12/1/2019
The small community, nestled on the edge of an urban city that is past its prime, poised itself for its annual Christmas parade. Greenvale pulled out all the stops and sent the electric bill to the moon when all the Christmas lights were energized. Parents and children had lined the streets from noon on to get a good glimpse of Santa as the police escort strobed his entrance. Amongst the crowd was an overworked and unappreciated metal grinder who was in a state of depression ever since his boss announced his own retirement. Jim Sturm had reduced his life to static imprisonment by driving to the same location for 33 years and pushing hyper-rush jobs out the door for his demanding boss. Now facing a loss of career and purpose, Jim’s outlook grew darker by the day. Mr. Sturm’s children had grown, so his love of Christmas had darkened and died. This was the day that Jim was going to bath in notoriety. He loaded his cooler with a break down sniper rifle and a bottle of Crown Royal to quench the guilt of his last journey. He positioned himself at the back of the parade grounds, and on a slight rise to give him a clear view of Santa, as his sleigh float passed slowly by. The children were delighted as Santa drove into the happy, cheering crowd and turned onto Main Street. As that jolly purveyor of joy drove slowly south, Jim was ready for his final moments on earth. His fully assembled, .300 Tactical Weatherby now had the crosshairs trained on the fat man in red. As he muttered expletives of hatred, he held steady on that Missionary of Generosity. With 2 beats of Jim’s heart, the trigger reached its release point. Santa’s chest exploded into a red mist. The crowd stood silent and gasped. Police officers started shouting and running. Children screamed. It was pure pandemonium. A lone bullhorn cut through the uproar and hollered, “CUT!” Netflicks was finishing its final scene of the movie, VAMPIRE SANTA, which was going to be released in time for the holidays.
Torked Truth 