THE PISS CAT’S WHITE CHRISTMAS By Stagger Lloyd Images ©Brian Routh
The house was darkened as it was dusk, I’d passed out in the afternoon on the living room floor, so had left no lights on. I held the saber forth a little, which shone a little in what light there was, as I rounded a corner. The rattling suddenly stopped. If it was a burglar they’d better say their prayers, impaled on a 30” saber by a man in women’s clothes, as they were about to be, after all, who fucking else would be breaking in through the window? I heard someone nearby in the kitchen huffing and puffing. Then the thought occurred to me, “Fuck, it’s probably the fucking Gas Man, tracked me down to this distant land to doom me out once again!” I looked down at my saber and twisted it in the glow of the fading light. “I’m a take the bastard!” I rounded the corner of the studio to the kitchen and there, having just squeezed through the kitchen was a tall fat bearded figure. 24th December
“Holy fuck, it’s fucking Santa Claus!”
I woke up on the floor of the house to the sound of rattling, persistent rattling. I shifted my skirt and adjusted my tights as I stood up and grabbed my saber, which was laid nearby amongst the stacks of paper, books, paints and all manner of other shit, and headed towards the sound of the rattling coming from the kitchen.
Even in the dim light I could see his gnarled ancient features beyond his disgusting stained, greasy beard and beneath it was his unmistakable outfit. Except this wasn’t like in the fairytales. This fucking rag hadn’t been washed in maybe a century. He probably had fucking mice living in the browned fur trim. 114