"I'm dreaming of a bloody Christmas with

"I'm dreaming of a bloody Christmas with every suicide note I write. May your days be scary with plight and may all your Christmases be trite." "Hey, good one, my turn, my turn!"

"Here comes Skeeter Rottenwhale, floppin' on the beach's shale. Flippidy, floppidy, salty puncture wounds! Clingin' to his dream to be singin' for a whale CD, he flops back into

the frothy churny deep blue sea. Ooooooooo, little Skeeter Rottenwhale, singing strong from head to tail, until your lungs they start to fail, and your songs turns into wails.

You blubber to the landlubbers,a last musky note all o'er the sandy coast. Ooooo, lil'skeeter Rotten whale took'em to a sandy grave, but cousin Helga hippo's tale is sadder still,

and the song was cut short. Something deranged and horrid rose out of the sea. Casting a shadow across the ship. A large, cold shadow. The ship's crew turned pale. So it was true.

The creature existed. More than existed--hunted. Not wanting to be prey, the captain swung the wheel aft, then starboard. "You'll crack the hull!" the 1st mate yelled.

"I'll crack your skill you fiendish cad!", the captain retorted. "This beast will not make a mockery of me or my men!" , he blustered. "I condemn you to return to the abyss!"

The cod swelled alarmingly, but was secretly glad to be returned to its home. Why had the air creature become so irate? Dizzy from too much oxygen? Crazed from the scorching rays

callous, so head-strong and hasty. The cod wept tears into the sea, but kept on swimming downwards. When at last his heart would break, he turned about, swam up and was eaten.