head, sighing. "I'm not gonna start writing one of these things in October, just to make sure I have time to write,and revise it, just cause I have some idea for a labyrinthine Christmas story! Hell, even the ones that are just gonna be straight parody adventures take ages. I just...I don't wanna spend the whole damn month working on something like, fifteen people are gonna read."

Asterbury gently poked the Coyote's arm. "And yet, here you are."

The Coyote grunted. "Only because you literally dragged me here. And hell, even this?? He gestured at the car around them. "This idea? Started with me thinking about doing it partly from your POV, Asterbury. Doing a fugitive parody, with you setting up a search with all the Christmas verse characters fanning out to find me, and rescue me from delusions. You were gonna be Tommy Lee Jones!"

"That grizzled old sexpot?" Asterbury licked his muzzle. "Yes, please!"

"Yeah, yeah." The Coyote waved him off. "Obviously, I didn't go that route, cause it was just too long, and too complex. But I even thought more about another serious, emotional story, where...you all have to come find me...and then..." He swallowed, glancing away. "Confront me about...not facing my problems, not facing the reality of the world. That I was...wallowing in delusion, because I was too scared to face my real life, anymore. And then you'd try to drag me out of it, support it...but maybe the whole thing was just another part of the delusion, and was I really escaping it? Or just letting myself believe I was, to make things easier on my broken mind?"

Valyrym rustled himself. "That one's...a little too close to home, I think."

"Maybe." The Coyote shrugged. "Maybe not. Either way, getting it right would have taken way too much time and effort. So I almost did nothing." He dropped his hands into his lap. "But it felt...wrong, doing nothing. I've done this crazy little stunt for at least 8 years in a row now. I don't have to write an epic, but...I couldn't quite bring myself to give it up. So here we are. Just me, and you fuckers, bullshitting in a limo."

"To be fair, my dumpster-fucking companion." Asterbury leaned his head back against the window, smiling. "I think most people like these stories best when we're just sitting around, bouncing stupid jokes off each other."

"That's good," The Coyote said, grinning. "Cause that's about all I got the energy and time to give them, this year."

"And, if they complain that they're not getting enough complicated, over-written movie and media parodies, would you say they're..." Valyrym swirled his paw in the air. "Really frying your bacon?"

The Coyote shot him a glare. "I'm gonna fry your bacon."

"Are you?" Valyrym blinked, curling his neck. "Because when you say it like that, it really sounds like a euphemism."

"Oh, Scavenger." Asterbury scooted up against him, stroking The Coyote's thigh. "You can fry my bacon, anytime."

"And, that's enough of you for one night." The Coyote leaned over, opened the door, and kicked Asterbury out of the limo. With a squeal, the urd'thin bounced away down the snowy road. "See you tomorrow, Lady Asstwat!"

Wednesday - Two Days Before Christmas

Valyrym stared out the window as Asterbury vanished into the snowy landscape. "I bet that really fries_his_ bacon."

The Coyote gestured towards the still-open door. "You wanna follow him?"

Valyrym shook his head. "I'd rather we turn around and run him over." He licked his muzzle, turning his attention back to the Coyote. "So, where you really happy there? In the snowglobe?" His voice quavered, and his spines drooped. "We really were worried about you. You'd been there an awful long time. We were afraid you'd lost yourself, entirely. Were you happy, though?"

The Coyote sighed, shutting the door. He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure. I...I think I was happy there, but...Apparently, I also ruined everything for everyone, by accident. And, I thought a kobold was a reindeer. And I kept calling everyone Rudolph. So maybe I had lost myself in...whatever happier world, I thought it was."

"Not to interpret the introspection," Amaleen said, gently. "But..."

The Coyote glanced her way when she trailed off, as if waiting to be sure it was alright to go on. "Oh, don't worry about it. I've done enough of these introspective moments over the years, anyway. Everyone knows the gist of it. Blah blah blah health issues, yadda yadda bone marrow and infusions in the hospital, etc etc etc, terror and anxiety about the future, you know the drill. So make it more fun."

Amaleen chuckled. "Very well. How do you confuse a reindeer with a kobold? Aren't kobolds exceptionally short?"

"Yeah." The Coyote nodded. "Especially compared to say, an anthro reindeer." The Coyote inspected the beverage table, scowling. "Why are we all drinking champagne?"

"Because we krunk as fuck," said Valyrym, downing an entire bottle. "Git lit, fool!"

The Coyote just stared at him. "Okay, then." He pivoted in his seat, turning towards Amaleen. "So, why are we drinking champagne?"

Amaleen shrugged, sipping her glass. "Just something I wanted to try from your world. Besides, apparently it's also fitting for this particular mode of transportation."

"Yeah, cause ridin' in a limo is krunk as fuck!" Valyrym rolled down a window, and hurled the bottle outside.

"Keep saying krunk, and you're going in the trunk!" The Coyote glared at the dragon. His ears slowly fell when he realized what he said. "I, uh, didn't mean to rhyme."

Valyrym's frills sagged. "I was gonna get my clown dance on."

The Coyote shook his head. "Your television habits really need adult supervision."

"Well, whaddya expect!" Valyrym tossed his head, horns scratching at the roof. "I've been stuck in your Christmas universe for the last year! What else was I supposed to do to avoid engaging with Asterbury? The longer I kept the TV on, and the louder I turned it up, the more I could drown out his...well, everything."

A smirked crossed the Coyote's muzzle. "Yeah, I guess that make sense. But how'd you get stuck here? Why didn't you just go home, Val?"

Amaleen cleared her throat. "We've all been stuck here for the last year. Apparently, you're the only one who can actually send us back and forth from our world to yours. Or, you know." Amaleen narrowed her eyes, glaring dagger at the coyote. "From the afterlife. I, of course, am happy to remain here, in a world where I _haven't_been unceremoniously burned to death." She sipped her champagne, still glaring at the canine. "Off-screen."

"It wasn't un-ceremonious!" The Coyote gulped, shifting awkwardly. "There was plenty of ceremony involved!"

Amaleen arched a brow, silent.

"There was a funeral!" The Coyote tugged on the sleeves of the dark gray hoodie he suddenly found himself wearing. "A very ceremonial funeral."

