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The brisk air whipped Dr. Rough’s face as he surveyed the New York skyline from above in his high-tech sleigh. “What a perfect night to dash the hopes and dreams of all the families sleeping soundly in their beds,” he remarked fondly, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He continued to gaze out into the night sky, looking for the perfect house to begin his raid. “Eureka!” he shrieked as he spied the perfect house.


All the windows were dark. All the doors were locked.
All the New Yorkers were dreaming sweet dreams and nice thoughts,
When the FANS agents came to the new house on the block.
"This is stop number one," the evil Dr. Rough hissed,
And he sent Donnie to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

The minion slid down the chimney, a rather tight squeeze,
But if fat Santa could do it, so could little Donnie.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two,
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue,
He brushed himself off, then scurried to the door
To let in the others, tracking soot on the floor.



Pushing the coughing Donnie aside, Santa Rough strode in to inspect the room. The tree glistened with twinkling bulbs of red and green; ornaments obviously made by children adorned the branches. The lights reflected on the presents below, the boxes wrapped neatly with big, shiny bows. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of ruining this family’s Christmas.

“It’s so beautiful,” Donnie sighed.

“You know your jobs!” Santa Rough snapped, glaring at the underling.


Then we slithered and slunk, with smiles most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and we took every present!
Barbies and Furbies and flat-screen TVs!
Legos and iPads and Nintendo Wiis!
And we stuffed them in bags, till they'd hold no more.
Then we hauled all our loot, bag by bag, out the door!



He giggled with glee as he threw all the toys in his bag, inspired by his own dastardly deeds. Once he had emptied all the presents from the tree, he glanced around, looking for what else to take. He spied the stockings hung from the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nick would soon be there. A snort of laughter escaped from Dr. Rough, as he unhooked the first stocking and shoved it in his bag. “Bah, humbug!” he yelled and dragged his arm across the mantle, knocking in the stockings and ivy and the little porcelain Christmas village that looked like The North Pole.

Into his bag, he threw the cookies and milk, no doubt set out by some children, hoping to bribe the big fat man enough to give them more of the toys made by his slave labor. He growled as he threw the carrot left out for the reindeer. “They leave something for the dumb beasts, but do they think to leave anything for those who made the toys!”

“Dr. Rough, Dr. Rough!” Donnie came running into the room.

“Every operation, he’s gotta go yellin’ my name.” Dr. Rough reeled around to face the culprit, almost knocking the silicone elf ears off the minion. His anger flared more when he noticed that Donnie was munching on a leg of turkey. He raised his hand, ready to strike a blow of annoyance, when a thought crossed his mind. Stealing the toys and gadgets stuffed under the tree would certainly hamper the Christmas spirit, but taking the food meant for the feast would crush them. Snickering sinisterly, he tiptoed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and started to fill his bag to the brim. Up to the roof, he went, and even the sight of his elves and Drumzy the Reindeer sitting around in the sleigh could not cause the smile to fade from his face.


In his tricked-out red sleigh, Rough packed it with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Doc, "We will go steal the tree!"



Carefully, Dr. Rough made his way back down the chimney to steal the last remnants of Christmas in this house, before moving on to the next. He stood in front of the tree, realizing what a large undertaking putting the tree up the chimney would really be. The clock chimes reminded him just how little time there was and how much Christmas there was to steal, so, bending with his knees, he started to lift the tree. Unable to stand upright again once he had it, he decided to drag the monstrous fir to the chimney and then shove it up, where, surely, one of his subordinates would notice and help pull it up.

Wrapping his arms around the middle of the tree, he started to drag it, but stopped short when he felt a poke in his back. “Donnie, I thought you were supposed to be on the roof, waiting to help with this tree,” he growled and turned to face the insubordinate elf. Instead, he saw a little girl with black hair bobbed right below the ears, carrying a stuffed monkey and wearing a backpack.


Dr. Rough grabbed the tree, and he started to push,
'Til he felt a small hand poke him hard in the tush.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small niña,
Little Dora the Explorer, who cried, "Papa Noel! Nice to meet ya!"



“Santa?” the little girl spoke.

“Why, yes, it’s me, the jolly man in a fat suit, here to brighten your evening.” He let out a “Ho, Ho, Ho!” for good measure. “And what are you doing up so late, little girl? You know that you do not get any toys made by underpaid and overburdened elves if you are awake when Santa… er, I come.”

