A very sexy Christmas.

( I know that it's a bit early to do something like this, but I have a message that must be spread.) Last year, I exposed the evil of Satan Claus to all you forumites. Reactions were mixed; some of you hailed me as a prophet revealing a great darkness, while others compared me to Glenn Beck, mother to the monstrosity that is Girl Beck. One reaction I didn't see, however, was "Without my precious Santa, what will I do around Christmas?" Worry not, you stupid moron, for I know of the perfect replacement! It celebrates the journey of a great hero who risked life and limb to destroy Satan Claus. That hero is Bushwald Sexyface.
July 31st, 1969: He was a pariah both on his home planet and Earth. Having been sent there to stop the Moon Landing, he instead abandoned the mission to assassinate Richard Nixon, or, as he called him, "Usurper to the Sexy Throne." Look, I don't understand him, either, but the point is that he couldn't assassinate Nixon, either. Unlike Elvis Presley a year later, poor Sexyface could not hide a gun in his crotch (there wasn't enough room), and his trademark cigar only made Nixon uglier and more powerful. Ashamed of his failure, he led a life of secrecy so amazing that I don't know what transpired. All I know is that one day, around 30 years after his great shame, while browsing through old Sears Underwear Catalogs, he stumbled across a Christmas ad. Curious about this odd Earthly tradition, he did some research and discovered a horrible truth: that is was a day of worship to a fat man with a terrible white beard. Now I don't have to tell you of Sexyface's hatred of beards, do I? Needless to say, he planned to kill this "Santa Claus", and he knew exactly how to do it.

  You may not spot it, but Sexyface certainly did. It was then that he sprung into action.
 You may not spot it, but Sexyface certainly did. It was then that he sprung into action.
In his books, he found a key detail that would let him get the upper hand on "Santa Claus": every night, on Christmas Eve, he flies from rooftop to rooftop, delivering "presents" to all the good boys and girls; to those whom he deems bad, he dumps coal down their chimney and watches the house burn to the ground, the family trapped in their hellish death. So he found the nearest house and prowled outside, like Batman with a bulging package. Finally, he saw a figure fly down onto the rooftop! It was him, there was no mistake! The protruding gut, the sleigh full of unknown threats, the boots blacker than his very soul, they all meant "Santa" had come. However, Bushwald could not shake this feeling that he was forgetting something. No matter, he thought, I gotta destroy that Santa thing before he combines his wretched unsexliness with that Nixon fella. So he leaped from his rooftop hiding place to assault the man in red, only to find that he was wrong. He had not tackled "Santa Claus"; he found himself unleashing his might upon Chickenhead! Not the Chickenhead we know, but a slightly more innocent version than we know. (He wasn't covered with blood this time.) "Where is your master!?", Sexyface yelled at the top of his lungs; the only recompense he received was a blank, cold stare from all four of the monster's eyes. Frustrated, he threw him to the ground, only to watch Chickenhead fly off into the night, cackling, "I shall see you again!"
Sexyface noticed, however, that Chickenhead left behind his Shopping Cart of Despair. Christmas (the good one) arrived early for Bushwald Sexyface, for the Shopping Cart of Despair contained most of the materials needed to track down "Santa": a samurai sword, some candies, a crossbow, an oxygen tank, and enough Gatorade to hydrate nine more Sexyfaces! (On that note, the original plan was to send 10 Bushwalds down to Earth, but scientists soon discovered that multiple Bushwald Sexyfaces in the same universe would force all mass into a singular point of being, destroying everything.) His plan formulated, he roamed the landscape in search of "Santa", when at least, he spotted him on the rooftop. He was more hideous than the young Sexyface could have ever imagined. A demon wing jutted from his corpulent mass of fat called a body. The flesh was falling from his bony hands, staining the snow beneath him. Filled with nothing but terror, Bushwald Sexyface drew his crossbow and blindly fired into the night. None of his bows were able to kill "Santa" (he knew not what he dealt with), but he did wound him slightly, and several of his arrows did penetrate the carotid artery of and killed Untergang, the 13th Reindeer.
"Ho ho ho", "Santa" bellowed from the depths of his black gut, "who dares try to steal my life?" "Right 'ere", responded Sexyface. "Your most unsexy face exceeds even my deepest nightmares. You cannot be allowed to live." Unfortunately, during this five second speech, "Santa" had boarded his sleigh and begun his escape. Sexyface tried using his oxygen tank as a jetpack, but only displaced a small amount of snow in the process. Realizing that his plan was a failure, he did the only thing he could do to stave off the bitter taste of defeat: he fired his crossbow and severed the reigns connecting "Santa's" sleigh and his dark steeds. Crashing to the ground, the dark beast realized that he would have to finish off Bushwald Sexyface right here and now. Bushwald pulled out his samurai sword (from where, I do not (nor do I want to) know); "Santa" reached down to his leg and pulled out Zerstörer, the dark blade he used as a peg leg. (It's real, check it out.) Oddly enough, it did not affect his balance in any way; he moved just as he did with the Zerstörer jammed in his hip. None of Sexyface's tricks could disrupt his balance; neither frozen Gatorade ice nor candy acting as juvenile marbles could make "Santa" trip. All was not bad, however; somehow, throwing all that candy and Gatorade on the ground did give me a shitload of energy. I'm not sure how that works, but nothing about this story made sense before, did it? I'm just as confused as you are. Anyway, they fought passionately for some time, neither one gaining a significant advantage over the other. Minor cuts were inflicted, and stalemates abounded, but nothing of importance occurred. At that very moment, when all interest seemed completely lost...