"Ah, yes, of course!" Valyrym waved a forepaw, a snarl in his voice. "A scene so solemn you subsequently ruined it for everyone, when Korvarok literally fucked me _into_Amaleen's grave!"

Amaleen spit champagne into the air. Wide-eyed and horrified, she whirled on Valyrym. "You did _what_to my grave?"

"What?" Valyrym held his paws up as if to shield himself from her sudden accusations. "It wasn't me!"

"Yeah, Valyrym!" The Coyote swirled a finger tip around a champagne bottle, turning it into a bottle of Delerium Noel, one of his favorite Belgian Christmas ales. "How _could_you? In her grave?" He sighed, shaking his head. "Have you no respect for the dead?"

Valyrym slapped the seat with a paw. "It wasn't me!"

Amaleen kept glowering at him. "You just told us you let Korvarok fuck you in my grave!"

"I did not!" Valyrym lashed his tail, snarling in frustration. "I said I was fucked into your grave! He mounted me alongside the grave, but then he got a little too exuberant and we fell in!"

"That's _not_better!" Amaleen took a slow breath, letting it back out through grit teeth. Then a sly grin crossed her face. "Though I am a little surprised. I always assumed when you two slunk off together, you were the one top."

"We never slunk off together!" Valyrym arched his neck, baring his fangs at the Coyote.

Amaleen punched him on the foreleg. "You literally just admitted you did! And that you...wait, my grave was still open? Was this at my funeral?"

Valyrym squirmed in place, curling his tail up between his hind legs to protect himself. "Technically, yes, but you need to understand-"

"Oh, I understand_alright, and _you need to understand that we're going to have words about this later." She lifted her foot, waggling the pointed toe of her leather boots. "And my boots may be involved if I don't like what I hear."

"You should _involve_your footwear with the scavenger!" Valyrym hissed, snapping his jaws at the coyote. "It's his stupid April Fool's story that corrupted such a sorrowful, memorable-"

Asterbury crashed through the skylight in an eruption of glass, and smashed right into the table. He stood up, broken shards protruding from his body. A broken wine flute stuck out of one of his eyes. An entire bottle had somehow penetrated his chest, and now poked out the other side. He spread his arms, grinning. Blood dripped from his teeth.

"Did someone say, engaged to Asterbury?" The urd'thin cackled.

"Oh, gross!" The Coyote folded his arms. "It's Asterbury."

Amaleen scowled at him. "We're not engaging with you till you clean yourself up."

"Oh, very well." Asterbury waved a hand at himself, and all his wounds closed. The glass and other objects returned to the table, knitting together. The skylight repaired itself above him. "There." He flopped back down alongside the Coyote. "Happy now, you bunch of rave-shitters?"

The Coyote blinked. "Rave-shitters?"

"You know, like party-poopers." Asterbury flourished a hand. "But escalated. Instead of pooping on the floor a party, you're shitting on the floor of a rave. People are dancing all over it, some dude rolling on E thinks it's chocolate, and-"

"And if I vomit?" The Coyote scrunched his muzzle in disgust. "I'm aiming for you. Besides, that's not wear the term comes from, anyway."

"Oh?" Asterbury tilted his head, lifting an ear. "Okay, dumpster dick, where's it come from? What's it mean?"

"Dumpster dick?" The Coyote growled at him, tugging on Asterbury's golden robe. "At least I'm not dressed like a knockoff Santa on display at a gay strip club." He snorted. "And don't get me started on what's in your sack! Merry Christmas, it's venereal disease!"

Valyrym laughed. "Which one, I shudder to think."

The Coyote yipped laughter. "All of them! It's literally all the venereal disease in the world."

"Tis the season for spreading cheer!" Asterbury cackled. "And what's more cheerful than feeling like you're trying to piss tinsel!"

"Oh, god." The Coyote rubbed his ears, groaning. "To answer your question, you shit-platter, the term party pooper is thought to originate from an earlier used meaning of the verb, 'to poop.' And before you say it?" He grabbed the urd'thin's muzzle to hold it shut. "It used to mean, to tire out, or exhaust."

Asterbury pulled away, grinning. "Ah, so that's why, whenever I'm tired out, I always shit my pants?"

The Coyote stared at him, blinking. "No, I think...I think that's something else."

"What?" Asterbury waved his hand, turning away. "Oh, don't be embarrassed. We all shit our pants when we get tired, everyone does it. As soon as there's a little yawn, out comes the torrent!"

"The torrent?" The Coyote moved as far away from Asterbury as the limousine would allow.

"Oh, who hasn't accidentally flooded a bathroom because the toilet just couldn't flush fast enough!" Asterbury scooted closer, grinning. "You ever seen tsunami footage?"

The Coyote put his head in his hands, whining. "You really shoulda just left me in that snowglobe."

"Anyway," Asterbury said, sitting up straighter. "Back to my thing. Lemme do my line again..." He cleared his throat, then spread his arms wide. "Did someone say, engaged to Asterbury?"

"No." The Coyote lifted his head again. "No one said that. Valyrym said basically the opposite of that, in fact. Like, two pages ago."

"Damn." Asterbury snapped his fingers. "I knew my timing was off. Well, how about this gang, I'll try another line." He cleared his throat again. "Did someone say, Valyrym got fucked by Korvarok?"

"Yes," Amaleen said. "Valyrym did. He said it."

Asterbury rubbed his hands together. "Well, there's one fan theory finally confirmed." He turned towards the coyote, grinning. "You heard it here first, readers! Valyrym X Korvarak..." He thrust his fingers into the Coyote's face again. "Confirmed!"

"Cut it the hell out, Gum Drop Nuts!" The Coyote smacked his hands away. "I keep telling you, this isn't a 3D movie!" He growled at the urd'thin. "And I'm still waiting to here why you brought me back. And don't give me that 'worried about me' crap, either. I know_they_ were worried about me..." He waved at the others. "But you almost always have some ulterior motive. So lemme guess. You want to cheer me up by taking me on a grand, holiday adventure? Well, too bad. I'm still not doing one of those."

