Not Simpsons this year, folks. Started in early November, this is the first crossover of Animaniacs and Total Drama I've ever written. Tell me whatcha think!

I own nothing, blah blah blah . . . . All characters go to their rightful owners, and if you haven't seen either one of these shows it is highly recommended you see at least three episodes of each before continuing on into the danger zone. Rated T for not only raping the fourth wall, but some language, intern deaths, and a couple of these: "GOODNIGHT, EVERYBODY!"

Filmed in America, some parts of Canada for the time zones. Really, you'll just know from certain scenes where we're at.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly…"

Chris rolled his eyes, muting the TV. Maybe if he pretended he wasn't home, then they would go away.

"Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Tis' the season to be jolly…"

He sighed, putting in headphones.

"Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Don we now our gay apparel…"

Turned the music all the way up after that.

"Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Toll the ancient Yuletide carol…"

No, even that didn't drone the carolers out. He got up, wrapping the robe tighter around his body. It was what, thirty degrees out? Twenty?

"Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!"

He opened the door a crack, as to not let out the heat. There were seven of the trolls this time. They all had on white coats, a couple were light blue or gray, four boys and three girls (counting a little girl that had joined in). Although . . . one of the ones wearing a blue coat was a . . . a giant chicken . . ?

Didn't matter. He, she, it was still making noise.

Despite the look on his face, they paused and continued singing, "See the fuming man before us, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Strike the harp and join the chorus, fa-la—"

"For the love of my agent, leave me alone! Some people are trying to watch themselves on TV in here!" Chris slammed the door in their faces, and went back to his warm, soft bed. Thankfully he had gotten the mail before they came—which was probably how they saw him in the first place, and knew he was home.

The first letter on top of the stack was a surprise: Owen had sent him a Christmas card. It even had a Snowman on the cover, and 'Merry Christmas, From Owen' inside.

How cute. Mostly each year the stack was full of fan letters, but there were usually people to take the useless cards out.

I'll have to fire someone for this…

As a matter of fact, the whole stack on his nightstand was from Total Drama related people, like a few of the contestants, a couple of interns he had hospitalized (once again, there were SUPPOSED to be people taking these things out!), a couple from the producers and Chef, and one hate-letter from an intern's family (with several death threats if he didn't pay for the guy's funeral). Chris almost threw this one into the fireplace, but put it back with the others. He had to have proof that somebody wasn't doing their job at the post office.

The others, for now, would have to stay there and be an eye sore. He scanned over the names—Dawn, from season four, Chef (he had used the card as an excuse to remind him of the bet Chris lost), Zoey and Mike shared a card (and all personalities signed except for Mal) which was a shocker, Izzy (whose card only consisted of a hand-drawn horse wearing a Santa hat farting on the cover and a signature on the inside), and several interns practically begging for a higher position on the next season of Total Drama. And his own family members, of course, some of whose cards he didn't mind getting. Some.

Total Drama Island's 'Phobia Factor' episode came on right before a call came in from his cell—whoever it was, it wasn't in his contact list and the number didn't ring a bell. But nobody - NOBODY - had his personal number, so . . .

"Yello?" He muted the TV.

"Hello," it was a man's voice, "are you willing to donate—"

"Pass," He jabbed a thumb over the 'end call' option, and continued to punch in a few numbers.

The phone rung a few times, and then a sluggish voice came over, groaning. There were people yelling in the background, and odd beeping noises. "Yeah?"

"Manny, there were spammers in my mail again. Fix it."

"Merry Christmas to you too. Listen man, we're really busy this time of year, and there's been an . . . I don't even know what they are, but some, uh, things are causing some serious trouble around here. Can't you just live with a few spam letters and throw them in the fire? It'll keep the place warm and save me extra work hours. You realize how much friggin' mail you get and I have to throw out? A freaking lot, Chris. And they've been cutting into my family time, too!"

"You're not getting paid to leave spam letters in my mailbox!"

"Yeah, because hate mail and fan letters are spam to you!"

"Oh? And what about death threats and blackmail?" He eyed the dead intern's family letter.

After a few moments, Manny sighed. "Okay. I'll stay after hours again, if we fix this problem here. On Christmas Eve. Hope you're happy, man. You now, someday somebody'll get through to you. As for right now, we have a serious emergency on our hands, and I'd like to know what the hell's goin' on back there."

