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

Woe! Woe! Woe be the boy who falls in love with a heartless harpy! For love is not a battlefield, as some pop songs may lead you to believe, but a genocide. Entire generations of boys have been lined before a brick wall by the so-called fairer sex, blindfolded and cigarette in mouth, and gunned down with the AK-47 of false hope. Never forget the countless victims, toyed with by beautiful girls who have nothing better to do but pull on heartstrings and make boys dance like dumb marionettes. Beware! For it is often the girls with the prettiest smiles, the cutest dresses, and the biggest bows in their hair who will rip out your heart Mortal Kombat style and bite into it like a red and juicy apple. Fatality! Becky wins.

Speak of the succubus and she doth appear! Iumina, the boldest and most shameless of the elves— the first to sneak into Peter’s bedroom. So strong was her vanity that she was the type of girl who would— at a funeral— lean over the casket and take a frowny face selfie with the deceased. Unlike the other elves, she forsook their military-like uniform, and only ever wore crop tops. Flat midriff, smooth ribs, and underboob were always on the menu and exposed to the arctic air when she was around.

What a relief that Peter was away that night. Nothing can be so disastrous as falling in love with a girl whose heart is completely loveless. Had he been there with her, alone, perhaps he wouldn’t have the strength to resist her seductions, or the knowledge of how deeply Santa cared about him. Iumina prowled through the workshop in search of a romantic rematch. Behind her followed her fiendish crew of super sluts— all secretly virgins. The entourage stomped around in boots and high heels, humble bragging about all the hot and steamy adventures they had with their non-existant boyfriends— supposedly existing off in Iceland, Alaska, Siberia, and other neighboring elven lands.

Iumina found Peter sitting in a chesterfield by the fire, surrounded by a harem of elves batting their eyes at him. Long eared cutie pies sat and stood and lounged and lay about his shoulders, by his side, and at his feet like little birdies chirping at their mother for regurgitations. They were asking questions about his home country— how many inches of snow does it get? Did the sun rise and set every day? What was the food like? How many boys were there?

At first Peter embellished his answers as if they would someday visit, but once he realized what he was doing he felt like an idiot. Where was this patriotism coming from? Since when was he proud of his shitshow of a country? Since when did he like anything about it? The elves hung on his every word, mouths agape, as he character assassinated his home country into a twisted dystopia of political corruption enslaving the idiotic dregs of society.

His answers became dangerously black-pilled— the food was all poison— yes, literal poison. Chock full of high fructose corn syrup, sawdust, and preservatives. The government was actively working towards killing everyone before social security ran out. In cities the kids went to school by hop-scotching over the fentanyl injected corpses of the homeless. Everything was cleaner and safer in the North Pole— the grass was not greener on the other side. That idiom was met with some confusion— what was grass?

“The snow was not powder-ier on the other mountain.”

The elves all exclaimed together, “Oh!”

“And everyone has tattoos.” Peter drew a line across his face down his neck.

“Even the girls?”

“Especially the girls.”

The elves stuck out their tongues in disgust and shook the heebie-jeebies off themselves. Girls with tattoos? How grotesque!

“Peter! Heyyyy!”

Only one thing in the world could pry the elves’ enraptured attention away from the one and only boy in the North Pole: it was none other than Iumina herself! All eyes fell on the sparkly, thotish elf as she catwalked over. Her eyes remained glued to the end of her selfie-stick, watching her adoring fans in the background. Then she jumped down into Peter’s lap, getting the perfect clickbait thumbnail and causing the room of elves to squeal in astonishment. The room filled with half whispers and comments.

“So bold!”

“I wish I thought of that!”

“Do I know you?” Peter asked rhetorically.

“Not yet!” And she gave Peter a great big hug. His face buried into her polar bear boa and voluminous blonde hair, and he silently spat to keep the strands out of his mouth. “I’m Iumina, and uh— I’m kind of a big deal around here.” She locked eyes with Peter in a way that girls only did when they really wanted a man— the predatory look of a hungry girl with an empty bed. Peter was taken aback at how massive her fake eyelashes were.

Iumina reached down between her breasts and fished out a pewter flask, intricately engraved with winter motifs, and kicked back a generous sip. She then held it out to Peter to try.

“It’s a little early to—”

“Oh come on! Don’t be such a baby!”

Iumina stuffed the flask against his lips and Peter was suddenly gulping down a vile alcoholic concoction. It was like pure peppermint extract— a sinus obliterating fire of mint candy that burned all the way down his throat. He could practically feel his liver dissolving in a toothpaste blaze as he coughed.

“It’s good, right?” Iumina said. “Drink it too fast and you’ll go blind!”

[Skribble Hub Skribble Hub Skribble Hub Whypstopher Pippinsticks Skribble Hub Skribble Hub Skribble Hub]

“Iumina!” Yumeka, the airheaded maid, haughtily crossed her arms and sneered at the vulgar elf. “Shouldn’t you be at the workshop stitching hair into the dolls?”

Iumina let out an exaggerated sigh and wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck, as if she could avoid responsibilities with a hug. “Please. I’m fucking famous. I don’t have to make toys.”

“You’re famous?” Peter asked.

“Hell yeah! You don’t know? I’m the most subscribed to content creator in the North Pole. Practically every elf here follows me online. Why if I didn’t post anything for a week or two, I think everyone here would just die of boredom!”

“What kind of content do you make?”

Peter took out his phone and changed the Youtube location to North Pole. Iumina wasn’t just the most subscribed to content creator here— she was the only one. Not just a large fish in a small pond, but a whale in a bathtub. Every thumbnail on the front page was Iumina with wide-eyed gasping expressions. Every trending video was Iumina with clickbaity titles— $1 vs $1,000,000 something-or-another, What’s In the Mystery Box Challenge featuring Santa, and World’s Deadliest Hydraulic Press vs Most Expensive Whatchamacallits, to name a few.

“Oh, I do everything, Petey-boo. Sexy cosplay, sexy travel vlogs, sexy let’s plays, sexy music videos, sexy dance videos, sexy pressure washing videos. I’m a real sexy renaissance girl. Come by my private room sometime and we can do a sexy podcast together. I’ve got all sorts of… pressing questions for you. Or maybe I can come by and set up shop in your boudoir.”

The elves all swooned at Iumina’s flirting with a big, long, in-studio-audience “Wooo!”

“You’re not authorized to do any of those things!” Yumeka said with righteous indignation. “You’re supposed to work just like everyone else.”

“Why don’t you pull that stick out of your ass?” Iumina said. “If Santa’s got a problem with what I do, she can say it to my face. See you real soon, Peter. Remember, the name’s Iumina. Like ‘you’ and ‘me’ and ‘nyaaaaa.’”

Iumina strut away with her entourage and a good chunk of Peter’s audience as well, taking one cheeky peek back at Peter to see if he was still watching her. Like a supermodel, she pulled down her oversized sunglasses and then blew him a kiss before she was out of sight. A contact high still lingered from the attention she gave him, and a part of him wondered if he had just found himself a girlfriend.

“You know she spells her name with an ‘Iu’ even though it makes the same ‘Yu’ sound as everyone else?” Yumeka said. “Sleigh bells sing, what a bitch.”

“I’ve never seen you this angry before.”

The moment the words had left Peter’s lips, Yumeka suddenly snapped out of her bitterness and composed herself, muttering a hasty, “Please excuse me.”

“No,” Peter said. “It’s cute seeing you all worked up.”

“Peter…!” She hid her smile away, and giggled like a gremlin.