"No, no, no." Asterbury shook his head. "If that's all I wanted, I'd have just stayed in the snow globe with you, helping you battle all those terrifying, non-copywritten, non-trademark infringing Deadies!" He put a hand by his muzzle, whispering across the limo. "Those were the real cockicidal maniacs, lemme tell ya!"

The Coyote whimpered, rubbing himself. "And they were your fault."

Asterbury shrugged. "Well, it was your strap-on wearing kobold that killed everyone in the first place!"

"That's not true." The Coyote folded his arms. "You magick'd in a bunch of random, red-shirt villagers just for the Easter Bunny's spec opcs team to gun down."

Amaleen gave a little gasp. "The Easter Bunny's people were there?"

Valyrym gave a much louder cry. "You were caught with a kobold with a strap-on?" He flattened his ears. "Who caught you two together? Was it the paparazzi?"

Asterbury flashed him a grit. "More like, a Knot-a-razzi, am I right?" Then he blinked, shaking his head. "No, wait. Better. More like, Pop-a-Knotty, right? No, wait!" He clapped his hands. "More like..." He thrust his fingers towards the dragon. "Pappa Knot Me, am I right?"

Everyone stared at Asterbury for long, silent moments of awkward resentment. Then Valyrym leaned forward, snatched the urd'thin up in his forepaws, and hurled him out of the limo up through the same sky-light he'd crashed through moments earlier. "Yah-YEET!"

"Thank God someone did that." The Coyote shielded himself from broken glass.

In the distance, Asterbury's voice echoed back to them, slowly fading. "Worth iiiiiiiiiit!"

"So, before he magics himself back into our waking nightmares..." Valyrym licked his muzzle, lifting his ears. "Tell us about this kobold you hooked up with."

"I did not hook up with a kobold!" He folded his arms, grumbling. "The bartender at the tavern, was a kobold."

"Along with the reindeer?"

The Coyote shook his head. "There was no reindeer. I thought the kobold was a reindeer, because he'd strapped on-"

"Because of his strap on?" Amaleen furrowed her brows. "I suppose if that's where your attention was focused, and you were delusional, you might mistake a kobold for a reindeer. If he was wearing a reindeer's...you know. Or at least if it was that big."

"Nok wasn't wearing a damn strap on!" The Coyote slapped the table between them.

Valyrym blinked. "Nok? Isn't he that badass little kobold gunslinger in Princess of Beasts?"

"Yes!" The Coyote sank back in his chair. "He was the bartender."

"You made one of your most badass characters serve in thankless supporting role, in a Christmas story,and you made him do it while wearing a strap on?" Valyrym shook himself, sighing. "This is going to end badly for you, Scavenger." He glanced at Amaleen. "We're going to have to protect him."

"Antlers!" The Coyote pointed to his head. "He had fake antlers, strapped to his head! Not a fucking strap on. And...I don't know why he was there. I thought it was gonna be a fox, actually, that I was confusing with a reindeer. But then Nok seemed to fit and..." He waved his hand. "I think him being there, watching me, was gonna be part of some subplot. Watching over me to protect me there, or something. That was too much work, but at least he got a cameo."

Amaleen finished off her champagne. She set her glass down, then waggled her fingers over the table. "Magic me up some egg nog, will you? And some for Ayly?"

The Coyote folded his arms, wiggled his nose...and all the alcohol drinks were replaced with bottles of ice cold egg nog. "There you go."

"What the hell was that?" Amaleen tapped her nose. "What's all...this about?"

"I believe," Valyrym said, picking up one of the hatchling-proof egg nog bottles. "That it was a Bewitched reference. Which..." He passed the bottle to Ayly, who happily started drinking. "Tells me he's even older than he lets on."

"Oh, fuck off. You're literally my oldest main character." The Coyote glared at Valyrym a moment, before picking up one of the bottles. The label on it read, Ed, Edd, and Ayly's Edd-Nod Emporium. His ears shot up. "That's a real thing?"

"It is now!" Valyrym patted Ayly's head. "She's become quite the little entrepreneur!"

Ayly held her paws out towards the coyote. "DAT EDD-NOD IS TWENTY BUCKS, COYOBE!"

The Coyote stared at her. "I don't have any money on me, Ayly. And why are you telling?"

"PAY UP, OR IMMA SEND LEMMUMGURB TO BWEAK YEW KNEES!"

"Entreprenuer?" The Coyote glared at the dragon. "She sounds more like an adorable little loan shark. And why is she yelling at me?"

"Because of her earmuffs, of course." Valyrym rubbed the little hatchling's nose. "So she doesn't hear all that swearing you can't stop doing."

"Swearing?" The Coyote rubbed his knees. "Who gives a fuck about swearing? She just threatened to break my knees! She used to be one of my best friends in these stories, what'd you guys do to her?"

"Things..." Valyrym rubbed the back of his neck. "Kinda went to hell without you, actually. A lotta things have changed."

"Case in point, Coyote." Amaleen scooted up to the window, peering outside. "We seem to be rolling into your old neighborhood. Have a look-see."

The Coyote peered out the window, expecting to see his familiar neighborhood. Instead, the road was lined only with smoldering ruins, and makeshift fortresses. One house was burned down to cinders, with the heads of dead reindeer in pikes in the snow all around it. In another, a cluster of bunnies were smearing elf blood all over their faces, and sharpening spears made from sleigh tracks. Another house had collapsed in on itself, a few flickering Christmas lights spraying showers of sparks across the snow. Across the way was a fortress, replete with a wall built from crushed cars. Several zombified reindeer and elf deadies from a few stories ago pounded away at the wall. Mounted turrets swiveled towards them, shredding them with blasts of jagged candy canes.

"What the fuck?" The Coyote pulled back from the window. "Everything went all Mad Max, but festive!"

"Yeah." Valyrym curled his tail around his paws. "Exactly."

"What the hell happened?"

"Well, you see, that's a long story." Valyrym shifted himself into a more relaxed position, settling in for a long tale.

"No!" The Coyote waved a finger. "No long tales. We've got like..." The Coyote glanced at his word count. "Two Thousand words left, and I'm just gonna call this thing, wherever we are. So...gimme me the gist of it, in one hundred words or less."

