This Santa looks more like the one Dan Aykroyd played in the movie Trading Places. His red suit is filthy and he's belching through his messed up beard that's embedded with chunks of egg salad from yesterday's lunch.
He
lets the whiskey bottle roll out of his hand and he slowly reaches into a grimy
duffle bag of presents. Very slowly, he withdraws a long, thin wooden baton from the bag
and the crowd gathered around him gasps in unison.
A
child cries, "That's not Santa!"
A
man yells aloud, “Oh my god, it's SIBELIUS!!!!”
“Yes,
it is I, Sibelius! I fooled you all! MwahahahahaHAH! BwahaHAHA!
“MwahahahahaHAH!
BwahaHAHA!
“And
you are all now unwilling participants in the debut of Sibelius' newest opera, The Stein Traveler's Apprentice! Mwah! HA!
“It's
the terrible story of Germany's greatest beer stein maker who travels back in
time, meets Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, teaches the young Mozart the art of stein
making thus causing Amadeus to abandon his life of music, and thus leaving me,
Sibelius, as the greatest composer of all time! Mahayana haha bwah agh!”
Or
picture this: You step into an elevator at the Empire State Building and the
elevator attendant is rather disheveled and drunk-looking.
You
ask him to press the button for the top floor and he lets out a little maniacal
laugh.
He
reaches into the breast pocket of his bellboy uniform and withdraws a long,
thin, lacquered wooden stick. The other passengers of the elevator gasp in
unison.
"It
is I, Sibelius! Bwahuzzah!
"You
are all trapped in the elevator with the greatest composer of all time!
"Your
screams and cries of terror will form the libretto to my new operetta score
entitled, One Hundred and Two Floors of
Agony! Hooaugh-gah!"
Or
picture this: You're downtown Seattle and you get into a cab and say, "Take us up to Kokomo's Seafood
restaurant on 187th street." As the cab pulls away from the curb, the
doors lock and the car’s windows roll themselves up. From the back seat, you
see in the lights of oncoming traffic, the silhouette of your driver's hand holding a long, thin wooden
stick.
Or
picture this: You sit down on a bar stool and order a Moscow Mule. The bartender,
who smells heavily of licorice and looks like he hasn't slept for days, tries
to suppress a maniacal laugh.
Or
picture this: A long, thin wooden stick passes between your eyes and the book
you are reading as the library you are sitting in blows up to the sound of
maniacal laugher.
Or picture this: You lean back in your chair after finishing the most delicious meal of your life. Your waiter appears at the table and before he speaks, he extends his hand and lightly taps the rim of your wine glass with a long, thin wooden stick. The people at the neighboring tables gasp in unison.
"It
is I, Sibelius, and you, my poor friend, have just ingested a large amount of the world's
most deadly poison! Bwaahaha shwa aha!
"And
it is only I, Sibelius, who is in possession of the antidote! Bla-oo-ah!
Haha!" He leans down close to your shoulder, swiping his baton and
knocking the plates and glasses to the floor, until he is pointing at a grand piano
at the far end of the room.
"Unless
you wish to be dead one hour from now, you must perform Sibelius' newest grand
waltz, Death By Gazpacho in D Minor!
“Bwahuzzah!
You must play to Sibelius' liking!"
"For
it is I, Sibelius, and you are all doomed! Doomed!" These are the final words the world hears after the
man holding a long, thin wooden baton, who was once thought to be a disheveled-looking Francois
Hollande, and who moments before had revealed to the public that the Paris
Climate Accord was nothing more than an elaborate hoax orchestrated by the
greatest conductor of all time so that he could save the Earth only to destroy
it later while performing the grand finale to the greatest concerto of all
time!
He
then ended the news conference by exclaiming, "Blaugh HAHA gwah fwah A-HA!"
Or
picture this: You awake in a hospital bed encased in a full body cast.
Or
picture this: You awake to find a live Bengal tiger in your bedroom.
Or
picture this: You awake one morning to find that your memory has been
completely erased.
Or
picture this: You're lying in your hospital bed, watching TV through the eyeholes
of your full body cast.
A
television news crew is broadcasting live a police raid on a local home that you
suddenly recognize as the house where you live!
Or
picture this: You're at an FBI office and the head agent is addressing the
other agents, "We got a tip from a
neighbor who didn't recognize him until they saw the long, thin wooden conductor's baton.
Nevermind that there has been an entire orchestra going in and out of the back
door of the house for the last 2 months.
"During that same
time period, it seems that the owner of the house has been in the hospital with
amnesia after being attacked in his bedroom by a Bengal tiger.
