In 2014, the Thunder Pear Publishing Animated Holiday Special aired for the first and only time on a local cable access station. Despite the small audience, it was the most complained about piece of media for the entire year, and has subsequently been banned from ever being shown again. All copies were destroyed, and most scripts burned. Here, we present some of the few scraps that have been recovered. Please proceed forward at your own discretion.
Interior. Sunlight streams through a window, onto a sea of empty beer cans and liquor bottles, with a single human form passed out amidst their depths. As the light falls upon his face, Drew stirs from his reverie, sitting up slowly and uttering his first words of the day.
Drew: Why is it this fucking bright on Christmas Eve? Suck my dick, Fall Back, you outdated piece of shit.
Drew finds a bottle with a few drops left and hurls them down his throat lazily before staggering up.
Drew: Guess I have to get my shopping done today. Pretty crafty of me to wait until the day before Christmas, when everyone else will have all their shopping done and the malls will be empty. Good thinking, Past Drew.
With a sudden burst of movement, Drew slams the beer bottle down on the counter, turning it into a jagged weapon.
Drew: Back off Frosty. I just wasted the rest of my beer, so know that I’m serious when I say I will face-fuck you with the pointy ends of this bottle if you take a step closer.
Frosty (hands going up, dropping crowbar to his feet): Whoa man, we can talk about this. I came on aggressively, but there’s no reason we can’t share the magic mittens.
Drew: Sure, that’s probably what you told the magician when you made off with his hat. Well, forget it you soft-serve fuck, I’m not letting your frozen claws anywhere near these.
Drew grabs the mittens from the enchanted box, slipping one on his free, non-bottle holding hand. Instantly, a glow appears on his wrist, quickly spreading across his whole body.
Frosty: Looks like we’ll have to catch up later.
Drew (noticing the glow): Oh what the living fuck is it this time. I swear to god if I see one more werewolf today I’m-
Grabbing the reins, Drew jerks them up, pulling the reindeer out of their spiral. As the sled levels off, Drew celebrates by grabbing a bottle of tequila from the floor boards and downing a quarter of it.
Santa (climbing up from the back seat): Are you sure you should be drinking during this?
Drew: I’m like ninety percent sure there are no laws against driving a magical sleigh while drinking, so kiss my ass and hold on tight.
With a snap of the reins, Drew drives the flying reindeer forward, narrowly avoiding the next round of fire from Negative Santa, who has emerged from the cloudbank.
Drew: We have to draw this bastard out if we want a chance at beating him. At least we killed Negative Rudolph so he doesn’t have the constant aura of shadow to hide in.
Santa: But how do we kill him? He’s like me, an immortal being sustained by the feelings of the world. Except instead of good-will and hope, he is made of greed and envy.
Drew: Don’t you worry about that, I know a few drinks that can kill anything, even things immortal or already dead. The key is getting him to chug them, but I’ve got an idea. People already leave out milk for you, so if we-
Blood pools on the floor as Drew spits more from his mouth, glaring back defiantly at the elf with the crimson-stained knuckles. Next to him, Jack Frost stirs, the effects of the potion finally wearing off.
Drew: Is that the best you can do? Maybe you should build a toy that doesn’t hit like a magical creature made from light and snow. Or buy some brass knuckles or something, it’s not on me to tell you how to do your job.
Head Elf: You think you’re being cute, don’t you? Well let me tell you, this is just delaying the inevitable.
Drew: You’re half right. I was delaying, and what’s going to happen is inevitable. Because you were so worried about me and the Lord of Winter here that you let one key element slip your attention.
Through the window, a massive hand coated in white fur bursts in, grabbing some of the background elfs and pulling them through. Their screams can be heard for several seconds, followed by an audible crunch and silence.
Head Elf (terror-stricken): I forgot about the yeti.
Drew: You forgot about the mother fucking yeti.
Stumbling, Drew runs into the empty field, Frosty hot on his trail with a scythe of ice already dripping blood. Drew dashes forward to the center of the icy grass, turning around to face Frosty head on.
Frosty: No beer bottle this time.
Drew: You upped your game, only seemed fair that I up mine.
Frosty: Is running away your idea of upping your game?
Drew: Oh, you thought you were driving me here? Guess again, shitberg, I’m the one who was leading you.
From his pocket, Drew produces the sharpened beer bottle cap from the Toy Store Battle. He jams it into his palm, allowing drops of blood to fall upon the frozen ground.
Drew: By the ancient accords of leaves and blood, the rite of Fall and the vows of the Last Nightmare, I hereby invoke my privilege as a Savior of Autumn. Come forth, he of twisted vines and gnarled root. Come forth, he of the burning mouth and endless hunger. I call you forth and shout your name, now heed my call. Come forth, Grand Pumpkin!
The ground rumbles as a mighty Jack-o-lantern rises from the dirt, burning eyes and mouth supported by a spider-like body made of vines. It turns to Drew, meeting his gaze before directing its attention to Frosty.
Grand Pumpkin: This makes two. One more, and I get your soul.
Drew: I know the bargain we struck, now deal with this chilled dog turd so I can save-
Sitting by the fire, Drew rests his feet and lifts a drink after a long day’s work. Just as the eggnog hits his lips, his eyes go wide with realization.
Drew: Oh fuck! I forgot to buy gifts in all the confusion.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, a re-animated elf corpse with a rifle aimed right at Drew’s head. Rolling to the side, Drew ducks behind the couch and hurls his glass directly into the creature’s eyes. A gunshot rings out, and the elf falls to the ground, dead with a hole in its skull. Santa steps through the door, gun in one hand and sack of presents in the other.
Santa: Sorry, still got some winter cleaning to do. But I thought I could help with your shopping as thanks for today. Also, sorry about the blood curse on your head now.
Drew: Psh, I collect them, no worries there. Now let’s talk presents!
The camera pulls out, back through the same window we started in, showing a herd of re-animated elfs moving into position around the house. Close on “The End?” to leave room for the inevitable sequel.