Valyrym considered his answer carefully. "Apparently, without the powers and Christmas cheer loving-outlook, of a uniting holiday presence like yourself, everything just falls apart. With no adventure or story to unify around, all the factions you've created here turn on each other, and this odd little Christmas-verse society crumbles in on itself."

The Coyote quickly checked the word count. "47 words. Not bad! But you coulda just said what I said. You Mad Maxed it."

"Well, I didn't do it!" Valyrym put a paw to his chest, snorting. "We've just been stuck here, surviving. Speaking of which, here we are, I think."

The limo pulled into The Coyote's driveway, now guarded by an immense, iron wall topped with layers of concertina wire. Heavily armed bunnies and foxes manned the guard towers at each corner. Reindeer circled in the skies above, rocket launchers mounted atop them. Elves with adorable little sniper rifles maintained positions atop the imposing fortress beyond the wall. As they rolled up the driveway, the gates slowly swung open. As soon as the vehicle was inside, the gates closed behind it.

"Okay, so what's the damn deal with the bunnies?" The Coyote looked around. "Don't they hate me?"

"They do," Amaleen said, nodding. "But they hate getting killed in all your stories, even more. Even if they do eventually get resurrected. But, as it turns out-"

"Keep it short," The Coyote said, opening the door.

"They teamed up with us because working with us was better than dying repeatedly. And, they agreed to help drag you out of that snowglobe because you were happy there, and they love anything that ruins your happiness."

"Got it." The Coyote stepped out, then moved aside for the others to follow him.

The Coyote gazed around his front yard while the others disembarked. At least, it used to be his front yard. Now, it was the training grounds for a small army. Everywhere he looked was something epic, and amazing. Sheerly by virtue of witnessing it, life would never again be the same. And there was witty banter, too, and rebellious recruits slowly bonding with hardnose training officers. But he couldn't be bothered to write or further describe any of it, because it was late and he was tired. But trust me.

If he described what he was seeing right now?

It would...

Blow...

Your...

Mind.

IN 3D!

***

SMASH CUT TO ASTERBURY POKING THE READER IN THE EYES

***

"Wow," The Coyote said, walking through the recently fortified front door of his home. "That was the single most incredible thing I've ever seen."

"Isn't it?" Amaleen followed him. "Until Admiral Krek started doing that, I had no idea an elite military training program could be so mindbogglingly epic."

Valyrym shook his head as he entered, with Ayly riding on his back. "Every time I see it, I'm utterly awed anew. Literally nothing will ever be the same for anyone who ever sees that, or reads even the barest minimum of a half-assed description of how utterly grand it all is." He paused, staring at the Coyote's back. "You...you did write a good description of it, didn't you?"

The Coyote scratched an ear. "I'm sure I'll edit something in later. Anyway, how the hell did Krek become an admiral?"

"The usual," Valyrym said, padding up alongside The Coyote. "Sucked a lotta dick."

"That checks out." The Coyote made his way into the kitchen. "Sounds like he's basically living his own fanfiction, now. I guess this whole Mad Max thing has been good for him, at least. Hey, I'm sorta hungry. We got any Christmas cookies or anything else around?"

Valyrym shrugged his wings. "Check the fridge."

The Coyote walked to the fridge, and popped it open. No sooner had he opened the door than Asterbury sprang out of it, nearly bowling The Coyote over.

"Hungry, old buddy? Let Asterbury fix that!" He clapped his hands twice. "Hey Gang, remember that time Asterbury starred in the snack commercial?"

***

Asterbury stood in a spotless kitchen, all marble countertops and silver fixtures. Everything was in black and white, like something from the 40's. He was dressed in a in a frilly maid's unform, along with an oversized Christmas apron. Tinsel ran around the outer edges of the apron, and battery powered Christmas lights spelled out words down the front of it.

Perform Fellatio On The Cook.

Asterbury posed for the camera, with a big smile on his muzzle, and a whole lot of 'fuck me' in his hips. "Hungry during the Big Game, Fellas?" He shifted his weight, cocking his hips the other way. "I know my man is!" Asterbury bent forward, sticking his butt out behind him. "That's why I always buy him, Coyote Brand Trash Puffs!" The urd'thin started twerking. "Tastes just like mom used to drag home!"

***

"No!" The Coyote slapped Asterbury's muzzle so hard it knocked him right out of his fake flashback. "Not only no, but Supreme Court no!"

"What?" Asterbury tilted his head. "Something you didn't like? I'm open to critique, you know. So what was it? A little too erotic? A little too sexual?" He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "It's 2020, Scavenger, you can't be afraid of a little sex appeal."

"Sex appeal was literally the last thing that so-called commercial contained." The Coyote leaned up against the fridge.

"So we agree it _did_have some!"

"And what was that shit about having a "whole lot of fuck me' in your hips?" The Coyote flattened his ears, groaning. "God, even your fake flashbacks are written like bad fanfiction these days. Hell, that was so bad you'd make fanfiction.net embarrassed _for_you!"

Asterbury held his hands up. "So, what I'm hearing is that you can't wait to see the follow up? Got it!" Asterbury clapped his hands.

***

"Hey there, hungry fellas." Asterbury stood, once again in a maid uniform, in an old black and white kitchen. "It's your old pal Asterbury again! How's that big game going? What's that?" Asterbury poked his lip out, pouting. "Tired from all all that oral sex? Then maybe it's time you put something in his mouth!"

He turned around, and picked up a box from the counter. "Introducing new, Coyote Brand Toaster Trash!" Asterbury lifted the box, and pumped it back and forth against his muzzle. "With the fresh taste of hot garbage all coyotes love! Now extra garbagey!"

Asterbury dropped the box back down. "They're toaster safe, and nearly impossible to eat! Stuff one in your man's muzzle today! They'll keep him busy so long that he'll never know that you spent the fourth quarter letting all his friends into _your_tight end!"

***

The Coyote leaned his head back against the fridge, groaning. "Oh, my god. I really miss my snow globe right now."

Valyrym cocked his head. "It sounds like you really liked that place."