"We found the
house completely empty apart from 4 or 5 dozen folding chairs and sheet music
stands that were found in the basement.
"And there was an
audio recording left on the conductor's podium. Which I will play for you right
now...."
“...Bhaha
gwah aha! Once again, it is I, Sibelius, who has slipped through your fingers,
chief inspector, proving yet again that it is Sibelius who is the greatest composer
of all time! Grwahaha!
"The
world is truly my stage and the police are feeble minded fools who will never
stop me! Haha flawguah!!!
“...It
is the story of how Sibelius' Bengal
Rhapsody was written in South Minneapolis and why it is the greatest
rhapsody of all time!!!
“Goo-augh
flawguah! A-HA!!!
“Bwahuzzah
gwagah ha-cha!!!”
Or picture this: You're listening to Classical MPR and the Ode to Joy. Fred Child comes on at the end, saying, "That was Sibelius' 9th Symphony, otherwise known as the Ode to Gwahah Joy, performed by the London Philharmonic."
Or picture this: You're listening to Classical MPR and the Ode to Joy. Fred Child comes on at the end, saying, "That was Sibelius' 9th Symphony, otherwise known as the Ode to Gwahah Joy, performed by the London Philharmonic."
“It's
the greatest mystery the maestro has ever concocted! Gwahah Hahah Jawagh!”
Or
picture this: You're in New York and the Metropolitan Opera has just completed a matinée preformance of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite when the actor who
played the Rat King rushes back onto the stage, throws back his costume, and
exclaims, "It is I, Sibelius, and you all have 20 seconds to live!!! Gwahah Aha Crwawr!"
"Not so fast," replies Frosty the Snowman as he magically appears in front of you. With one snip of Frosty's blue-handled wire cutter, he cuts the yellow lead wire, thus stopping the clock and defusing the bomb. "Now, we can blow this place, boss."
Now picture this: A disheveled man walks with an uneven gait into a train station. He smells badly of Moscow Mules, apricots and new car smell. He slowly draws a long, thin, highly lacquered wooden baton from his filthy coat, and motioning to the nearest person, who happens to be you, he says, "You, you're going to help me destroy Christmas! Gwah!"
Or picture this: You find yourself in a dark farm field during a snowstorm. A man staggers into view as he exclaims:
"So it appears that it is I, Sibelius, the maestro, who will have the last and final laugh! A laugh that I shall now demonstrate for you....
The smell of raw onions, menthol cigarettes and Old Spice aftershave is nearly unbearable as Sibelius cackles in the moonlight. He waves his baton madly as if to conduct the stars of the night sky as his unholy orchestra.
Or picture this: You awake and your house is filled with the stench of raw onions, household degreasers, gingivitis, licorice, menthol cigarette smoke, day-old White Zinfandel, and Blue Mountain coffee beans.
Or
picture this: You're in the comfort of your own home, snuggled up with your
favorite special somebody on the couch, watching your favorite TV show of all
time, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,
when you feel the presence of someone standing directly behind you. Actually,
rather than feel their presence, you smell the presence of hot licorice, spiced
ham, and gingivitis. A crude, smelly voice whispers in your ear, "It is I,
Sibelius, the Heat Miser from your television show, you will now unwillingly
assist me in delivering the worst nightmare to every child in the world!
Gwarawdawa!!! Prepare to play the violin as you have never done so before! You
will play for the children!!!! Hughghughgawe!"
Or
picture this: You're lying in bed, wondering what your life would be like if
your name was Horst Lundegaard.
Yellow,
jaundiced eyes appear in the darkness. The smell of licorice fills the room.
You
hear a voice count down from ten, "…the 10, the 9, the 8, gwah..,"
and you're fast asleep before the next fwakgwaw is uttered.
You
dream of the Pickle Ornament.
You
awake in Vienna, home to Mozart, Beethoven and Strauss. You hold in your hand
the last known violin constructed by Antonio Stradivari. Hanging around your neck is
a large clock with lead wires to 10,000 sticks of TNT piled at your feet.
On a music stand before
your eyes lay the sheet music to Sibelius' grand violin sonata entitled, The Day 10,000 Sticks of TNT Blew Up
the Last Stradivarius Violin!
The
maestro taps his long, thin wooden baton on the metal of the conductor's stand,
thus calling the gathered audience to attention.
He
clears his throat, "Hawgware...nmbmum."
The
smell of licorice and gingivitis fills the air.
Suddenly, the
room goes dark and there is a loud crash!