"Oh, and one more thing—"

The post worker screamed, and a loud crash followed.

"Manny? You there, man?"

"I don't know why you're confusing mine with that horrifyingly scruffy voice, but I happen to be the cutest person who's ever lived, whether you see me in person or no!"

Chris held the phone away from him—a little girl had answered. He spoke again, "Uh, where's Manny?"

"You mean Fish-Breath? Oh, Yakko and Wakko are currently washing his mouth out with soap—he's a potty mouth!" She whispered on the last part. "As for now, I'm the one who's going to answer all of your questions and needs—besides having this girl in your life. Whaddya need?"

"Uh . . ." What was happening at the post office? "What's your name again?"

"Princess Angelina Contesta Lousia Francesca Hanna Banna Bo Beska the Third. But you can call me Dot. Call me Dottie and you die. What's your name?"

"I'm Chris Mclean." A worker's daughter? Terrorists? Who were these people?

"Mclean? Mclean . . . Nope, never heard of ya."

He frowned. "Chris Mclean, host of the Total Drama series?"

"Uh…"

"I've starred in other stuff too, like my most famous role as Flippey, from—"

"Ooh, aren't you that guy who was in that old boy band Fametown?"

His eye twitched. "Uh…yeah."

"Ooh, oh…! Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

"Okay, whatever," he rolled his eyes—stupid kids. "Dot, I would like to speak to Manny, or Fish-Breath, or whatever you call him."

She sighed, "I told you, Yakko and Wakko are bonking him on the head every time he says a bad word!"

He blinked, "You told me they were washing his mouth out with soap."

"But I just told you now that they were bonking him on the head."

Bonking him on the head?

Were they beating Manny?! "C-c-can I interrupt Yakko and Wakko and t-talk to my mail sorter?"

"Mail sorter?" She started laughing, "Honey, throw whatever you don't want in the fireplace! It'll be better than getting deeper into this skit and wasting the readers' time."

"Skit?"

"Yes skit, meaning a humorous story or sketch."

"I know what it means!" He snapped, "You're saying that I'm on TV right now? Like Pranked?" He looked around the room, for any hidden cameras, and wrapped the robe tighter around his body.

"Attitude, it's Christmas Eve! No, you're just a character in a soon-to-be ridiculously long parody-of-a-parody story. Like fan-fiction, or Saturday Night Live."

"You're not making any sense, who are you and what are you doing at the post office?!"

"Don't talk to my sister that way, you Plotz stand-in!" A boy's voice came over the phone now, "We're not making anything."

"We're standing over this phone and talking to you," Another boy's voice joined in, with a slight British accent. He sort of sounded like Ringo, from the Beatles.

"And," Dot finished, "we were offering to help the workers here for a Christmas break, but they were all potty mouths about it!"

"Now then," the first boy's voice came over, "what were you saying right before your fish-breath friend was taken off the phone?"

Without even thinking, he answered, "I was complaining about somebody blackmailing me . . . I think I'm just going up hang up now." He hung up and threw the phone across the room, going into a more thorough search for cameras. This had to be some sort of prank. Was it one of those prank shows, an enemy, old intern . . ?

The doorbell rang, and more carolers began to sing to the theme of 'Noel,' "If you want to get help for your blackmailing issue, just be nice to everyone, it's easy to do! Oh well, oh well. Oh well, oh well. Deal with your own problems and leave us out too!"

He stopped, mulling the whole situation over. If this were a show, then the cameras would be right outside the front door, ready to capture his reaction. Even if it wasn't then it would be a good idea to have pants on…

Quickly slipping into some "nonchalant" black dress pants and a white button-down shirt, Chris pulled open the door, laughing. "Okay, you got m—" He gasped, taking a step back.

"HELLO!" Three . . . puppy/monkey children, or whatever they were, were standing right on his front doorstep.

In the background SideshowCellophane26 was holding up a signed contract, her arms crossed and eyebrow raised. (I, SideshowCellophane26, agree not to abuse my directing position by making a mess out of this year's Christmas story. If that happens, I will most likely laugh at the whole thing…but will apologize later.)