"I did!" The Coyote wagged his tail, thumping it against the refrigerator. "Though, I don't think they liked me very much."

"You know what the problem was?" Valyrym tapped the Coyote on the chest, then did the same to himself. "You didn't have us there. Usually, in these stories, we always bounce this shit off each other. We drive each other mad, but it's all in the name of friendship." He tilted his head towards Asterbury. "Cept for him."

"Yeah." The Coyote glanced at Asterbury. "With him, it's just...murderous, murderous hatred."

The dragon thumped his tail. "Exactly. But...maybe if we all went there together, we'd...limit the chaos, so to speak. Then we could enjoy it, without ruining it for everyone else."

"That's not the _worst_idea I've ever heard." He rubbed his muzzle.

"Is that The Coyote?" A vaguely familiar voice called out from another room.

A moment later, and two slender foxes in ragged, tattered black suits scurried out from the living room, into the kitchen. They hurried towards him, and then both of them offered quick little bows. Then they struggled to compose themselves, standing up straight, tails stiff out behind them. However, with the way the sleeves and pantlegs of their suits were little more than ragged ribbons, the effect was anything but impressive.

It took The Coyote a moment to remember who they were. "Holy Shit, Agents Donut and Steele? You wholly original, non-trademarked assholes are still here?" He paused, waiting to hear something beep. When nothing happened, he snorted. "Aren't you supposed to fine me for swearing, or something?"

The first fox cleared his throat with a growl. "I'm afraid we, uh, don't work for the Agency, and the Bureau anymore, respectively." Donut indicated himself, then the other fox.

"Huh..." The Coyote scratched his head. "I thought you two would just head back to...Demolition Man World, or whatever dumb thing I pulled you out of."

"Alas, that we could." Steele cleared his throat, just like the first fox. "However, our employment services were terminated due to the failure of our mission, and the subsequent collapse of at least sixteen known timelines..." He narrowed his eyes. "Which, as you may recall, is why we intruded upon your story last year. In hopes of attaining your help to prevent the collapse of said timelines."

Donut spoke again. "Since it was in fact, your actions across your so-called "Christmas-verse" that damaged those timelines in the first place." He adjusted his ragged sleeves. "Which, I might add, is the base cause for everything terrible happening..." He jerked his muzzle towards a window. "Out there."

The Coyote smirked, stepping towards the smaller fox. "Didn't I knee you in the balls, last year?"

Donut gulped, backing away and covering up his crotch. "You did in fact, knee my testicles."

Amaleen folded her arms. "After these little shits got fired, we realized they couldn't get home either, so we let them crash here. They've actually been pretty good about making themselves useful, when they're not secretly trying to fuck each other."

Steele stomped his foot. "We are not secretly trying to fuck each other!"

"Yeah, you're right!" Asterbury slapped the fox on the ass, earning a yip. "There's nothing secret about it!"

"Wait..." The Coyote glanced down at Steele. "You swear now?"

The little fox threw his hands up. "Might as fucking well! I'm trapped in an actual apocalypse, so I think my good manners may as well get dicked."

Asterbury curled an arm around the fox's shoulder, hugging him. "Welcome to the party, pal!"

The Coyote growled. "Please don't trample on good Die Hard lines like that."

Steele pulled away from Asterbury. "Furthermore, now that we work for you, I'm no longer a member of the Mythical Yuletide Bureau for Alleviating Lewd and Lascivious Slander, therefor, I'm free to engage in it myself, should I so choose."

"Hah!" The Coyote barked a single laugh. "I forgot that abbreviation joke. M.Y.B.A.L.L.S."

"Yes, well." Donut glanced at the other fox. "You'll be pleased to hear that we've formed a new agency, under the authority of the rulers of this fortress and the lands around it."

Steele nodded. "Yes, thankfully I no longer have to worry about M.Y.B.A.L.L.S., and all the many problems they presented me."

Valyrym nudged the coyote, grinning. "Tell them what your new agency is called."

"Right!" Steele straightened up again. "Our new goal is promote and engender tolerance and understanding amidst all the many strangely monstrous creatures who call this place home, both real and so-called unnatural, magical creatures. So..." He proudly put a hand to his chest. "We're now the Monstrous Yuletime Natural-Unnatural Tolerance Society."

The Coyote only stared at him. "That spells 'my nuts'. You just exchanged, "M.Y. B.A.L.L.S. for M.Y. N.U.T.S." He sighed, then laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, that checks out."

Valyrym lowered his head to bump his muzzle against The Coyote's ear. "That was an awful lot of work, and backstory for that one joke. Was it worth it?"

"Yup!" The Coyote kept giggling. "My nuts. Hah!"

Amaleen rolled her eyes. "Low hanging fruit, Coyote."

"Oh, come on." The Coyote still hadn't stopped laughing. "He's just a little fox! They can't be _that_low-hanging."

Steele glared at him. "You know, you made that exact same joke last year."

"I sure did!" The Coyote wagged his tail. "It was funny then, and it's funny now."

"Hi, Asterbury here." The urd'thin grasped Steel's hand, firmly shaking it. "Everyone's best friend."

"I know who you are!" The fox yanked his hand away.

"Oh, do you?" Asterbury feigned surprise, his oversized ears perked. "Because you're acting like you've never been in one of these stories before." He slapped the fox across the head. "The jokes are always repeated!"

"Speaking of which," The Coyote said, walking through the kitchen. He snagged a few cookies off the counter, and popped one into his muzzle. "I'm about out of word space, but you know who we haven't seen yet? Chocolate Stru...I mean, ah, Vatch."

Suddenly, Vatch burst in from another room. The fluffy, brown furred urd'thin was wearing a leather vest, left open, showing off his well-toned abs. He also wore assless chaps, showing off his perfect ass. In one hand was a riding crop, and in the other, a bright-red ball gag. He strode straight up to Asterbury, and shoved the ball-gag into Asterbury's chest.

"You Vatch gimp now!" He snarled at Asterbury. "Gag now, Gimp!"

"What the fuck did I miss?" The Coyote stared at them, his jaws open. "Vatch is ripped!"

Valyrym arched his neck. "That's the part that surprises you?"

