"Tell us a story, Grandpa!" shouted Timmy.
"Yeah! Tell us about Christmas!" screamed Susan.
The Old Grandpa stirred from his slumber. "You kids want to hear about Christmas of long ago?"
"Did you know baby Jesus?" asked Susan.
"What about Napoleon?" asked Timmy.
"I'm not that old, you little shits!" yelled Grandpa, the saliva crystallizing at the corners of his mouth.
"Come on, Grandpa, tell us a story!" they screamed.
"You really wanna hear about the Olden Days?"
"I remember the olden days like it was.. uh.. never mind. Back in the Great Depression, no one was very happy. To ease our burden, the President, Grover Cleveland, signed the Emancipation Proclamation."
"The Man Sips Eggs-a-lation?" The words slipped through the holes where Timmy's front teeth used to be.
"That was what freed us to put stamps on the outside of our letters, instead of taping coins to the envelopes."
"World War II had just ended, but we still lived in fear that the British would march into town and take Big Ben prisoner. It didn't matter to me. I was excited about the holidays! I suppose you kids are excited enough to crap your pants, huh?"
Susan leapt to her tiny feet and shouted, "Santa's gonna bring us presents!"
"S-S-Santa comes down the chimney in his shiny red suit with a big bag of presents! " whistled Timmy.
"He's big and fat and has a sled," lisped Susan.
The Old Man, wise beyond his years, looked puzzled. "Santa Claus? Phoo!" He made a sound that only an Old Person can make in public. "We didn't have no Santa in our day. All we had was a little green midget named Lenny the Dwarf, who came around in his pickup truck and flung garbage around the house.."
"He just gave you G-G-GARBAGE?" stammered Timmy.
"Christ! We considered ourselves lucky when he didn't steal all the furniture. What are you kids expectin' to get?"
"I-I-I want a new bike," Susan squeaked.
"Oh, you'd ask for the world, huh? I was lucky to get a sponge bath!
"What about your tree, Grandpa?" asked Timmy, "We got a real big one with a star on top!"
"Tree? All we got was a weed my Mother, God Rest her Soul and Curse those Grave Robbers Who Dug Her Up And Left Her Body on the Roof of your School, plucked from the curbside. Every Christmas morning we'd decorate it with the new garbage Lenny the Dwarf left for us. Then we'd get ready for the best part of the whole holiday."
"When you'd kiss Gramma under the missle-toe?"
"No, that was an indignity. I'm talking about Christmas dinner!"
Susan rubbed her tummy. "We're having a turkey, roath beef, and stuffing!"
"With globs of gravy on top!" slobbered Timmy.
"We never ate stuff like that, what with the plague and all. No, our meal was different." The Old Man leaned in close to the small children, his voice quivering with excitement. "On Christmas eve, my father would go to the mall and purchase the biggest bean he could find. Tying it to his motor scooter with care, he'd race home to Momma where she would be in the kitchen slaving away. Do you know what special meal she was cooking up?
"Hamburgers?" guessed Susan
"Pizza muffins?" offered Timmy, shuffling in his seat.
"Not even close."
"Applesauce!" shouted Susan, splitting the brittle hairs inside Grandpa's ears.
"No, no, no. Somethin' even better."
"Fruit Stripe Gum?"
"No, no, unequivocally no." The Old Man leaned in, his eyebrows dancing. A smile crossed his wizened lips. "She was making us fart sandwiches!"
"Big, juicy, FART SANDWICHES!"
"You can't eat Farts!" said Timmy, who was very wise for his age.
"You take two pieces of bread and pass gas on one slice-" explained the Old Man as he took a piece of bread out and brought it to his porous anus. Just then Timmy and Susanās negligent parents arrived to pick them up. The children ran up to them happy as can be.
"Mommy, Daddy! Grandpa eats farts!" said Timmy excitedly.
"Can we eat fart sand witches for Christmas too?" asked Susan.
Timmy and Susan's father, a very stern man, looked angry enough to use the backside of his hairbrush. "Dad, What the hell did you tell them?"
Just then, the Old Man was saved from from embarrassment as none other than James Stewart himself entered through the front door. Everyone was shocked. James ran up to the children and scooped them into his arms.
"SUSO! DANNY! YOU'RE ALIVE! MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY! TO EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU!" he squawked in his chicken-like, corn-fed, Midwestern twang.
Yuletide music materialized from nowhere and everyone sang and sang. The Old Man passed out medicated egg nog to everyone and fell dead asleep in his chair, never to wake up again.