Home » Blogfestivus 2012 » The Butcher of Santaville – by Musk Oxen

The Butcher of Santaville – by Musk Oxen

A date thingy? Ah! Calendar

December 2012

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No animals were harmed during the production of this story. As to after, well… that’s out of my hands. Look, what they do on their own time is up to them, okay! I’m sorry for that shameful outburst. Some scenes may invoke a slight churning of the stomach. If you feel the need to vomit, please use a suitable receptacle. And no, that doesn’t mean the ugly pot-plant you’ve always hated. Nah, only kidding.

I implore you to check the other stories. Like me, they’re probably reaching the burnt out stage of their little grey cells, so please, give them a look.



Blitz’s Meat Shop. Open for business.

Day 8. My Editor called this morning, barking profanities, pointing out I had until tomorrow to get the story to bed or she’d fire me. As if! No. She wouldn’t?

*Bricking it, I ventured out in the mother of all snowstorms and crossed the border into the shady meat district of Santaville. BlitzenThe Butcher’ domain. No one spoke of it openly, but I was sure he enjoyed the job. A little too much, perhaps. I saw the lights and headed towards the shop.

The smell of raw meat made me gag. The sound of a cleaver striking through bone tightened my sphincter, rupturing another stitch. I felt a warm trickle slip down my buttock and held my breath.

‘What have you got for me today, Tony?’ A voice boomed from the back room. ‘Mmm, fresh Oxen. Haven’t had that for a while.’

Shit! I stared at the counter. Reindeer Sausages. Narwhal Kebabs. Prime Rump of Caribou. What the hell was I doing here!

The curtain rustled. Blitzen stood in the doorway, brushing his hooves on his bloodied apron. ‘Get him!’

‘No. Wait!’ I turned quick, seeing a uniformed Arctic Hare pointing something at me. I knew I should never have trusted those damn fluffy animals.

Taser-taser-taser!’ he screamed. I fell to my knees convulsing, as 100,000 volts coursed through my body.

‘Tie him up. The boss wants him alive. For now.’ Blitzen barked.

‘Did you… kill Santa?’ I whispered, and then fainted.

*Bricking it. An English term used to describe pooping ones pants.


Blogdramedy ** Steve Betz ** Rewind Revise ** Lenore Diane ** Shouts from the Abyss ** Fix it or Deal ** Lynn Schneider Books ** 1 Point Perspective ** So I Went Undercover ** Joe Owen’s Blog ** MC’s Whispers ** LittleWonder2 ** Blog It or Lose It! ** Voice Me In ** Apprentice, Never Master ** Diary of a Sensitive Soul ** Dot Knows! ** k8edid ** The Day After ** A Spoonful of Suga


  1. elleturner4 says:

    Laughed out loud and still am! Rupturing a stitch! Oh my, am still laughing. Love the ‘bricking it’ definition…very delicately put. Great! 😉

  2. Amy says:

    “tightened my sphincter, rupturing another stitch” – Ha! This just keeps getting better and better.

  3. Blogdramedy says:

    What a great moral to this story. Never trust the bunny.

  4. stevebetz says:

    Don’t tase me, bro!

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