Chapter 64 — In which Yuna the Dentist Elf Assists Santa in Committing an Unspeakable Crime

Procrastination is the most terrible of habits! Its easy to put off important things again and again— after all, there’s always tomorrow— and maybe by then you’ll be in the mood to do all the boring, awful chores you’ve always hated. But then, like the sleeper who hit the snooze button twelve times in a row— you suddenly burst out of bed in a panic and curse your lack of time. This was the atmosphere of the workshop.

The apocalypse starts today! Time to lay out your flack jacket and polish those cock stomper combat boots. The elven girls laid down their toys and took up their assault rifles and side arms like magical pretty commandos. Locked and loaded! Together they sat in rings, braiding each other’s hair for combat into stylish plaits and loops, or donning tactical ponytails.

A train of forklifts full of ammo rattled through the workshop. Bullets for all! Freshly cursed by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Our spooky, scary skeleton friend was hard at work in the munitions warehouse, casting demonic spells with one hand, stuffing cookies into his mouth hole with the other, making quite a mess, as hungry skeletons often do.

Yuina had called Peter and Santa into her server hall bedroom, and there within the whine of computers she unveiled her genius invention: the condumb. A puffy spacesuit of armor, anatomically correct. Not an inch of flesh would be bare to the Snow Witch within this horrible diving suit. Peter tried on the helmet, a claustrophobic fishbowl of insulation and metal. It was the least sexy thing imaginable. Peter dreaded wearing it.

“Pretty clever, right?” Yuina proudly boasted. “I spell condumb with a ‘b’ because it’s a portmanteau of condom and numb. You won’t feel a thing. And the best part is: Peter’s virginity will remain completely in tact for me— or us.”

“Couldn’t you just… find a spell that makes me impervious to cold?” Peter asked.

“It sounds like you want to have sex with the Snow Witch,” Santa said darkly.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Peter said. “To protect you and the North Pole.”

Santa did not feel this act was as selfless as Peter had pitched it.

“You know, if you actually try to satisfy her, Peter junior will get frostbite and snap off,” Santa said.

Peter said nothing. He only imagined himself as a eunuch, and the thought of being smooth as a Ken doll filled him with an existential dread. A life without sex. He wouldn’t wish that upon his worst enemies.

“Ok,” Peter said. “But what if the Snow Witch doesn’t like the condumb? What if she rips it off me?”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t think about that,” Yuina said. “Hmm. That’s a problem.”

“If only there were some way to fool her into thinking you had sex without doing it.”

Peter’s eyes lit up with a brilliant idea.

“We’ll roofie her!” he said.

“We’ll do what?”

And we’re running— running alongside Santa, solemn maiden of Christmas, Yuina, master elf of all things electronic, and Peter, the most boyish boy who ever boyed. Running through the gingerbread Victorian mansion, squeezing past the many militarized maidens as they prepared for arctic warfare. To the dentists office! The trio charged towards that sterile corner of the workshop that smelled sweetly of mint and brainrotting fluoride, the most deadly poison known to man. Just one drop into the ear is enough to kill a woolly mammoth, but boy does it make your teeth shine! Yuna was hard at work scratching the plaque off a girl’s lower cuspids, growling at her for not flossing regularly when the three burst inside.

“I need drugs and I need them fast!” Peter said.

“Ahh… that sounds like drug seeking behavior,” the dentist elf said.

“It’s an emergency,” Santa said. “We need to drug the Snow Witch and stage a date rape.”

“Ahh… that… sounds much worse.”

Against her better judgment and her Hippocratic oath, Yuna pulled open the pharmacy and perused her collection of orthodontic and recreational drugs. She had uppers and downers and loopers and blotters, ethers and oxides and tinctures and laudanums. And do you recall the most famous mind wiper of all? Never one to discriminate, or think before he leaps, Peter stuffed them all into his pockets with a greed rivaled only by Cookie Monster. Pills, ampules, syringes, Schimmelbusch masks, he nabbed them all until Yuna batted his hands away.

The dentist elf threw herself over her pharmacy and guarded it like a CVS employee in San Francisco. “Are you trying to knock out the Snow Witch for a few hours or kill her?”

“We need her to have memory loss for at least one hour, then she has to be clear headed enough to fight with us tonight,” Santa said.

“Ok….” Yuna wiggled her fingers over the drugs like a magician. “These benzodiazepine…” She took two pills. “Or this Midazolam.” She selected a syringe. “It has to be injected directly into the blood.” Last but not least she held out an EpiPen, demonstrating how to hold it so Peter wouldn’t inject his own thumb. “And epinephrine to wake her up.”

“Oh great,” Peter said sarcastically. He grimaced at the needle. “Now I have to stab her? I’m sure she’ll love that.”

“By the way, I can lose my license if anyone catches you with this stuff. So if anyone asks, you don’t know me.”

“Who’s going to catch me, the North Pole police?”

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Santa thanked Yuna, and that helped ease her anxieties in aiding and abetting this horrible misadventure. Over in the corner, beyond the girl reclining in the dentist’s torture chair with her mouth agape and gums bloodied, stood some gas cylinders for oral surgeries. Peter pointed at them and said, “Do those come in fun sizes?”

♩♪♫♩♬♪♩♫♫

Out in the boréal night, far from all human habitation, without a word of warning, and without the teeniest bit of embarrassment, Santa stripped off her candy apple red frock coat, tore off her blouse, then lifted her undershirt overhead— her lacquer black hair spilled disheveled over her face. The pieces of her military uniform piled up in Peter’s arms, and he wondered how much of herself she would reveal out in the wilderness, but she stopped at her tank top. Coldness stole through her veins and marrow, and stiffened her flesh. Peter nonchalantly impressed the shape of Santa’s midriff into his mind. If only you cared about your studies half as much as you cared about bellybuttons, Peter! Maybe then you would remember the formula for the volume of a cone and pass your geometry class!

“Are you sure you’ll be safe?” Peter asked.

“Don’t worry.” She shivered, her lips already turning blue. “Ded Moroz is a good friend. He’d never let me die from the cold. You be careful with the Snow Witch— and don’t you dare actually touch her.”

“I won’t,” Peter said.

They pressed foreheads together, and Santa’s glacier blue eyes lured him in deep, deep into her prosperous kingdom which eclipsed all others in grandeur. There were no forebodings or ill omens, but only a soft twinkling. Then she broke away— the moment of intimacy gone, and with a smile Santa marched off into the darkness, heading for the gallium forest, the trees all glittering like mirrors. On a sledge Peter and the reindeer dashed away, dashed away, dashed away all! Through realms starved of sunshine, through frosty storms of snow, whipped by wicked winds, the coursers they flew, off and away over many a stretch of ice, to conquer the Snow Witch locked away in her cryo-gothic castle! On, lusty gentlemen!