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"Nevermind, authorities; I found out what's causing the noise", he said in a smooth, sultry voice that no woman could resist. "You again? What exactly are you doing here?" "Santa Claus" was confused, knowing not why his hideous form did nothing to horrify Burt; Bushwald Sexyface, however, stood in awe and silence. Before him stood his idol, the one man whom he considered sexier than himself. What could he say to honor such a man? Intimidated by Burt's great sexual prowess, Bushwald mustered up the strength to say, "Well, Your Great Sexiness, I was merely trying t-to kill that Santa fellow. His most uns-" "You know, I don't care. Just get the hell off my roof, and I won't tell the police about either of you." "Santa" slowly wandered to his sled, wondering what the hell just happened, slinking away into the night; Bushwald Sexyface bowed to his superior and descended from the rooftop, confident that he had rid the world of a great unsexiness. When morning came, he contacted me via one of those Metal Gear CODEC things (it might've been a Bluetooth, I don't remember), and told me exactly what I told you. Despite not knowing what I know about Satan Claus, Bushwald Sexyface returned to the Moon a great hero.
That is why each year, on December 25, we do not celebrate Christmas, but instead, celebrate Bushwald Sexyface's victory in battle against the great evil known as Satan Claus. We call this day "The Night of the Sexyface." I don't understand why we call it "The Night of the Sexyface" when most of the celebrations take place during the day; I also don't understand why Chickenhead was hanging out with Satan Claus, but if I keep asking questions, we're not gonna get anywhere. Moving on, the celebrations begin on the night before, just like his battle did; parents then beat the shit out of each other on the roof, expecting the kids to climb through the chimney at around 4 in the morning. At this time, the parents mysteriously vanish, just like Bushwald Sexyface, only with more concern that the police will arrive. Or less; I don't remember. The only thing they leave in their wake is a shopping cart full of whatever the hell they could find. I realize the similarities to Christmas, but take note of the differences. For example, the kids are under no illusion that Bushwald Sexyface is on their roof (although this is not totally impossible; the Sexyface has been known to prowl the rooftops at night, for reasons I don't quite understand); they know that it's their parents beating the crap out of each other. They also know that unlike Christmas, the shopping cart is not filled with gifts for them; it is only stuffed with whatever the hell the parents could find. There is a bit of a tradition to fill it with cosmetic products and tight speedos, but nobody really pays attention to that. So it's random crap and rooftop beatings for all! However, I understand that this may cause legal troubles on Earth, so I have asked Bushwald Sexyface to come up with an Earth friendly interpretation of The Night of the Sexyface. He provided me with this demo tape:
So happy Night of the Sexyface, one and all! Slap your knees in joy and slap some random asshole on the roof!