Vatch turned towards coyote, holding up his hand. "Not just that!" He pointed out a fancy golden ring. "Vatch get married!"

"You got married?" The Coyote gave him a hug. "Congrats, Vatch! That must be why you got in shape, huh?"

"What?" Vatch glanced down at his chest. "You talk about Vatch abs? Vatch always like this." He smirked, shaking his riding crop. "Vatch see naked art you get! Vatch very ripped. Asterbury very ripped, too."

"I sure am, you sexy chocolate strudel." Asterbury pulled off his santa robe, and tossed it over the counter. He ran his hands up and down his sexy, sexy, eight pack. Truly, the sexiest abs anyone had ever seen on an urd'thin. "I saw that art you got of us too, Scavenger. I think someone's pants-dumpster just grew three sizes bigger!"

The Coyote grit his teeth. "Asterbury, stop inserting the word sexy into your own description. And I know you're the one who made me call Vatch's ass perfect."

"Well?" Asterbury gently turned Vatch around. "Can you make an argument?"

The Coyote heaved a long sigh. "No. It's perfect."

"Damn right is perfect!" Vatch waggled it, then turned towards Asterbury, snarling. "But Vatch say gag time, not talk time! You not listen, that means you go in box, Gimp!

"Sure thing, Mr V!" Asterbury hurried out of the room, only to noisily drag a small, leather-bound box wrapped with straps and padlocks back into the room. "Be ready in a jiffy."

The Coyote's shoulders sagged. "Oh, lord. Every year we find a new bottom to scrape."

Vatch set the crop aside, opened a drawer, and retrieved a cattle prod. He activated it, shouting over the loud buzzing sound. "Get in box, Gimp!" Vatch jabbed the prod into Asterbury's sheath and balls. Asterbury shrieked like an orgasming hyena, and dropped to the floor, shaking. Vatch zapped him again. "Get in box!"

Valyrym stared at the Coyote. "Like an orgasming hyena?"

The Coyote shrugged. "Made me laugh, anyway. So, Vatch. Who's the lucky spouse?"

Vatch paused in his deity-shocking to glance at The Coyote over his shoulder. "Who you think? Is Asterbury!

Asterbury held up a shaking hand, waggling his fingers too show off a matching ring.

The Coyote blinked, then stared in momentary silence. "You know what? No further questions." He turned away as Vatch started dragging Asterbury into the leather and chain wrapped box. "So...what else happened while I was away?"

Christmas Eve

"Ayly got huge."

The Coyote blinked. "Ayly did what now?"

Suddenly, the kitchen roof ripped away, revealing an enormous purple, black and blue dragon standing just outside. She lowered her head through the hole, and spoke in a booming voice. "Yo, whassup Muthafucka, I'm big now."

"Fuck-a-fruit-cake!" The Coyote stumbled away from the giant dragon's head, and the bits of debris falling from the ruined roof. "What the hell happened to her? And why are there_two_ Ayly's?"

"We've been trying to tell you!" Nearby, Donut held up a hand, making an O shape. "This is the standard timeline."

Steele lifted a single finger. "And this is every other timeline you've changed, crashing into it!" He shoved his finger into the hole. "Over, and over, and over!" Steele pumped his finger through Donut's hand repeatedly. "Timelines just plunging violently in and out over other timelines, causing incredible friction, until finally-"

"Yeah," The Coyote said, waving them off. "The foxes are definitely fucking."

"Told you it wasn't a secret," Asterbury said, his voice muffled by his gimp box.

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

"Gimp no talk!" Vatch popped the box open wide enough to tase Asterbury in the sheath again. "You get zap now!"

Asterbury squealed. "Mamma Mia, that's a spicy tasing!"

The Coyote pinned his ears, turning away. "Alright. I think we're about done here." He returned his attention to Valyrym and Amaleen. "So, how's The Writer doing, you guys keep tabs on him, right? Hopefully 2020's been a good year for him?"

"Well..." Valyrym gulped audibly.

The Coyote grunted. "That bad, huh?"

"You could say that again."

"That sucks." The Coyote shrugged, grinning. "At least there wasn't a global pandemic, right?"

"Ahhh..." Amaleen adjusted the collar of her blouse. "About that..."

The Coyote blinked. "There_was_ a global pandemic." He sighed. "Great. Well, at least I'm sure it wasn't the worst global pandemic we've seen in a hundred years, since the Spanish Flu."

Valyrym awkwardly cleared his throat, adjusting the tie suddenly in place around his neck. "Well, the thing about that is..."

The Coyote's ears drooped. "You're shitting me."

Amaleen and Valyrym exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"Goddamn it, it really _is_that bad?" He stepped over some debris, then leaned against the counter. "Well, at least I'm sure we mounted a robust federal and state response that avoided politicizing it, and..."

Amaleen and Valyrym cleared their throats together, looking in opposite directions.

"...That didn't lead to hundreds of thousands of deaths and one of the worst per capita death rates in all the world. ...Right?"

Valyrym unbuttoned the collar of the dress shirt he suddenly wore. Steam burst out of it, whistling loudly.

"Oh." The Coyote folded his arms, grimacing. "Fuck me. Well, at least The Writer got to have some much needed mental health time with all his best friends at furry cons, and with his beloved gryphon, right?"

"Uhhhh...well..." Amaleen's face turned into a cartoon kettle on the boil. Steam shrieked out of her spout.

"No? Not at all?" The Coyote glanced back and forth, then sighed again. "Oh, right. The immune system. Couldn't risk it at all. But hey, there was an election, right? And I'm sure, after it was all over, Americans finally came together to move forward, and celebrate the democratic process."

Valyrym suddenly turned into Rodney Dangerfield, fiddling with his unkept tie. "Oh boy, whoo, boy."

"What? Really? But, even in that damn snowglobe, I heard the department of homeland security itself said it was the most secure election in history. You're telling me, people somehow still don't believe it was legitimate, despite a complete total lack of evidence and a mountain of losses in court by those claiming it was fraudulent? Even with all that, people still didn't come together and celebrate the beauty of democracy, even when their guy lost?"

"Well, yassee, the thing is..." Anime sweat drops appeared all over Amaleen's face.

