It all started a good... I think decade, at this point. I was a little dumbass, and had been terrorising the other children at every chance I could, kicking puppies, just generally being a sadistic asshole. So, quite naturally, and understandably, to any rational adult, Santa placed me on the naughty list. Now, I was not a rational adult at the time, so I was pissed.
Which, if you think about it from a child's point of view, is perfectly reasonable. I mean, I was still a kid, and used to presents every year. I never honestly believed that my behaviour would affect the amount of presents I received. So, you can just imagine my indignation when, surprise surprise, I pulled a lump of coal out of my stocking instead of candy. Being a child, and not truly appreciating the seriousness of oaths, I swore to get revenge upon the stingy Claus.
Of course, since I was still in elementary school, there wasn't much I could do. So, I spent the next few years simply plotting and biding my time. That's not to say I did only those two things, however. I was shaping up to be a rather respectable young man. I was getting good grades, donating blood, helping the elderly cross the street, giving to charity, and just generally being an all-around nice guy.
And yet, I still got coal every Christmas.
Increasingly irate, I decided it was time to begin gathering the materiel needed to set my plan into motion. So, using the Christmas, Easter, and Birthday money I had been saving, I went shopping for the myriad and sundry items I needed. First, I headed to the local Army Surplus store. While there, I picked up thirteen point seven feet of aircraft-quality tow cable, nine bolts of camouflage netting, and two high-quality laser rangefinders.
From there, I traveled to a home improvement center, and purchased a pair of pruning shears and a pick-axe. I then proceeded to the fish market, and bought the largest halibut on display. Finally, I went to a little known firearms dealer, to pick up three pounds of gunpowder, and forty metres of fast-burning cannon fuse.
While there, however, I ran into a snag. Seems that it was not only against store policy, but Federal law prohibited the selling of explosives and related devices to minors without a properly licensed parent or guardian present. Luckily, though, I had prepared for exactly this contingency, and proceeded to initiate 'Operation: Crying Child.'
Sniffling with all my might, I said to the shopkeeper: "Bu... but these are christmas gifts for my parents... They can't know what im getting them, or it wouldn't be a surprise." When he inquired as to exactly why my parents would want such an ungodly length of cannon fuse, and three pounds of gunpowder to boot, I had to think fast. I claimed that my parents were amateur pyrotechnicians, and were running low on supplies. He didn't believe me. He did believe Benjamin Franklin, though, so I was able to exit the store with the final pieces to my devious plan.
Many days later, I had nearly completed the preparations for Christmas Eve, now only a few hours distant. So, I finished stuffing the Halibut with gunpowder, carefully threaded cannon fuse through the gills, and carefully hooked it all into the rest of the trap. My plan, years in the making, was finally coming to fruition. Satisfied with the setup, I went to bed, dreaming throughout the night of all the gifts that would soon be mine.
I awoke the next day aound noon, and blearily left the warmth and comfort of my bed. As I was leaving my room, I tripped over some random junk in my room, and, already cursing the day, wearily picked myself back up. After showering, I got dressed and began headed downstairs to check on my trap. That's when I realised what I had tripped over.
A lump of coal. That fat, burgundy-clad bastard had done it again. I raced down the stairs, only to find my master plan in utter ruin. Sure, the Halibut had exploded, the tow-cable snare had been drawn, and the netting deployed, but there was no Santa. I could not believe it. Everything was perfect. He should have been right there, covered with netting and a fine film of fish innards, but he was nowhere to be found. I couldn't understand what had gone wrong. That is, not until I found the note.
What follows is the note I found, written upon high-quality vellum in beautiful spencerian script, wrapped around a two kilo chunk of coal.
"To the very naughty boy who tried to capture me:
Craig, what have I done to you to deserve this treatment? Every year, I deliver thousands of kilos of coal to naughty children, and they do not take it as an act of war. To be completely honest with you, I don't know why you seem to have this vendetta against me, but rest assured, it cancels out all of the nice things you do throughout the year. My rule for presents is simple. Be a good child. Nowhere in that rule is the phrase, 'unless you really, really want to get Santa back for giving you coal, even though you deserved it.' And believe me, Craig, every year, I make a list, and check it more than once, to see if you have given up this silly vendetta. But, every year, I see your name in the 'naughty' list, and I have to give you coal. Now, I know you have been a good boy most of the time, what with the charity work, blood drives, and such, but like I said before, all of your good deeds are canceled out by this silly private war. I want to see you be good, I really do. You have incredible potential, and I saw that first-hand tonight with the Trap. Which was completely unnecessary, by the way. If you really want to talk with me, you know my address. And you can't just say you won't see me because I live at the North Pole. I know where you live, so I can come to you.
P.S. You almost got me, Craig. You just forgot the Milk and Cookies.
P.P.S. Halibut? What on Earth possessed you to have an exploding Halibut incorporated into the trap?"
I received that letter several years ago, but I have yet to contact Father Christmas. But I think I will call him up soon, if only so I can finally stop getting coal every year.
So, that's what I wrote for my Dad for Father's Day, mainly because I had completely forgotten to get him something material. I think it's okay, but it could use a bunch of editing. Happy Father's day, and Happy Birthday, Dad! I know I'm slightly late, and a bit early, but c'mon, you can't expect me to write two stories within a week, do ya?
And to imabeeinabox and vita_morsque, sorry it isn't more on Ed, but this is still good, right?