“I was thirsty,” the little girl replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As if to prove her point, she lifted the glass of water high for Santa to see. She did not want her thirst to be the reason Santa thought she was one of the naughty children who try to peek early. “Santa?” she questioned, having looked around the room. “Where are you taking the Christmas tree?”


Dr. Rough had been caught by this cute Latina daughter,
Who'd gotten out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at Dr. Rough and said, "Papa Noel, why?
Why are you taking our Christmas tree? Why?"



Dr. Rough looked at the young girl and thought for a minute or two, and before long, he knew just what to do. “Ah, you see, little one, there is a light on the tree, just there, you see, that won't light anymore. I am taking it back to my shop for the underappreciated elves to fix, so that, on Christmas morning, you will be able to fully enjoy your gift-opening experience under the glow of all the lights on the tree.”


But, you know, Dr. Rough is so smart and so slick,
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, mi dulce niña," the fake Santa Claus lied,
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.
So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
I'll whip my elf slaves till they fix it and bring it back here."



The little Latina looked up at Santa's face and back to the tree. She thought about it for a moment and thought some more. She whispered to her monkey friend and then said, “But there aren't any lights out on that tree. Liar!” Fixing Dr. Rough with an accusatory stare, she pointed her bony, little finger straight in her face. “Why would you have to take it all the way back to the North Pole to fix one little light? My dad keeps an extra string or two in the basement for such an occasion. But if you were the real Santa, you would know that already.”

She turned to the monkey again, like it was speaking to her. “You're right, Boots; he doesn't have a white beard. Why don't you have a beard? Why is your skin so dark? And what is up with your EYE?” She pointed to his eye that was starting to twitch with irritation. “You aren't even fat, and everyone knows Santa has a belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly. Not to mention your height. You are much too short to be the real Santa!” the girl exclaimed.


Dora stared up at him and said, "That's a lie!
If there's a bulb that's burnt out, just get a new string of lights!
You're not the real Santa; you don't have a white beard!
Your skin is too dark, and your eye twitches weird!
Santa's s'posed to be fat, with cheeks like a cherry torte,
But you're much too skinny, small, and SHORT!"



“Short? Short?!” Dr. Rough threw the tree a full half an inch across the room and stormed closer to the girl.

The girl with the bobbed hair backed up only slightly, as the short Santa approached.

“You and that blonde brat Carter will be the first on my naughty list when I rule the world. You should bow to me now, and I might forgive.” Dr. Rough stood with his hands on his waist, waiting for the girl to bow, literally, to his whim.

The girl did not hesitate. From her backpack, she whipped out a can of mace. “Santa, no swiping!” she yelled and sprayed the mace in his face.


Ohh bitches, it was on! Rough drew back with a scowl.
"You insolent brat!" he hissed. "Watch your mouth!
When I rule the world, those who mock me shall suffer!
Starting with you and that meddling Carter!
You'll pay for all your tormenting and sniping!"
But Dora just screamed, "SANTA, NO SWIPING!"



“Ow!” screamed the evil Claus.

“Santa, no swiping!” The little girl turned to an imaginary audience. “Help me keep Santa from swiping. Say it with me: Santa, no swiping!”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Dr. Rough screamed, rubbing his eyes. “You are a crazy little bitch!” Eyes streaming, he turned to Donnie, who had managed to sneak back down the chimney to see what was taking his leader so long. “The tree, the tree!” Dr. Rough shouted and, half-blinded, managed to follow his minion elf back up the chimney.

“Ha!” he yelled down the chimney at the girl still screeching.

“Santa, no swiping! Santa, no swiping! Santa, no swiping!” she wailed, her eyes closed and her hand outstretched, palm open flat towards the chimney. Dr. Rough could see lights turning on in the house, as well as a few turning on across the way.


"NO SWIPING, SANTA!" she continued to shriek.
Doors opened, and lights flipped on across the street.
"Bail!" Dr. Rough cried, as he fled to his sleigh.
In piled the minions, and we raced away,
Leaving Dora's family in their empty house,
With nothing but a crumb too small for a mouse.



Back in the living room, the girl sat down, a single tear trickling from her eye. Nothing was left in the house for the celebration on Christmas Day.


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