I turned on the traditional yule log on my

I turned on the traditional yule log on my UHF station. There was the bright fire crackling with light carols playing in the background. Suddenly, feet stumbled across the screen.

The camera jiggled & was apparently kicked over because next thing we saw (besides the sideways televised yule log) was...well, let's just say we had to cover the kids' eyes FAST!

Marc, the little brat, was himself a grue, but he wasn't bright enough to realize it. We were all, in fact, grues. It was our lot, for better or worse, to lurk. And lurk we did.

Lurking is not as easy as it sounds. It is an anarobic exercise which requires you to look for all shadowy parts and walk slow, deliberate and creepily. Then you're not supposed

to put 'lurker' on your CV no matter how good you are at it--not under 'occupation' or 'other interests'. So I put 'Senior Executive Deep Cover Surveillance Professional' & emailed

Cindy Lou Derkins, confident that I'd locked down the open position of Neighborhood Jerkhat. I poured myself a 7 Up & vermouth and waited. Suddenly, a loud knock on the door. "FBI!

This was the most difficult part of the plan. Yes, this seemingly aimless jerkhattery had all been part of a plan. The unsuspecting police knocking at the door wouldn't know what

hit them when I let them in & as a final act of jerkhattery sacrificed them for the Jerkhattery Engine, my engine powered by acts of douchiness. No more fossil fuels, just

rapid fire rapscallion rat finkery to feed the machine. Finally after years of being of no use to anyone, the world saving was done by someone least expected to... we politicians.