Festive Time Double Feature

THANKSGIVING

The Peaceful Feastful Summit

One Thursday morning in between the masquerading day celebrating gothic horror and life beginning in a manger, a lion style roaring message shook the frozen tundra sending the motor city packing, fearful about defending its border concerns.

This chilly declaration brisked its way south, where a Cowboy with his feet up received a sudden urge to create a dining experience requesting the country’s powerful leader’s presence. “Mr. Commander, I know there isn’t anything anymore that makes your skin turn red, but”

During the phone conversation the Big D Texan was wearing a ten-gallon lone star hat and blurted out an invitation towards the decision maker. A feast featuring the finest star-spangled turkey topped the agenda. Both being loyal foxes agreed, confirming the camp summit near where the fort was worth more than a few horned frogs and mustangs.

After the cowboy sliced and diced the bird, the carcass fate ended up being devoured while a conversation about the upcoming Aerospace Artificial Intelligence bill was peacefully discussed.

“I tell you it sounds great on paper,” the cowboy stated.

“Actually, the information is glowing on a computer screen,” noted the commander.

“Yes, but we have some really serious issues,” the cowboy mentioned.

“Like what?”

“Where is the money coming from? Are you sure the gold you have Mr. Commander is not fools?”

“Mr. Cowboy,” the Commander reassured, “the news is fake, not the money. When our adventurous 49ers searched the northern California waters for riches the findings were real.”

Sitting back in his chair the cowboy started to feel at ease, until a young girl entered with dishes in hand, “Can I get you two some dessert?” The college student asked.

“Tell me, America’s future, what is your feeling about the Aerospace Artificial Intelligence bill?” The Commander questioned.

“Well, this is my state, and I may not be an ole miss but,” she paused, “I am a hardworking bulldog reporter who wants a community based on reality.”

“Journalism major? Huh,” The Commander concluded.

“Well,” the academic continued, “Communication Arts, the whole degree is much more than just who, what, where, when and ‘what did you say again?’”

As the hour got late, the two men shook hands concluding nothing will be implemented at this very second instead everyone needs to study the aerospace artificial intelligence side effects, along with throwaway financial fortune versus over the limit plastic credit card problems.

Word spread about the gathering between the Cowboy and Commander advising a beginner green pilot whose true background was in political computer science to cool his jets. Hearing the order, the flyer decided to give thanks by watching the dolphins swim through prime Amazon rain forest property, delivering season’s greetings throughout the land.

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Christmas

The Season Of Sweet Gifts

Despite the spotlight limited glow illuminating the bedroom community, darkness plagued the comfortable home scene, where branded masqueraders trolled the streets wanting one final sweet morsel. Safe and sound inside a company owned dwelling, a mother with her son listened to the cuckoo pop out nine times, signaling curfew, commanding everyone, go home.

“What are you doing? Mommy,” little Robbie a grammar school student curiously wondered.

“I am just checking your candy to make sure its safe.”

“Mommy, you and Daddy moved here, I mean we do know our neighbors,” Robbie commented, “don’t we?”

“You are right, Robbie,” Mrs. Crystal completed the safety inspection before hearing the doorbell, “who could that be at this hour?”

Jumping out of his seat the youngster ran half dressed in his costume towards the entry, “there is some small energy bars left inside the plastic pumpkin container.” His mother informed.

“Okay, Mom,” Robbie answered, pulling the door, revealing a giant wearing a red suit.

“Santa Claus, your early,” Robbie exclaimed.

“Ho, Ho, Ho,” the disguised individual responded, “have you been naughty or nice?”

“Let’s see, I did not insult anyone or any particular group wearing this, said thank you to all those who put treats in my bag, did not snack on my good fortune until Mommy checked everything out, so I conclude I have been nice.”

“Ho, Ho, Ho,” the visitor opened his former ghost sheet.

“I thought you were supposed to bring me a gift,”

“Ho, Ho, Ho,” the linen shook twice, “Trick or treat?”

“Is that you? Nick,” Robbie saw through the hidden façade, taking a handful of energy bars and placing them inside the makeshift holiday sack.

Weeks later snow invaded, suffocating both the dying leaves and grass, summoning the temperatures to drop creating a bitter cold frustrating atmosphere. As Mr. Crystal tended to the fireplace stoking the heat his beloved wife put the final breakfast dishes away.

Under the Christmas Tree Robbie noticed a new package festively wrapped, “who is that from?” Mrs. Crystal asked.

“Saint Nick,” Robbie smiled.

“Well, open it,” Mr. Crystal suggested.

Starting with the edges, Robbie then gave it one gigantic swipe, and the picture-friendly colorful presentation quickly turned to garbage. “Wow, it’s an electric gizmo.”

“An electric gizmo, Wow!” Mr. Crystal repeated.

“Robbie, who is Nick?” Mrs. Crystal inquired, projecting a concerned voice drying her hands on the towel.

“He’s a teenager that works at the convenience store where Daddy gets his gas pumped,” Robbie notified, “daddy, what does it mean? Batteries not included,”

“What type?”

“Double A,”

“It means we have to go to the convenience store,” Mr. Crystal confessed.

“Great, we can get some candy,” Robbie added, “the corporate stuff Santa brought this year was lame.”

Returning to the kitchen Mrs. Crystal opened the refrigerator and tended to the leftovers her Mother donated the evening before, “I wrote personally to Santa and asked for healthy candy,” she expressed to the juice boxes.