"That's it." The Coyote threw his hands up. "This reality really fries my bacon. I'm going back to my snowglobe where it's Perma-Christmas. Who's with me?" He glanced around at the others. "Amaleen, Val? Snowglobe? Vatch, Asterbury? Snowglobe world?"

Everyone agreed in unison that their home planet needed them. The Coyote folded his arms and waggled his nose. He didn't care if no one else got the reference or if everyone thought it was dumb. Trust me, it was dumb, but it made him giggle so he did it anyway. His Christmas magic blasted out across the house, wreathing itself (See what he did there? Total Christmas pun. All for his gryphon.) around everyone who was cool and lucky enough to make it out of that reality.

You know, the whole cast everyone loves. Valyrym, of course, and Amaleen. Vatch got to go too, and so did Asterbury and his gimp box. Krek had to stay behind though, cause he had a war effort to run, a house to protect, and fanfiction to write. Donut and Steele stayed behind too, to valiantly knot each other. Little Ayly got to go to the Snowglobe, but Big Ayly chose to stay behind and watch the foxes knot each other, cause Big Ayly's a hard core creeper. All night long, she be creepin'. Ever since she was small, she been peepin'. Wait, no that sounds terrible. And is that even how that song went? Oh, who cares.

Also invited were Keanu Reeves and John Matrix, but the real Arnold Schwarzenegger choose to stay behind and pump everyone up. Matrix 4 was there too. Not the movie, but a guy named Matrix 4, who Asterbury always bought his E from. And hell, because it was Christmas, even Valyrym's Cousin Roy got to go! All 5,476 pieces of him they'd scraped out of that meat grinder, and put in a bucket. But hey, at least they put a bell and some tinsel on the handle. That's festive, right? Oh, who gives a fuck. I don't get paid for these things, you know.

And let's not forgot about everyone's favorite 80's robot Johnny Five, who was alive, and Johnny Six, who picked up sticks, and Johnny Seven, who went to heaven, and Johnny Eight, who was overweight, and Johnny Nine, who looked like Chris Pine, and Johnny Ten, who was a real asshole, so fuck that guy, he doesn't even get a rhyme.

Before they reached the snowglobe, the gang all crammed into Bob's Burgers. The restaurant, not the show of the same name. And no, Asterbury, they didn't cram into a man named Bob Burgers. I know you'd love that, but that's not a person. His name is Bob Belcher, we've been over this! Anyway, the restaurant, like the show, is titled Bob's Burgers.

"Oh, my god!" The Coyote walked in, staring in awe at a swarthy man, as described humorously by the show itself, with hairy arms, and a truly impressive mustache. He stood behind a long, well-worn counter top. A collection of squeaky stools with cracked leather seats sat in front of it. "It's him! It's really Bob!"

The man, staring back at the old collection of stragglers making their way into his restaurant, gave a low, exasperated groan. "Ooooh, my god."

"Hah!" The Coyote pointed at him. "He said the thing!"

"Nice to meet you, Bob Burgers!" Asterbury hurried past the coyote and hopped up onto a stool. "My friend here's a big fan of your work!"

"Ah...thanks." The mustached man glanced between Asterbury and the coyote. "It's Belcher, though. Bob Belcher."

"Bless you!" Asterbury flashed him an evil grin.

Valyrym padded up behind him. "No, you say bless you when someone sneezes, not when they burp. If anything..." The dragon glared at the human. "You should say excuse me after burping."

The man blinked, an incredulous tone creeping into his voice. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused, Bob Burgers!" Asterbury leaned forward, looking around for a menu. "Whaddya sell here? Tell what, I'll try the swordfish."

"Belcher!" The Coyote slapped Asterbury across the head. "The man's name, is Bob Belcher."

Asterbury winced and rubbed his head. "Bless you!"

"Ohhh, my god," The Coyote and Bob said in unison. The Coyote grabbed one of Asterbury's ears, twisting it. "Listen you little fuck-shuttle. First off, he's not burping. He's saying his name. Second, like the dragon said, you don't bless someone _for_burping. Third, and fucking finally, no one burps by saying the world, belch! Let alone, Belcher."

"Yeah, Urd'thin." Valyrym snapped his teeth. "That'd be like, whenever you had to fart, you just said, fart!"

Asterbury waved a hand in front of his nose. "Well excuse you, dragon!"

"I didn't fart, you little shit!"

Asterbury swiveled around towards the Coyote. "Boy, someone really fried his bacon, didn't they?"

The Coyote grabbed Asterbury in both hands, then hurled him straight up into the air, and through the roof of Bob's Burgers. "Yah YEET!"

Debris crashed down as the little urd'thin smashed through the ceiling, then through the upstairs apartment where Bob's family lived. A muffled voice quickly growing fainter echoed down through the whole. "Hi Linda! Bye Linda!"

Amaleen put her hand on the Coyote's shoulder. "Thank god someone did that. That little bastard was really frying my bacon."

The Coyote grabbed Amaleen, and hurled her through the roof, making a second hole. "Yah-yeet!" He blinked, staring up through the hole as she vanished into the sky. "Sorry, Amaleen! Reflex!" He snapped his fingers, and she was standing next to him once more, safe and sound. "Better?"

Amaleen shook a finger at him. "You're just lucky we're here with your idol, Mr. Bob Belcher, or I'd knee the icing off your sugar cookies."

The Coyote rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure that analogy actually makes any sense."

Amaleen stepped forward, lifting her knee. "And I'm not sure why I'm still hesitating!"

"Well..." The Coyote stretched his arms up over his head. "It's about time for me to hittin' the ol' dusty trail..."

Valyrym cocked his head. "What's the plan?"

"Pub?"

Valyrym nodded. "Pub."

Deciding he could no longer be bothered to write the more full-fledged, Bob's Burgers parody/tribute he'd initially planned, the Coyote simply zapped everyone to the end of the story. He returned himself to the same bar stool on which the story began. This time, all his friends were with him. The pub was packed with all his favorite characters, and all his loved ones. Cause it was Christmas, so why the fuck not.

