Okay I lied. The Montage Will Be Next Week. Promise.
Thunderfunk yawned, stretching in his bed. These late night fights were tough on a person. He scratched his head, or tried to. Something besides his own feathered scalp was on his head. He felt around for a second, trying to identify what was there. Finally he plucked the thing off and brought it to eye level.
It was furry and conical. The colouring was red for the most part, though around the large opening it was rimmed with white, and there was a white poof on the pointy end. It was, in short, a Santa hat. What am I doing wearing a Santa hat? wondered Thunder. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Still holding the hat in one hand he absentmindedly scratched his belly with his other hand, slipping it between the buttons on the giant red coat he was wearing. The giant red coat he had never seen before in his life. He bolted to his feet and rushed to the bathroom, dreading what he might see.
Throwing on the light, he looked at his reflection in mute horror. Somehow, during the night, he had been dressed in a Santa costume, complete with a beard (and if you have never seen a chicken with a beard, then you are missing out). Angered and somewhat disgusted, he grabbed the beard and ripped it off, determined to find out who had done this to him.
When a person has a long beard, it is possible to do some damage to said person by grabbing his facial hair and pulling, giving one the ability to yank their head around violently and smash it into things. This, though perhaps mean and overly aggressive, is nothing too shocking (unless the person with the beard is a woman, in which case it is shocking for entirely different reasons).
When one does the same to oneself, however, it is slightly more impressive.
Thunderfunk awoke on the bathroom floor, laying amidst shards of broken glass, sporting an enormous goose egg on his head, one that matched, approximately, the dent that was now on the stainless steel sink. Stubbornly, the beard refused to leave, choosing to remain attached.
At that moment a furious knocking started at his door. Picking himself up, Thunder meandered towards the door, walking a crooked straight line to get there. He opened the door after composing himself. "Yes?" he said.
To his amazement, Straw Daq walked in wearing green tights, red curly shoes, a red coat of indeterminate cut, a pointy hat and pointy ears. He stormed to the centre of the room, fuming mad. "Not one word," he said, cutting off Thunder’s question. "I don’t want to hear it."
Thunder moved back to the bed where he sat down beside his sidekick. They remained there in awkward silence for a long time. "Nice beard," said Straw.
"Thanks," replied Thunder. "I like your hat."
"Thanks."
More silence.
Silence happened two more times.
Finally Thunder rose to his feet and headed to the door. "If we must," he said sadly, "then we must."
"I suppose," answered Straw, though he was unhappy about it.
Twenty minutes later the two of them stood at city hall, fighting the forces of good as they tried to kidnap the mayor in a convoluted plot that really does not bear repeating here. Explosions occurred around them as the heroes drew closer. Seeing his inevitable defeat, Thunder pulled out one last weapon - a gun that fired candy canes.
"Oh must I use this gaudy contraption?" he groused.
Yes. Yes you must.
"I despise this time of year," he muttered under his breath. He glanced over at Straw who was already wrapped in garland, a bow on his lips, effectively gagging him. The young man struggled mightily for a moment, closing his eyes in utter defeat, the fight seemingly knocked out of him. Turning back to the heroes, Thunder fired off a few shots, somewhat pleased when they exploded on contact. "At least there’s that," he said as the heroes closed to within arm's reach.
At the last second, a flying sleigh came zipping by trailing a rope. Thunder leapt and grabbed hold, getting pulled up out of harms way. The sled slewed around, lowering a hook that snagged the garland around Straw, pulling him along as well. Thunder climbed down his rope and grabbed Straw (after ripping off the bow)(and some skin)(and the results of two weeks of growing a moustache)(that’s right, he got both hairs), pulling him up into the sled.
"How did you arrange this?" yelled Straw over sound of the wind.
"I didn’t," replied the giant chicken. "I thought you did."
"No."
Puzzled, Thunderfunk crawled into the sled proper, and was only half-surprised to see what he saw – a jolly looking fat man wearing a fuzzy red coat with white trim, matching pants and hat, and a massive white beard. The sleigh was being pulled by eight flying reindeer (the ninth presumably not needed because it was a clear night). "Are you serious?" asked Thunder in a pained voice.
Smiling congenially, Santa nodded. "Of course I am," he replied.
"Then why are you helping us?" asked Straw as he finally struggled out of his bonds. "Shouldn’t you be helping the good guys? After all, you do give away toys to the good girls and boys every year."
Santa shrugged. "Can’t an evil mastermind give away toys once a year? I don’t have to be all evil, do I?"
Thunder rubbed his beak. "I really hate this time of year," he said. As they flew into the horizon, he cringed at Santa’s ‘Merry Christmas everyone!’, hoping that Easter would at least have the decency to leave him alone.
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