After
a moment's time, the lights go up and Santa Claus is standing at your side! "Don't worry kid, this is a Christmas
miracle!"
In
Horst Lundegaard's voice, you respond to Santa by saying, "Let's blow this
place, Santa!"
"Not so fast," replies Frosty the Snowman as he magically appears in front of you. With one snip of Frosty's blue-handled wire cutter, he cuts the yellow lead wire, thus stopping the clock and defusing the bomb. "Now, we can blow this place, boss."
And
so you, as Horst Lundegaard, Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus save the last Stradivarius violin.
It's
also the beginning of the story of how you, Santa and Frosty saved Christmas.
For as this drama was quickly unfolding, Sibelius was shrieking with maniacal laughter, "You may win this round, Messieurs Snowman and Claus, Gwahah swaswa! But it is I,
Sibelius, who will be the cause of your last laugh! It will be your last laugh! Whowah gwagh a-ha!
Until next time, we shall live to do battle on another day!!!"
Now picture this: A disheveled man walks with an uneven gait into a train station. He smells badly of Moscow Mules, apricots and new car smell. He slowly draws a long, thin, highly lacquered wooden baton from his filthy coat, and motioning to the nearest person, who happens to be you, he says, "You, you're going to help me destroy Christmas! Gwah!"
Or picture this: You find yourself in a dark farm field during a snowstorm. A man staggers into view as he exclaims:
"So it appears that it is I, Sibelius, the maestro, who will have the last and final laugh! A laugh that I shall now demonstrate for you....
"MwahahaHAHA
Gwarhar-tar-FWAR A-AH!!!!"
You
look down and see Santa Claus lying motionless in the snow about six feet in
front of you.
You
then notice the smoking barrel of the pistol that you hold in your left hand.
You
then look and see the bodies of eight or nine reindeer scattered about in the
snow just beyond Santa.
You
then realize that you are holding a high caliber rifle in your other hand.
"It is I,
Sibelius, the greatest composer of all time, who shall be known the world over
as the one who apprehended the man who killed Santa and his reindeer before
blowing up his sleigh! Blawhaha Gwahah Gwah!"
And
with that final "Gwah", you hear a loud explosion, after which, bits
and pieces of Santa's sleigh fall to the ground around your feet.
"Whawhaha
jawhagraw!"
The smell of raw onions, menthol cigarettes and Old Spice aftershave is nearly unbearable as Sibelius cackles in the moonlight. He waves his baton madly as if to conduct the stars of the night sky as his unholy orchestra.
"It
will be the greatest tragedy ever written! The story of you, the enemy of all
Earth's children, and how I, Sibelius, was the one who brought you to justice!
Gwahah Hwawa!
"It'll
take every musician on the planet to perform, and it'll be entitled, Sibelius' Infinite Symphony: The Day Santa's
Killer Was Reduced To A Pile Of Ash!!!
"And
there will never again be presents for the children!!! Gwahah hrawhuzzah
flawaw!!!!"
Or picture this: You awake and your house is filled with the stench of raw onions, household degreasers, gingivitis, licorice, menthol cigarette smoke, day-old White Zinfandel, and Blue Mountain coffee beans.
You
walk into your kitchen and find a disheveled man who is hunched over, covered
in some sort of greasy slime and wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Seeing
you, he snubs his cigarette out on your countertop.
“We
now enter the end game, you and I who is Sibelius, the greatest composer of all
time. Gwahah.
"You
have been Sibelius' little pawn in the most epic battle to destroy Christmas while
making Sibelius the most celebrated composer of all time!
"Gwar-haha-blaag!”
You
look at the countertop next to Sibelius and see that he has placed the head of
Frosty the Snowman in your microwave oven. The smell of blue cheese and old
hard-boiled eggs briefly overwhelms you.
Frosty
looks directly at you out of the microwave oven, and you are surprised to see
that the pieces of coal and the carrot that form the features of his face beneath
the brim of his velvet top hat are composed as if to say, "Don't worry kid, I've got this all under control."
"You
have a very serious problem right now, my dim little friend. Because I am Sibelius,
the greatest composer of all time, and you are a mediocre talent who could not discern
a fiddle from a violin! Gwahah heehehee Bwah!"
Sibelius'
baton hovers close to the microwave oven's DEFROST button. Frosty winks at you
through the glass door.
"Gwag
hahaAHAHA Cah!"
Sibelius
leans forward so that he can look into the microwave; Frosty's expression goes
blank, but you can see that he's fighting to suppress a smile.
"Laugh
all you want, snow man. Gwah! But there is nothing he can do to help you now.
