It was just about a week ago that this WWN stalwart received a strange phone call. “Brick? This is Santa Claus. I need your help.”

“If you’re Santa, then I’m the Easter Bunny,” this scribe replied, with casual snark.

The voice on the other end of the phone then listed all the times this reporter had been nice as well as naughty, recounting misadventures that weren’t even reported to the police. Convinced that this was the real Santa, we replied: “How can I help?”

“There’s a ride waiting for you outside. I have to speak to you in person,” said Santa before hanging up.

This journalist dashed outside and saw, much to our surprise, Werewolves on Wheels leader Sonny Talbot, sitting on a glistening Harley of a type never seen before. “Hi ya, Brick. Hop on.”

He tossed a multi-colored helmet our way. “Put this on and hold on tight.”

This journalist complied. Sonny revved the Harley and, within seconds, we sped off in a blur, the real world reduced to a vortex of rainbow-colored streaks. Before your scribe had any time to comprehend, Sonny’s Harley skidded to a snowy stop in front of Santa’s North Pole headquarters. A dozen elves rushed out, hugging Sonny as if he were a hero – which he was.

Santa flung his workshop door open and chortled. “Brick! I knew you’d come.”

After the usual “Ho, ho, ho” and “Howzit goin’” greetings, he led us into his shop wherein countless elves were still making toys.


“This has been a rough year, Brick,” Santa said. “With the supply chains getting all Effed up, I had to ask favors of some of the Norse Gods to get me wood at a reasonable price. But it’s what’s going down in the heart of America, that forced me to take measures I ordinarily would never have taken.”

He took a big puff of his pipe, exhaled and mellowed.

“These herbs Sonny and his crew gave me really work. Without them, I’d be going berserk.”

Sonny blushed. “T’is the season for gift-giving, Santa.”


“Well, you and your boys have been a gift for me,” Santa chuckled. Santa turned towards this correspondent. “Every year, starting in January, I have a group of elves go out to start evaluating my toy recipients; Santa’s helpers. They tally up who’s been naughty and nice. Now elves don’t really enjoy being out in the real world. They’re simple folk with sunny dispositions. This year, though, they’ve been beaten up and shot at. Their rules prohibit them from hurting people, so to buy time, they turned their assailants into shrubbery for five minutes or so; just enough time for them to return home.”

One elf, appropriately named Lumpy, walked over to the table, his bruises still visible. “They were throwing stuff and shouting ‘Go back where you came from!’ I said, ‘The North Pole?’ And they shot at me!”

He began to sob. Sonny hugged him. “You’re safe now, little buddy.”

Santa continued. “At that point, I knew I needed outside help to protect my elves. I always read Weekly World News and I knew that Werewolves on Wheels were hired to protect the Classic Monsters Retirement Home and, from your reporting, seemed like a good pack. I called Frankenstein’s monster. All his body parts, with the possible exception of his brain, were attached to folks on my nice list. He agreed to let Sonny and his group come help me. I owe him. Big time.”


Grinned Sonny, “It’s nice to help people. Santa and his elves were so gracious. They provided us all with rooms that included iron bars that descended when we went full-tilt Full Moon. They fed us pounds of steak tartar during those moon periods laced with tranquilizers. We woke up with a nice buzz and were greeted with hugs and kisses.”

Since June, on their special Harleys built by the elves, Werewolves on Wheels have been making sure the elves were safe, scaring the crap out of the would-be assailants. And this Christmas, they’ll be escorting Santa and his sleigh as he delivers presents to good girls and boys.

Sonny laughs. “Lumpy and his gang have even concocted magical heat-seeking missiles to knock the bad people into happiness. It’s amazing.”

Santa leaned forward to this newsman. “What I’d like for you to do, Brick, is wait until the first week of December to let this story out and tell any of your, uh, less than enlightened readers to ‘Knock It Effin Off!’ Will it kill them to be nice for one day? Oh, and if you’re one of those nice families who leave milk and cookies for old Santa, here. Maybe leave some kibble for my newfound helpers or a dog bone.”

“Squeeze toys would be cool, too,” Sonny added.

Everyone stared at him. “What? They’re fun!”


This correspondent agreed to Santa’s request and, after numerous cups of grog and a few tokes, I mean, puffs of Santa’s pipe, was escorted home by Sonny.

We hugged and wished each other a Merry Christmas.

It’s been a week. I’m publishing this story. To all WWN readers, have a Merry Christmas and remember to leave out some doggie treats along with Santa’s milk and cookies.

And to all those surly folks? Knock it the Eff off and be nice for a single Effin’ day.

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