My Girlfriend is Santa Claus & Together We Must Stop the Christmas Apocalypse Based on a True Story

Long ago, once upon an Italy, a stinky old Catholic named Dante scribbled out a map of hell— and it was such a beautiful map that the Pope said “Yep! That’s how it really is!” and hammered Dante’s Inferno with a big red stamp that said ‘Canonized!’ But this underworld was peopled with sinners of the 1300s— like unbaptized babies, ancient Roman poets, Mohammad, and all the people who called Dante a leccaculo in high school — sinners of yesteryear, if you ask me. If Dante were born in our age and witnessed the horrors of the 21st century what sins do you suppose would segregate this modern map of the underworld? Who would have a reservation at the very bottom of Millenial Dante’s fiery well? Furries? YA authors? The creator of Ikea? All good guesses! But the deepest level of 21st century hell would be reserved for those awful sinners guilty of cosplay! And at its epicenter, a slutty TikToker dancing in a cheap Aliexpress corset and a plastic wig for all eternity.

Perhaps Peter too deserved to suffer forever in cosplay woe when Yumeka, the French maid elf, forced a fleecy Santa-like jacket on him. What did he do to deserve such embarrassing red and white attire, he wondered. The feeling that he was being prepared as a Kris Kringle effigy fleeted the instant Yumeka led him out into the frigid boreal night, and icy blades of wind cut across his face. His elven companion, however, wore only her frilly black and white uniform in the arctic hurricane as they trudged out into the snow and around the warm glow of the workshop. It appeared as though it were night, but Peter’s watch swore that it was not yet midday.

“Aren’t you cold?” Peter asked.

She looked back at him and said, “Not really. Are you?”

“Yes!”

Out in the darkness away from Santa’s workshop, an assembly of elves toiled around a bonfire, pulling toboggans to and fro in an assembly line. Illuminated by the fire was a gargantuan carcass, a great hulking behemoth of a creature, ice and snow clinging to its tufts of dark fur. Peter couldn’t distinguish what it was until he found its gelatin eyes frozen open, dead tongue hanging out from between its teeth, and the long neck that attached it to the rest of its body. It was some kind of primeval giraffe. Not slender and polka-dotted like the ones in Africa, but dark and woolly. An ugly, roided-out abomination of a beast that had always been a lanky freak to begin with. Santa was there, watching the elves load up penguin carcasses and drag them to the kitchen with a solemn demeanor.

Peter was about to say hi to her when he saw one of the elves raise an enormous sword up above her head and plunge it down into the woolly giraffe’s belly. As the elf carved down from the chops to the nave, geysers of blood spewed out from the wound, followed by guts and offal, intestines unraveling into the snow about the elf’s boots. She carved and peeled back the flesh of the enormous giraffe, like turning the page to a great hairy book, and cut loose great steaks from the animals flanks.

“We’re eating good tonight!” she shouted.

“Yuzuka,” Santa called out. “I want you to meet Peter.”

The sword wielding elf tossed the blade to an assistant. She flung away the blood drenched coat and her bare flesh steamed with heat in the cold night air. Peters eyes instantly dropped down to behold her feminine abs, like the perfectly flat belly of a Valkyrie supermodel. Her chest and arms were pocked and lacerated with scars from penguin pecks and wrestling with polar bears. Thanks to a growth spurt in middle school Peter was used to always looking down at girls, but Yuzuka was so great in stature he had to look up to meet her gaze. In lieu of a bra her breasts were mummified under white cloth bandages— there were so many new fetishes for Peter his head was spinning. Santa put her hand under Peter’s chin and pointed his gaze back up.

“Peter, huh?” Yuzuka pulled back her hand as if she wanted a strange sort of low-five. Peter mimicked her movement and their hands clapped together, and then she squeezed his palm tightly. “You ready to go kill some shit today?” Despite her strength, her voice was refined and sophisticated, like a jazz singer.

“Yeah. Kill what exactly?”

Yuzuka laughed.

“Yuzuka is going to teach you how to fight,” Santa said. “Although I’m certain you’re already well familiar with combat techniques from your years of playing video games.”

“Uh well… there’s sort of a difference between video games and reality,” Peter said.

“Don’t be so humble, Peter,” Santa said.

“I want you to show me what you can do with a weapon,” Yuzuka said. “Then we’ll figure out what it is you still need to learn.”

“I’m not fighting you, am I?”

Yuzuka laughed again, when she did she arched her back as if to stick out her chest and flex her muscles at him. “Why? Do you want to?” Yuzuka’s eyes were fierce with lust.

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“First, we need to get you armed,” Santa said. “Merry Christmas.”

Two elves stepped forward with a long Christmas present in hand. The metallic gift wrap glistened in the firelight like an aurora borealis. The bow was like a ribbon made of mirror glass. It was the length of a great sword, and he didn’t need x-ray vision to tell what was inside. As Peter beheld it Santa added quietly, “I wrapped it myself.”

Is there anything more masculine than clutching a claymore with all your might and swinging it madly about your head, sprinting into your soon-to-be-decapitated enemies? The mere thought would awaken the inner warrior of even the laziest couch-potato. Peter tore open the gift wrap, envisioning his own personal Christmas-themed Excalibur. How heavy would it be? Would he be able to lift such an enormous thing with one arm? What sort of intricate damascened pattern would ripple across the blade? Would it contain elven magic? Peter the knight, conquering the snowy wastelands with a sword on his hip, striking warrior poses! With the wrapping flung away, Peter found within his hands a rifle case. It was odd, putting a sword in a gun case, but the container wasn’t important. He unlatched the case and once open, he found himself not looking at a sword at all, but an enormous sniper rifle in parts.

“Is this a…?”

“Fifty caliber,” Santa said. “The same kind of rifle used to disable tanks. But this is one of a kind. Hand crafted by the finest gunsmiths in the North Pole. You wont find a stronger, more powerful gun anywhere in the mortal realm. This is the god killer.”

Peter looked confusedly at the monstrosity of a rifle in front of him. Completely nickel plated and shining like a mirror, disassembled it looked like a lethal puzzle.

“What do we do when someone gives you a gift?” Santa asked.

Peter was going to say thank you, but the words caught in his throat when he saw Santa had lifted her arms ever-so-slightly towards Peter, as if welcoming him to hug her. Was this a trick? Another strange North Pole custom he didn’t understand? He stepped forward and she remained unmoving, so he leaned closer and brought his arms up.

For a moment he hovered before her, his arms lightly resting against her body in a hesitant hug. But then he wondered if this would be the last time a girl ever hugged him. Maybe Santa would never give him this opportunity again. So he went all in, and locked his arms against her back and pushed her against his chest. Santa didn’t say or do anything. She only rested peacefully against him, and lay her hand against the back of his head. Then it was over, and Peter wondered if that hug was really just a gesture of gratitude, or if there was something romantic behind it. But Santa’s expression seemed calm and demure, as if it had meant nothing at all to her.

“Sledge’s all packed.” Yuzuka slipped into a clean coat and buttoned it up. “Let’s get out there and see what you can do, Mr. God Killer.”