Road House: Dalton's Magical Christmas Adventure
By R. M. S. Thornton
Chapter 5: The Island of Misfit Drunks
Marshmallow Lake is an enchanted body of water riddled with large fragments of white fluffy goodness, standing tall and mighty like icebergs against the soft current of this mystical lagoon. Upon exiting the Candy Cane Forest, the three heroes discovered a small wooden vessel on the shore. They sailed off, confident that in their navigation abilities, and comforted by the radiant purple green aura of the Northern Lights as they illuminated the night sky. Yet things quickly took a turn for the worst as the luminosity of the heavens was overshadowed by a dense layer of mist.
"Holy tolly!" Rubtub clamored, "This fog is thicker than Kirstie Alley on holiday! Does anyone have any idea where in tarnation we are?"
"I haven't the slightest idea." Cubit replied. "I can't see anything more than a few yards ahead."
They continued on, completely unaware of their surroundings until they felt a great thump. The boat abruptly stopped as the three heroes fell forward with the impact.
"What the hell did we hit?" asked Dalton.
Cubit got up and peered over the bow.
He spun around to the others with a look of excitement.
"It's land!" he exclaimed jubilantly.
"Excellent!" cried Dalton. "Let's explore and see if we can't find someone who can offer us directions."
The three exited the vessel. As the traversed the snowy landscape, the fog began to lift ever so slightly. Finally, they were able to make out a figure in the distance. It was short, black and white, and had what appeared to be a beak.
"Well I'll be a caterpillar's sperm donor, "Rubtub hollered, "it's a penguin!"
"But what's a penguin doing in the North Pole?" Cubit inquired.
"Let's ask him," said Dalton.
They approached the penguin.
"Hello, there." Dalton remarked.
The bird looked at them.
"My name is Dalton. These are my friends Cubit and Rubtub."
"Watt Wat Watt Watt Watttt," the creature squawked.
"Nice to meet you, too." Dalton replied.
"He says his name is Mr. Pickles," Dalton told his friends. "He just moved here from the South Pole. I guess he was transferred for work."
Cubit and Rubtub were shocked.
"Wait..." Cubit uttered, "you can understand him?"
"Sort of. I actually minored in Penguinese in college. I'm a bit rusty, but I can pretty much make out everything he's saying."
"Mr. Pickles," Dalton continued, "we were wondering if you would happen to know the way to Christmas Village.
"Watt Wat Wattt Wat Watt," Mr. Pickles replied.
"He said he doesn't know because he just moved here."
Mr. Pickles began rapidly flapping his wings.
"Watt Watt Wattttt, Watt Watttttttt!"
"Oh, great!" Dalton exclaimed.
The bouncer turned to his friends.
"Mr. Pickles says that just down the mountain there is a crystal palace. He has never been there before, but perhaps the occupants can help us find our way. He said he's willing to take us there."
"Yippie!" Cubit shouted. "This is great news."
"Watt Watt," Mr. Pickles muttered as he turned away from the heroes. He waddled towards the side of the hill. He then plopped down on his stomach.
Dalton lifted Cubit and Rubtub, placing them on either one of his shoulders. He then stood on Mr. Pickles' back bent knees. Mr. Pickles pushed off against the ground with his feet, propelling himself down the mountain as Dalton steered him down the slopes like a snowboard.
The wind gushed against their faces as they slide down the hillside. Soon they were able to make out a massive structure in the distance. It was silver and looked sort of like a giant splinter of quartz; yet its overall layout and design resembled that of a medieval European castle, with tall guard towers and a wide opening in its center. It was situated on the stop of a high, rocky peak with steep jagged edges.
They reached the bottom of the hill. Dalton jumped up and placed his friends on the ground.
Mr. Pickles stood up.
"Watt Wattt Wat Watt."
"This is as far as he will go," Dalton translated. "He said something about a restraining order. Didn't quite understand all of that. But he wishes us luck on our adventure."
"Thank you, Mr. Pickles." Dalton said.
"Yes, thank you very much." Cubit echoed.
"Watt Watt."