Your fate is sealed in that microwave oven with you.
"You
see," Sibelius turns back to face you as a portion of old sandwich falls out of
his beard. The smell of Russian rye, Black Forest ham, Jarlsberg cheese and
rancid Miracle Whip fills the room.
"You
see.... Santa and his reindeer are at this very moment on their way to this
house! Old Saint Nick thinks that he can rewrite the past by changing the
future! He will claim that he and his reindeer were merely taking a little nap
tonight, as they had finished their delivery of presents to every child in North and South America, and they wanted to rest before flying across the Pacific!"
"You're finished,
Sibelius. You might as well give up right now," shouts Frosty the
Snowman from inside the microwave oven.
"No!
It is you who are finished and it is I, Sibelius, who the world knows as he who
captured the one who harmed their beloved Santa! Hgawawhgah!!!"
And
with that, the entire roof was torn off your house and the walls crumbled to
the ground leaving only the fireplace and chimney standing in the cold
nighttime air.
"Gear-ha-gwaw!"
Sibelius' long, thin wooden baton moved toward the microwave oven, but before
he could tap the defrost button, a burst of snowflakes filled the space and
Frosty's body kicked the door of the refrigerator open, knocking Sibelius to
the floor!
Suddenly,
the sound of jingle bells filled the air and Santa Claus blasted out of your
fireplace, strewing red bricks, candy canes, and Christmas stockings everywhere! And
Horst Lundegaard came running from the street, grabbing Sibelius with his
mighty hands, thus preventing his escape.
Santa
then walks over to you, and clapping his hand to your shoulder, he says, "Thanks for covering for me, boss."
Frosty
the Snowman, his head and body now reunited, says to Santa, "You took your sweet time, old man."
Ignoring
Frosty, Santa reaches into his big bag of presents and withdraws a long, thin
scroll of paper. He hands it to Horst Lundegaard who presently unravels the
parchment to reveal that it is a musical score. He reads the title for all to
hear....
"The Night Santa
and His Reindeer Took a Little Nap in D Minor, by Jean Sibelius."
"No!!!!!"
Cries Sibelius. "You cannot use my genius to rewrite history and change
the past! Only Sibelius, the greatest composer of all time has that power!
Grwak-groowah-Oh no-Oh no-Oh no!!!"
"Oh yes, oh yes,
oh yes," replies Frosty the Snowman. "It's
got your name on it right here, so it must be true. S-I-B-E-L-I-U-S!" Frosty motions with his corncob pipe, tapping out the letters of the maestro's name under the title of the piano sonata.
Taking the sheet music from Frosty, Santa holds it at arm's length and eyes it through his bifocals, "Not only did you NOT destroy Christmas, it would also appear that you've plagiarized large portions of Beethoven's 7th Symphony in A Major with this little sonata of yours, Sibelius."
"You're a fraud, Sibelius!" barks Frosty as he winks at you; his stovepipe hat sparkling with snowy glitter in the moonlight.
"No! Beethoven stole those notes from me! I am the greatest composer of all time!" cries Sibelius as he tries in vain to escape Horst Lundegaard's mighty grip. The smell of garlic cloves and moldy Velveeta cheese takes your breath away.
"I doubt the world will see it that way, my unfortunate little friend. In fact, I do believe that it is we, and not you, Sibelius, who will in the end, have the last, and final laugh. A laugh, that I'm afraid, you know all too well: Ho Ho Ho; Ho Ho Ho... Merry Christmas!"
Taking the sheet music from Frosty, Santa holds it at arm's length and eyes it through his bifocals, "Not only did you NOT destroy Christmas, it would also appear that you've plagiarized large portions of Beethoven's 7th Symphony in A Major with this little sonata of yours, Sibelius."
"You're a fraud, Sibelius!" barks Frosty as he winks at you; his stovepipe hat sparkling with snowy glitter in the moonlight.
"No! Beethoven stole those notes from me! I am the greatest composer of all time!" cries Sibelius as he tries in vain to escape Horst Lundegaard's mighty grip. The smell of garlic cloves and moldy Velveeta cheese takes your breath away.
"I doubt the world will see it that way, my unfortunate little friend. In fact, I do believe that it is we, and not you, Sibelius, who will in the end, have the last, and final laugh. A laugh, that I'm afraid, you know all too well: Ho Ho Ho; Ho Ho Ho... Merry Christmas!"
And
that, my friend, is the story of how you, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus and
Horst Lundegaard saved Christmas, and why all the children of the world know
your name.