"Lewis," said the man with a shotgun, "put the knife down."
"Make me, fat-ass," Lewis growled, pressing the blade into the other man's chest.
"We can work this out peacefully, Lewis," the other replied, "It doesn't have to be like this."
"That's what the furry said," responded the hick, his breath like smoke in the frigid air. Despite the cold, he still refused to wear a shirt, because he's Lewis Fuckyou Jameson.
"He's not a furry," the second man sighed, "Just... just, you know you can't kill me, right? Immortal. I'll come right back to life."
"Don't need to," Lewis said, "I just need to take ye' out for a bit."
"What a goddamn lovely thing to say," snarked the other.
"Hey, fuck ye'!" Lewis spat, a beat of sweat dripping down the side of his head, "Ye' think I want to do this? I have no choice."
"I don't see why we should have to pay for your irresponsibility, old man," grumbled the fat man.
"Ain't my problem, bud," Lewis said, "Say hi to Jessica for me."
With that, Lewis plunged the knife into the other man's heart. His enemy coughed, blood streaming from his mouth and into his graying beard, his eyes rolling back into his head. His rosy cheeks turned as white as now, his pipe ceasing to puff. The white fringe of his suit was stained with green elven blood. He fell limp, thrown quickly to the frozen ground by his murderer. Lewis stomped up to the man's sleigh, ignoring the protests of the reindeer, and grabbed the large burlap sack of toys the elf kept in the back. With a mighty heave, Lewis carried the bag up to his truck, tossing in the trunk.
"Fuck you, Jameson!" the elf shouted, life slowly returning to his form.
"Ye' better watch out!" Lewis taunted, before peeling away. He tore through the streets of Norfolk, ignoring the trees and speeding by the wreathes, glaring at the snowmen and damning the carolers. How he hated Noel - how he despised the holidays.
Suddenly, his wife's voice blared to life on speaker phone.
"Lewis, where the fuck are you?!" she demanded.
"Uh... shoppin'," Lewis replied, uneasily eying the bag in the backseat.
"You didn't forget Christmas, did you?!" she continued, "This is Rosie's first year and, I swear to the gods, if you fuck this up..."
"No, no, honey," Lewis said, sweating profusely, "I never forget. Ye' know me. I don't do stuff like that."
"Make me, fat-ass," Lewis growled, pressing the blade into the other man's chest.
"We can work this out peacefully, Lewis," the other replied, "It doesn't have to be like this."
"That's what the furry said," responded the hick, his breath like smoke in the frigid air. Despite the cold, he still refused to wear a shirt, because he's Lewis Fuckyou Jameson.
"He's not a furry," the second man sighed, "Just... just, you know you can't kill me, right? Immortal. I'll come right back to life."
"Don't need to," Lewis said, "I just need to take ye' out for a bit."
"What a goddamn lovely thing to say," snarked the other.
"Hey, fuck ye'!" Lewis spat, a beat of sweat dripping down the side of his head, "Ye' think I want to do this? I have no choice."
"I don't see why we should have to pay for your irresponsibility, old man," grumbled the fat man.
"Ain't my problem, bud," Lewis said, "Say hi to Jessica for me."
With that, Lewis plunged the knife into the other man's heart. His enemy coughed, blood streaming from his mouth and into his graying beard, his eyes rolling back into his head. His rosy cheeks turned as white as now, his pipe ceasing to puff. The white fringe of his suit was stained with green elven blood. He fell limp, thrown quickly to the frozen ground by his murderer. Lewis stomped up to the man's sleigh, ignoring the protests of the reindeer, and grabbed the large burlap sack of toys the elf kept in the back. With a mighty heave, Lewis carried the bag up to his truck, tossing in the trunk.
"Fuck you, Jameson!" the elf shouted, life slowly returning to his form.
"Ye' better watch out!" Lewis taunted, before peeling away. He tore through the streets of Norfolk, ignoring the trees and speeding by the wreathes, glaring at the snowmen and damning the carolers. How he hated Noel - how he despised the holidays.
Suddenly, his wife's voice blared to life on speaker phone.
"Lewis, where the fuck are you?!" she demanded.
"Uh... shoppin'," Lewis replied, uneasily eying the bag in the backseat.
"You didn't forget Christmas, did you?!" she continued, "This is Rosie's first year and, I swear to the gods, if you fuck this up..."
"No, no, honey," Lewis said, sweating profusely, "I never forget. Ye' know me. I don't do stuff like that."