With that, Mr. Pickles spun around and toddled away.
The heroes strolled toward the castle and began to scale the wall's treacherous, serrated crevices. They eventually made it to the summit, exhausted.
"I hope this was worth it," Said Dalton, panting.
They entered through the palace's large opening.
The interior of the castle looked exactly like its outside, shrouded in extravagant silver crystal. The three walked further and noticed a large man sitting on what appeared to be an enormous silver, crystal throne. The man was wearing a blue dress suit with a black tie and white collared shirt. He had snowy white hair, which was poorly combed to one side.
The man was slumped back in the chair, his head draped forward. He was snoring loudly. Dalton cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, sir!" he shouted.
"Wha...What?" the man murmured as he shook his head.
He gazed up at the three.
"Who..." he stammered. "are you...pizza delivery?"
Dalton could smell the intense odor of alcohol coming off the man's breath as he spoke.
"Is he...intoxicated?" asked Cubit.
"I believe so," Replied Dalton.
Dalton took a closer look at the man. Suddenly, he realized who he was.
"Wait a minute... Dalton hesitated, "Senator Ted Kennedy!?"
"One in the same!" the man drunkenly bellowed. "I...I am kin...king of this island."
"What island is this?" Cubit inquired.
"Why the...the..." Senator Kennedy stuttered, "The Island of Misfit Drunks, of course!"
"The Island of Misfit Drunks?" Dalton repeated, perplexed.
"Yeppers!" the Senator roared. "And I...I...Ted Kennedy am its ruler. I might never be president, but...I..." he burped loudly, "but I have this!"
The Senator then squinted at Dalton.
"Why, hello there, beautiful." He said as worked up a smile. "I like that long, blonde,pretty hair of yours. How about you come...come up here and sit on Uncle Teddy's lap."
Dalton raised an eyebrow.
"You know I'm a guy, right? He informed the Senator.
"Shut up, hussy!" he screamed as he pointed at Dalton. "Don't you talk back to me! I drowned a bitch once and I'll do it again!"
He dropped his arm and keeled back over.
"UUUGGGHHH..." Kennedy moaned, "Why couldn't I have been like Jack and Bobby..."
He began snoring again as a long thin stream of drool poured out of his mouth.
"The Island of Misfit Drunks, eh?" Dalton remarked. "I've never even heard of this place. What do you think it is?"
Just as Dalton said that, large groups entered the room from all different directions. They were a conglomerate of all different types of people: male and female, tall and short, black and white, etc. All of them were hunched over, displaying various levels of intoxication.
A young woman with dark hair stumbleded forward.
"No one...no one ever wants to drink with us. No bar ever...ever lets us come in."
"It's...we're different," a fat man wearing a mesh hat tried to explain.
Then the entire assembly broke into song.
[To the tune of "The Most Wonderful Day of the Year"]
We're on the Island of Misfit Drunks
Here we don't want to stay
We want to party with Santa Claus
In his magic gaze
A pack full of drunks
Means a sack full of spunk
From the fattest truck driver
To the sexiest hunk
When Christmas Day is here
The most wonderful day of the year
A passed out patron waits for a bartender to shout
"Wake up! Don't you know your tab hasn't run out?"
When Christmas Day is here
The most wonderful day of the year
Beer bottles galore, scattered on the floor
There's no room for more
But we still want more
alcohol
Jack Daniels for Jimmy
Corona for Sue
Mix drinks that will make you say, "How do you do?"
When Christmas Day is here
The most wonderful day of the year
Some of the vocalists then stepped forward.
"How would you like to be a spotted hobo?" asked one.
"Or an alcoholic who rides an ostrich?" chimed in another.
"Or drunkard who vomits...jelly?" uttered yet another.
"We're all misfits!" they declared in unison.
The inebriated choir singers continued.
If we're on the Island of Unwanted Drunks
We'll miss all the fun while others get crunk
When Christmas Day is here
The most wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful day of the year!
The heroes glanced at one another, puzzled by the strange drunken spectacle they had just witnessed.
