Cosmo Kramer was incredibly excited when he was chosen to lead New York's Halloween parade, the city's most notable event. He had been hand-picked by Mayor Koch! The parade ended up being a great attraction. Everyone enjoyed the spooky floats and the spookier costumes. Kramer was chosen to lead these festive parades for five years. At the end of the fifth year, however, he grew tired of all the grim, dark pleasure.
"We all had an awesome time," Kramer told New York's easily-amused citizens for the fifth time. But the boredom in his voice was definitely more noticeable than ever as he approached Mulva, Mayor Koch's lovely nineteen-year old daughter.
"Baby, don't you think Halloween's a little overrated?"
"No! And don't call me 'baby!'" Mulva snapped, and called a friend on her mobile telephone.
A couple months later, Kramer decided to take a long walk out of New York to think about what could be done to make the city even better. He passed several tiny towns, until he arrived at Festivusland. When he came there, he saw a wonderful little city. Everyone was observing a December holiday that wasn't Christmas. It was a stunning display. There were very high metal poles everywhere, which small children were mindlessly dancing around. Kramer peeked into a large house's window. A family was discussing areas that each of them could improve on. He also saw a feast of pretzels and Junior Mints on the long table.
A little bubble boy was rereading a letter he had written to the mysterious St. Jerry, the Patron Saint of Comedy, who apparently disappeared in the 1990s, and returned every December 23rd to give gifts to Festivusland's youth. What was the name of this holiday? Kramer noticed a banner reading, "Happy Festivus!" That had to be this astounding holiday's name.
Mayor Koch was extraordinarily worried about Cosmo Kramer's strange disappearance.
"Did you check Monk's Café? The airport? The Puerto Rican district? The soup kitchen? The Cadillac dealership? The synagogue?" Koch questioned each and every one of the citizens for four whole days.
"Here he comes!" remarked the middle-aged proctologist Dr. Assman, as a shady figure embarked upon New York.
"Serenity now!" cheered Koch, his pale frown morphing into an outrageously wide smile.
"I'm back," Kramer snickered. "I, however, have news to share with all of you. You see, I discovered a much nicer holiday than Halloween. You see, this is Festivus. And this is a Festivus pole." Kramer took a stubby metal pole from Festivusland out of his bag.
"A pole? A pole?" asked one.
"Doesn't look very cool," added another.
"Yes, looks rather dull."
"Do you hang stuff from it? Like a troll?"
"Or an expensive mink stole!"
"It's a pole, alright? And you have to tell each other how they've disappointed you over the year."
"Doesn't sound very nice," Mayor Koch said, scowling again.
"But, there's this saint, Jerry, that gives children awesome gifts! C'mon!"
"That sounds acceptable. But where's the creepiness?" wondered Koch.
Mulva's brown eyes were rolling at each of Kramer's words.
"There is no creepiness! That's what's great about it!" Kramer remarked. "It's a holiday of giving!"
"Oh, like Christmas," Dr. Assman realized.
"No, better than Christmas. Plus, it's not a religious holiday, so all you Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and Latvian Orthodox are not left out!"
"Well, will you all applaud for Master Kramer's discovery?" Koch questioned the town.
Everyone clapped loudly for Kramer.
"Wait, you still don't understand Festivus!" Kramer cried in dismay. "That's not the whole holid…forget it." He left the scene, humming a tune he wrote as a teenager.
The next day, Kramer turned to Dr. Assman's three misbehaving children, who were named Lippman, Pitt, and Puddy.
"Kids, can you fetch St. Jerry, the Patron Saint of Hope, from Festivusland?"
"Why should we?" snapped Lippman.
"Because if you do, your father will spoil you three to no end."
The three children cackled with selfish greed, and skipped out of town.
"Kramer, this Festivus shindig will turn out horrible," Mulva told Kramer.
"Sweetie, you never know. This may be the best thing that ever happened to New York."
"I swear, Kramer, Festivus will be a disaster."
"We got 'im good!" Puddy told Kramer two days later when the brothers returned. Inside the huge bag was a tremendously fat man who was muttering terrifying poetry to himself.
"This isn't St. Jerry. This is St. Newman, the Patron Saint of Doom! You musta not gone north enough. It's Festivusland, not Nedryton."
"Sure," Pitt chuckled. As they left New York again, the wicked children had a new plan. In an underground mansion located below New York lived a British aristocrat named Mr. Steinbrenner. This Mr. Steinbrenner was banished from New York for cannibalism. Since Mr. Steinbrenner was an urban legend, feeding someone to him seemed rather funny. So, when the evil kids returned from Festivusland, they slid St. Jerry's slim body into the large hole on the outskirts of town which led to the Steinbrenner Manor underground.