He glared at her, but turned back to the children. "Wh-who are you?"

The boys said, "We're the Warner brothers!"

"And the Warner sister!" Dot chimed in.

"I'm Yakko!" He jumped onto Chris' shoulder…

"I'm Wakko!" He jumped onto Chris' other shoulder…

"And I'm the girl of your dreams, cutie!" Dot jumped into his arms, and all three kissed him on the face with an exaggerated smooching noise.

"Blegh! Ugh, what are you?!"

"Cute?" Yakko guessed.

"Hungry?" Wakko patted his belly, tongue hanging out of his mouth.

"Infested with fleas?" Dot suggested.

"We came here," Yakko continued, "to remind you that you didn't wish us a very Merry Christmas. Or to your potty-mouth friend. Also because, ah," He took the contract from SideshowCellophane26, and flipped through it until finding the passage. He read, "You are to…partake in the parody of Animanaics' "A Christmas Plotz," a parody of 'A Christmas Carol,' under oath that you will not break the following rules…blah blah blah, seven pages of boringness…ah, here we go! It says here we're supposed to be the three ghosts that show you the error of your ways."

Wakko looked at SideshowCellophane26, frowning. "What happened to the first ghost that's supposed to warn him about these other ghosts?"

She shrugged. "Nobody would take the part, so he was supposed to open a letter that just told him he was going to be visited…but he burnt it before production started!"

"Why can't you make a new one?" Chris asked, still balancing the Warners on his person.

"This is an online story, we don't have paper! Just move on, and Warners: follow the script! The post office is threatening a lawsuit now!"

"Sorry," They all said in unison.

"Positions, everybody! Just take it from Chris watching TV, and then Wakko appears. We've already wasted enough time, let's move! I've gotta go sort things out with the office."

"Should I pretend like I've already read the ghostly letter?"

"Please do, but feel free to keep those clothes on, you look nice in them. Now, places!"

"Oh, wait!" He dropped the Warners, coming up to the author of this story. "If I make a few calls, could you make room for this ghost? It'll get me outta a debt and put your story under Celebrity Manhunt's radar."

"Um…Okay . . ."

"And then we'll take it from me opening the letters. Trust me, it's a good idea!"

Chris opened Chef's letter, and then the door slammed against the wall.

. . . And then Blaineley emerged into the room, wearing white make-up, white dress, and Styrofoam chains hanging from her wrists. She grumbled, holding a script in her hand. "Okay, what am I doing here?"

"That's a good question, actually."

"You texted me?" She held up a phone, "You called my agent with a role description for a popular story parody?"

Poorly stifling laughter, he said, "Oh, did I call your agent?" More laughter, "I'm sorry, I meant to call Chef's!"

She tightened her fists, narrowing her eyes.

"What? All agents sound alike over the phones. Okay, okay, you'll work in this too, since you're already here. Just say the lines, we're doing it right now."

"Seriously? It's Christmas Eve! Ugh, whatever," She rolled her eyes, and read from the script, "Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts."

"But why?!" He muttered on a side note, "At least I memorized my lines."

"I heard that, wash-up! Uh," she flipped through the script, "because you . . . I'm sorry, I can't even see this! Are these coffee stains? On my script?!"

"Keep going, it's a T-Rated fic for some language and mentioning character deaths and there are readers out there right now…"

"The point is you'll be visited by three ghosts! There, I said it! Now where's my—"

"HELLO-O-O-O GHOST NURSE!"

Yakko and Wakko came into the picture, and jumped into Blaineley's arms.

She dropped them, growling on her way outside. "I refuse to do anything else until I get my three hundred dollars! And for God's sake, somebody fire my agent! I'm done with stupid cameos!"

Due to technical difficulties (thanks, BLAINELEY), we will return with the next chapter next week! Stay tuned to find out if Blaineley-

"Hey, Sideshow!" Blaineley said, "I want my money five minutes ago. I've gotta be back in Canada for family by tomorrow, and for God's SAKE get these two runts off me!"

She held up her leg, pointing down to Yakko and Wakko, who clung on.

Yakko said, "But if you stay you can open MY mail for me!"

Sideshow blew a kiss into the audience and said, "GOODNIGHT, EVERYBODY!"