Article 4, subsection 12 of the Constitution states, and I quote: "one must always write holiday themed stories, even if one is devoid of any good ideas."
Thus sayeth the law.
A Very Merry Ruined Christmas
Twas two nights before Boxing Day,
when all through the mansion.
Not a creature was stirring,
not even the randsom.
The Christmas season. It was festive and bright, cheery and happy. Decorations littered houses and offices and streets; little trees and flashing green and red lights. People pretended to tolerate each other's existence, exchanging cheap gifts and even cheaper seasons greetings. People swore they'd take off work and in reality would hurry away from family and friends in order to suck up to a boss that was, most likely, miles and miles away on some sandy beach, maybe drinking a festive red and green drink if they really cared.
Red and green...only one of those colours interested Luthor. And by god did Christmas rake in the green!
But he sure did love money, and there wasn't a day quite like Christmas in that regard. He could cluck his tongue as his accountants worked overtime, ringing in not good tidings but copious stacks of money. And most of it was produced legally too, so that doo-gooder in tights had no standing to go after him. If anything, this was one of the few days of the year where he left the bald genius alone, save for Lois Lane's birthday of course.
For these reasons, Lex Luthor loved Christmas. Loved every stinking minute of it (and boxing day too). Every loss he suffered during his regular scheduled reign of mayhem was always recouped with excess enough to give himself a hearty bonus, the kind of bonus only a bald headed genius deserved.
Still, he preferred to be sequestered up in his fortress of a mansion, far away from the beating heart of Metropolis where surely thousands would flock to and fro, with their rosy cheeks and parcels wrapped under their arms. Isolated, tucked into a corner of his study with a fire crackling in the fire-place, he could read his quarterly review in peace, free from distraction. He liked Christmas, but he hated people.
He was just about to get to his favorite part of the report (how much money he had saved by liquefying employees-literally), when the door to his far-from-humble abode burst open, and in poured light and the sound of cackling and jangling bells.
Luthor's eyes widened, and he let out a rasping curse.
"No...no anybody but you!"
"Helllloooo Lexy boy!" the Joker jovially sang. "Happy Hanukkah!"
He stomped his snowy boots on the carpet and waltzed merrily inside. In view of the fire, Luthor could see the tell-tale outfit of Santa Clause (fake beard and all), covered in snow and what looked like dried blood. Over the Clown's shoulder was a sack of god knows what, though Luthor suspected it was nothing good. Heads maybe.
His nerves already frayed by the snow and the season, Luthor bolted up from his chair and lunged himself at the Joker. He roughly pushed him back out the door, onto his snow-covered porch, all the while repeating the words "No! No" with an angry and annoyed tone.
The Joker looked offended.
"Lexy! Why so inhospitable? There's no more room in the inn for me!"
"No!" Lex said. "This is my one day of the year where I don't have to deal with any villain bull! You leave me alone you deranged clown!"
Joker stuttered and his lip quivered as he stared from the cold porch. "But Lexy, I had a marvelous night planned out for the two of us!"
"I doubt it."
"No, really!" He pointed to the sack slung over his shoulder. "I thought we'd get into the Christmas spirit, just the two of us! And believe me, I went to a lot of trouble to make it the most perfectest Christmas ever!"
Luthor's hand connected with his forehead. The most dangerous of emotions, curiosity, had taken over. "What did you do?" he asked.
"I killed Santa Clause!"
Even for the Joker, such a claim defied all reason. Luthor found his jaw hanging loosely, and, composing himself, forcefully gulped down his shock and turned it into a scowl.
"You idiot, Santa isn't real!"
"My reindeer say otherwise..." Joker's fingers pressed to his lips, and out came a shrill whistle. Luthor, still dumbfounded, could only stare.
Then...he heard it. The sound of bells and hooves clacking. He looked towards the road, expecting to see a group of Joker's thugs dragging captured reindeer towards the house, but Joker, seeing where he was looking, directed his gaze upwards.
He didn't believe what he saw.
Appearing just behind a cloud, the silouhettes of reindeer, pulling a sleigh, came into view in the moonlight, heading straight for Luthor's house. With a thud louder than a bomber in an emergency landing, they hit the ground just behind Joker, kicking up snow and dirt and spraying both villains.
Joker shuffled back towards the reindeer. Luthor almost fainted.
"This one's Dasher," he said, pointing at the nearest reindeer, "and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen. Comet and Cupid and this grumpy one I call Richard M. Nixon! He's my favorite."
Luthor was still a blubbering moron, staring out from the porch.
"Anywho," said the Joker, "I thought, 'you know what old Lexy and I should do? Spread presents to all the bad little girls and boys out there! Mr. Checking His List always gives them rotten coal for Christmas instead of rockets and lasers and Iron Maidens. Oh the poor little children, they deserve to have a happy Christmas too!' So," he looked back at Lex, who hadn't moved, "what do you say? Shall we spread joy and cheer?"
Luthor felt like a frozen statue, unsure of what to do next. Either the cogs in his brain had frozen over, or he was in some surrealist dream, he didn't really know. All he knew for sure was that the Joker still stared onward, anxiously, his hands wringing together in his oversized Santa gloves, waiting to here if he was going to take part in his holiday madness.
Lex made his decision. He shut the door as hard as he could. He backed away from the door as fast as he could, nearly tripping over his feet. Spinning quickly, he bolted for the nearest phone, and with speed that would have made the Flash jealous, he dialed the first number he could think of.
"Superman?" he said into the receiver. "Look, I know we don't get along very well, but I think you'll want to hear this..."
...
...
...
Joker, meanwhile, was standing outside Lex's door, his shoulders slumped. Rejected on Christmas; even an evil Clown would feel more than a little crestfallen.
The feeling passed quickly though as Joker remembered that he had, in fact, killed Santa Clause, and Lex or no Lex, he had an incredible night ahead of him. Letting out a jolly chuckle, he spun on his heel and marched back to the sleigh. Giving the reigns a solid thwack, he took off into the sky, sprinkling magic from the backs of the reindeer as he went.
"Merry Christmas anyways Lexy!" he shouted over the roar of the wind. He reached into his bag and fished out a hefty present (an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator). Still laughing, he heaved it over his head and watched it land in Luthor's chimney. Satisfied, he continued his jolly laughing as he flipped through his Christmas list.
"Ahhh who's next?" he said. "Oh Mr. Trump, you dirty dirty boy! I'm sure you'll have a very merry Chinese New Year!"
His threw his head back and exploded into a mixture of laughing and Ho Ho Hoing. As he disappeared into the sky, he began to sing.
"OHhhhhhh Jingle Bells, Batman smells...oh you all know the rest hahaha! Merry Christmas too all! And too all a gore filled morning!"
The End
As we say in my home country: "Have yourself a happy, nonspecific, seasonally-correct, interdenominational, pseudoholiday festivocation." Hope you all enjoy yourself and enjoyed my horrid, horrid story!