The story room feels sad and empty, (Patreon)

with the pumpkin-spiced scent of betrayal still lingering in the air.  Was it worth it?  Was it worth selling out the elf that has bared his soul for your entertainment, week after week, for years?  You start to feel pangs of regret - especially since the Kringle hasn't yet delivered the Oscar Meyer Wiener whistles you were promised.

Suddenly the door opens and Adler walks in. 

Greetings, loyal listeners!  Wow!  I feel so refreshed after my vacation!  This is the first time in a long time that I actually had a pleasant December.  It was the strangest thing.  Right after I left here, I could tell I was being followed.  No matter where I went, there they were, shadowing me.  It's like the Kringle's agents knew exactly where I was at all times.  I was convinced that one of you had betrayed me.  I didn't want to pook away unless I was truly cornered, so I dashed into a train station to see if I could lose them in the general hubbub.  In the restroom I took off my hat and tie so I could wash my face, and someone must have taken them by accident.  The ones I found when I turned around looked similar, but were definitely different.  I have to say, these are not as high quality as the ones I had.  Also, the name "Stuart" is written inside the hat band, so this is obviously not mine.

But after that little switcheroo, the agents tailing me disappeared and I didn't see any trace of them for the entire month.  I was able to check into a nice hotel, order room service, and laugh at terrible Christmas movies on lowfolk television.  I actually had a pretty good time!  Since the holiday is now past and the danger is over, I decided to come back before January and give my helper a break.  Speaking of which, where is he?  Tell me he at least showed up, and you haven't been just staring at the walls all month.  Handsome guy with a goatee, wears shades and a hoodie, kind of a beatnik?

Okay, well, good to know he did make an appearance and mostly did his job ... but he was slated to fill in all the way through the end of December.  I can't believe he left early!  What a lazy flake!  He said he was my biggest fan too.  You just can't trust people anymore.  Oh well, I guess since he's not here, I won't have to give him the thank-you gifts I got for him.  Aw, yuck!  He even spilled coffee on the book!  Well, I won't be asking him for help again any time soon.  In fact, I'm crossing that guy's name off the  guest list.  Make a note that Alder Guyon is banned from the weekly story time.

Were did he leave off?  It must be the page with the most coffee stains on it... *Ahem*

. . .

"And it goes beyond just getting better prizes," I continued my spiel.  "Keep in mind that when I say 'doing good deeds' this doesn't mean what you probably think it means.  What Fuma considers good and evil is subtly different from what this Cosmic Ram and Baby Bunny consider good and evil ... or, to be more precise, what the Ram's priests want you to think is good and evil.  What Rebecca told me about the Cosmic Ram in his early days made him sound pretty cool, but he's obviously changed.  Lady Fuma is a goddess of Love and War, Passion and Fury, and she has consistently remained so.  She never went through any paradigm shifts.  Many things the Church of the Bunny declares to be taboo are perfectly fine in Fuma's eyes.  Parties, revelries, and fun are not only tolerated but encouraged!  If you want to wear all black and dress like a character from a children's book, you are free to do so.  You can even dance naked in the rain if you really want to, though that sounds like a sure fire way to catch a cold."

"That does sound better than I thought it would," the duck muttered.

"But I really had my heart set on selling my soul to a primeval chaos demon," the vixen complained.

"Aye," Mother Didelphis agreed.  "Not to a goddess.  It's the principle of the thing."

"Fuma may not be evil," Rebecca piped up eagerly, "but she's still an ancient pagan deity that predates civilization.  Paganism is TOTALLY witchy!  Fuma's also really cool.  She spoke to me in a vision!"

"I don't know ..." Mother Didelphis dithered.

"What was the Raccoon Monster saying about being Unseelie?" the mouse (bear?) asked.

"HA!" I scoffed.  "You want to learn about being Unseelie from the Raccoon Monster, then so be it!  Never let it be said that Lord Randall forced a moral decision on his disciples!  Also, don't say I didn't warn you!  Wait just a moment and I'll wake her up.  Abrakazam!  Alley-ka-pocus!"

I waved my hands mystically and apported a bucket of water.  The witches murmured and applauded politely.

I dumped the bucket over Burnside.

"WHY IN TARNATION'D YOU DO THAT?" she spluttered, jumping to her feet.

"Because it's time for you to get up," I informed her.  "Now is your moment.  I tried my best, but these witches seem dead set on being Unseelie.  If you please, tell the coven exactly how you would go about doing that."

"All right!" Burnside cackled, shaking the water out of her fur.  "Now yer talkin!  So you gals wanna be Unseelie?  Good choice!  You won't regret it!  First an' most important, you wanna always make sure yer knife is razor sharp.  Whazzat?  Ain't got a knife?  Well then sister, GIT you one right quick!  That's yer top priority.  Why do you need it?  Well, skippin ahead a bit, for starters, you're gonna have to ..."

I'm not going to repeat all of Burnside's horrible monologue.  Suffice it to say, within the first five minutes Mother Didelphis had fainted, the duck was curled up in an egg-like position and hopelessly weeping, Rebecca was desperately clutching her enormous ears in a futile attempt to block out Burnside's yammering voice, and the vixen was anxiously looking for a discreet place to vomit.

"And once you burrow into his chest cavity," Burnside continued enthusiastically, "if'n you grab onto the inside of his rib-cage, he can't pull you out."

"Dude," the bear (mouse?) grunted.  "That is messed up."

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