"Where's St. Jerry?" Kramer asked the Assman children.
"We couldn't find Jerry. You'll have to be him for Festivusland."
"Damn kids. What do you mean, be St. Jerry?"
"You know, like the Grinch," laughed Puddy.
"Fine, I will." Kramer wandered away to help Mayor Koch and Dr. Assman with Festivus decorations.
"I already told you, Festivus is going to be a major flop!" scoffed Mulva as her father stuffed shoeboxes with such lame gifts as Ovaltine cans, cigar store Indians, calzones, bros, and muffin tops.
"I got the pole ready," said Dr. Assman, pointing it out to Kramer with a yellow finger.
"It's Festivus tomorrow! Odd how time flies," realized Kramer.
Meanwhile, beneath New York, Mr. Steinbrenner finally woke up from a nap of twenty days. The six-foot-six rich Brit made his way towards St. Jerry.
"Why, hello, old chap! Want to go for a stroll!" Jerry reluctantly went over to Mr. Steinbrenner's spacious ballroom.
"Righto! Let's dance shall we? Of course, sir, of course we shall."
"Well, I'm off," snickered Kramer, and he left New York dressed in a red shirt and hat, just like Jerry! He had no idea what exactly was happening right below his feet.
"It's gonna fail!" hollered Mulva for the last time.
"Quiet! I'm sick of your pessimism," said Dr. Assman, and the psychiatrist pushed her into the hole he sadly forgot led to Mr. Steinbrenner's lair.
Kramer slipped into one two-story abode in Festivusland. He tiptoed up the stairs, and opened a bedroom's door. A redheaded girl slept in the bed. Posters of Marisa Tomei filled the room.
Kramer noticed a pole in her room. He started to place a shoebox underneath the pole, when the girl woke up.
"St. Jerry?" asked the teenage girl sleepily.
"You're kinda hot," Kramer snickered, as the girl got a good look at his ugly face.
"What the hell? You're not Jerry!" the girl gasped.
"Here's your present," Kramer told her," showing her a used sponge. The girl ran to her parents, who called 911.
Kramer visited each and every Festivusland residence, from the dumpy apartment buildings, to the house of one Johnny Lurg, which did not have any Festivus poles for some odd reason. As he left this house, he was chased out of Festivusland by a dozen policemen and two dozen angry parents.
"Mayor, it was disastrous! Mulva was right!" Kramer told Koch.
"Um…Mulva's probably dead. Dr. Assman placed her down to Mr. Steinbrenner's underground mansion!" wept the bumbling mayor.
"Horrible!" sighed Kramer. He jumped into the pit on the outskirts of town.
"Another guest? Lady, come bring this marvelous bloke to tea," Mr. Steinbrenner said, licking his lips.
"Not so fast!" Kramer screamed.
"Oh! You're here for the next big ball, are you? I know you must be, or my name's not Steinbrenner!"
"Let them go! They don't need to be your lunch."
"Supper, actually," corrected Mr. Steinbrenner. Kramer was not amused.
"I'm here to save Festivus from your evil wrath. That man you're about to devour is a saint. Get it?"
Mr. Steinbrenner gasped. "You're joking! You're joking! I can't believe my eyes! You're joking me! You gotta be! This can't be the right guy!"
Kramer then challenged Mr. Steinbrenner to a game of poker. Whoever won would get to keep St. Jerry and Mulva.
"We Brits are great shakes at bridge," Mr. Steinbrenner lied, and took a swig of ale. He then easily lost to Kramer. "You numskull! Why I oughta eat you whole!" Kramer finally escaped with Mulva and Jerry. The three of them carefully concealed the underground den, so that giant clumps of rock crushed Mr. Steinbrenner's mansion and killed the carnivorous Englishman dwelling there.
"You did it! Festivus may have failed, but my daughter and the spirit of Festivus are saved!" exclaimed Mayor Koch.
St. Jerry pointed out a book he wrote to Kramer.
"A Festivus Carol? That's great! Now we can finally figure out what Festivus is all about. Thanks!" But Jerry was already running silently out of New York to save Festivusland's own Festivus.
"Well, next year's Festivus will be much better than Halloween," Mayor Koch boasted.
"No, no, no. Why the hell can't we have Halloween and those excellent parades anymore? How about a scary holiday with all the Festivus cheer? One with pumpkins around a pole? In other words, a cross between Halloween and Festivus! It's genius!"
"A Festivus for the rest of us," agreed Koch, grinning from ear to ear. Kramer pinned him to the ground.