Nok stood on his step-ladder, just behind the bar. He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, great. You again. You know, it took me months to get all those blood stains out. And that was after I delt with those damn zombie rabbits."

"Yeah, sorry about that." The Coyote shifted his weight, then blinked. "Wait, how long have I been gone?"

Nok shrugged. "Approximately one plot unit, give or take."

"Works for me." The Coyote snapped his fingers. "The rabbits! That's who I should invite."

Suddenly, all the dead rabbits were back to life once again. And even the ones who hadn't died were there, probably. Though really, if you look at the body count in these things? It seems reasonable that every magic, Easter-Bunny world rabbit has died at least once. This time, they weren't allowed their spec ops gear, though. In fact, they had to go naked so everyone could laugh at their little bitty bunny bits. Except for that one bunny, Sir Hops-A-Lot. That did had a dick like a donkey into hyper. Unlike his best friends, Sir Dick-Like-A-Donkey-Into-Hyper, who had a dick like a mouse with micropenis syndrome, and Sir Perfectly Normal Genitalia, who had an entire separate tiny, fully independent second bunny where his penis should have been.

Asterbury strolled up a few confused looking rabbits, who were busy trying to figure out what the hell just happened. "Hey, I know you! Remember that time, I ran you over with my monster truck?"

***

A few of the rabbits stopped in the middle of the snowy road, glancing around. All at once, Asterbury's monster truck screamed back down the road. The rabbits couldn't get out of the way in time, and screamed as Asterbury ran them down. They burst like rotten fruit under the truck's monolithic tires, spraying bright, crimson hues all across the snow.

"Gross." Valyrym slapped the coyote across the head. "Remember when these Christmas stories were actually...yanno...Christmasy?"

The Coyote rubbed his head. "At least red is festive..."

Automatic weapons fire split the snowy air as the remaining rabbits opened fire on the truck. One of them hurled an egg grenade into the truck's bed. It blew up, blasting the truck into fiery wreckage, and propelling Asterbury through the air. He cackled as he hurtled back towards the ground, firing up his chain saw just before he landed. As he came down, he brought the chainsaw down against a rabbit's head, slicing the creature completely in half, from head to groin.

Asterbury stood between two halves of dead rabbit as they flopped onto the snow. He revved the chainsaw, flashing the other rabbits a twisted, smug grin. "Screw me!"

The remaining rabbits gave each other confused looks, while their commander called for backup. The squad that had been trying to encircle the home broke off, returning to assist their brethren. Some of them opened fire on Asterbury, others threw their adorable little explosives, and all of them ended up squealing like the pig from that movie Deliverance.

The Coyote blinked. "Asterbury! That's not actually a pig! And stop screwing with my text!"

***

All the rabbits around Asterbury began vomiting immediately when the flashback finished. All over each other. Just geysers of projectile vomit, so intense the force it started pushing them all across the floor in different directions.

Asterbury cackled over the hideous burbling noises. "We're all best friends!"

"You..." Nok waggled a mug at the coyote. "Got problems. Not the least of which is ending your story on a puke joke. But you're gonna have a lot bigger problem with me if you think you're gonna pull that, King of Christmas bullshit again."

The Coyote shook his head. "Nah, we'll try to keep our bullshit in house, so that..." A puking rabbit slid across the floor behind him. Nok's eyes slowly tracked the bunny and his horrible across the floor. "So that...you're not effected...and...uh...shit."

"Guess you'll have to start that tomorrow."

"Here." The Coyote twirled a finger in the air, magicking a stapled manuscript into being. "Lemme start making the last year up to you." He added a bow to the manuscript, then passed it over the counter to Nok. "A gift, for you."

"What's this?" Nok took it, removing the bow.

"It's an outtake." A smirk spread over the coyote's muzzle. "Where Harliss gives you a blowjob."

"Oh, reaaaally?" Nok licked his muzzle, paging through it. "I guess you could be forgiven for all your...hey, wait a minute. This is just Krek, dressed like Harliss. And...wait, that's not even more! That's...Krek, dressed like me! This is literally just two Kreks in bad costumes blowing each other!"

"Oh." The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. "I guess I accidentally summoned some of Krek's fanfiction. Well, I'll get you that outtake eventually." He held his hand out. "Alright, give it back."

"Not so fast," Nok said, still flipping through. "This is kinda hot."

"It sure is, Rudolph, it sure is." The Coyote leaned forward over the bar, smiling. "Now, how about some eggnog?"

Nok slammed the papers down. "I'm not fucking Rudulph!"

The Coyote only smiled at him. "You are now." In a flash, the little kobold transformed into a tall, anthro reindeer with a bright red nose, and some assless chaps.

Rudulph looked down at himself, snarling. "Fuck me! This really fries my bacon."

"Ah hah!" The Coyote pointed to him, grinning. "See, Val? People _d_o say that!"

The dragon tossed his head. "Your characters don't count!"

The coyote snorted, folding his arms. "Well, that's a real shit on the floor."

"Ah hah!" Asterbury pointed to the Coyote. "See? People do say that!"

The Coyote chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Let's see..." He glanced around. "Any other jokes we need callbacks to?"

"Hey there, sexy reindeer." Asterbury slid into Rudolph's DMs. "You up? Cause that big red nose really knocks my glasses off. You know, I've got something that's big and red, too. So why don't you get over here, and show me what dat mouth do!"

The Coyote rubbed his muzzle. "Yeah, I think that works. Though...I can't help but feel like we're missing something."

Suddenly, Valyrym gave a pained yowl, stumbling back. "Who the hell puts a jellyfish in a bar?"

"There it is." The Coyote laughed, leaning forward. "Congrats gang, on a job...done." He gestured at the reindeer. "I thought I asked for eggnog? Chop chop, Rudulph!"

The Reindeer heaved a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Fuck my life."

"Aww, thanks, Rudulph!" The Coyote beamed at him. "Merry Fuck My Life to you, too! Merry Fuck My Life to all of us, each and every one!"

"See you all next year, everyone! In..." Asterbury thrust his fingers directly into the camera, poking at least one unlucky reader right in the eyes. "3D!"

And then, at that exact point in time, in that hemisphere, localized entirely within the reindeer's pub, the story ended.