"Okay then..." said Dalton. "Thank you for that...but would any of you happen to know the way to Christmas Village?"
"Sure!" bellowed a skinny man clad in a puke-stained, white tank top. "You just head...east. You can take a boat...boats in the dock...many boats."
"Thanks..." Dalton replied.
"Listen...Dalton...," the man sputtered as he struggled to remain upright, "Please tell Santa...tell Santa that there are many drunks here. Drunks who need...," the man stumbled a bit "drunks who need a place to drink...many of us...we need...a place to drink."
"Okay," Dalton said, "I will deliver your message."
The bouncer turned to Cubit and Rubtub.
"Okay, let's get the fuck out of here," he whispered to them.
With that, the three heroes clamored back down the hill, unhooked the first boat they could find at the dock, and set off towards Christmas Village.
Chapter 6: The Frisky Elf
The three heroes sailed for a while until finally they could make out a faint radiance in the distance.
"There is it!" Rubtub shouted in excitement, "Christmas Village!"
"I never thought I would be so happy to see it again." Cubit added.
They hit the shore, exited the vessel, and began hiking towards the village. As they got closer, the indistinct glimmer became more and more lucent, as the heroes could soon ascertain a magnificent array of dazzling colors emanating from the picturesque wood cottages which orderly lined the village streets.
They reached the township proper. Dalton was amazed. This quaint, cozy, close-knit community was like nothing he had ever encountered. The roofs of brown-stone residences were layered in a dense coat of snow and contained gray and black stoned chimneys, all of which emitted thick white smoke. The cottage windows emitted a pastel glow accompanied by a full spectrum of rays that beamed from the Christmas lights which lined the outside yards of the houses. They traversed cobble stone streets, which were festive and full of life. Every elf they passed greeted them with a "Hello" or a "Howdy."
They turned onto a wide street littered with various shops and bakeries. Facing them at the very end of the street was a large, tan, oak structure, at least 5 stories high. Four large, black smoke stacks could been seen on the roof, each discharging red and green smoke.
"There it is! Candy Cane Land!" Cubit exclaimed, " and this is Christmas Village's downtown area. And that big building up ahead is Santa's Workshop!"
"Incredible." Dalton uttered.
They strolled towards the Workshop, the lights from the business on either side illuminating the way. They saw a large figure standing in front of the Workshop. He was plump, man in a red suit, wearing white gloves and a thick black belt. He also sported a red hat with a white puffball on its end. He had a musky white beard and wore round spectacles.
"Ho, Ho, Ho!" he bellowed as he approached them. "Dalton! It's been way too long!"
"Nice to see you again, Santa." Dalton replied.
The two men embraced.
"Dalton," Santa pronounced, "thank goodness you're here. I was worried when you did not arrive on the Holiday Express. The conductor told me you had decided to go on foot."
"Yes," Dalton responded, "he hit a few hiccups alone the way, but we made it safe and sound."
"Very good." Santa remarked. "Dalton, please come with me. There is something I must show you."
The three heroes followed Santa to an old building off to the side of the workshop. Dozens of elves were clamoring outside of it. As they approached, the elves turned. They looked at Santa, and then saw Dalton. They began whispering amongst themselves.
Everything about the build seemed ancient, except a big, green, neon sign above the front door which read, "The Frisky Elf." Aside from that, however, the building was dark and appeared to be abandoned.
"Dalton," Santa stated, "This is The Frisky Elf. It's a bar which has existed for centuries. I created it so my elves would have a place to blow off steam after a long night's work. It gives my workers a place to kick a few back and party, which has become a necessity to productivity in the North Pole. If the elves don't have time to relax and drink, they can't focus during work hours. This is especially true on Christmas eve, by far the busiest night of the year."
Santa paused for a moment and sighed.
"Unfortunately, I've had to close the bar. You see, I recently received reports that unsavory characters, bent on destroying Christmas, were planning on crashing the bar. I thus had no choice but to shut it down. But now, my elves can't focus. If I don't reopen this bar, the work won't be done in time for my flight around the world. But if I open it, I put the safety of my elves at risk."
Santa took a step towards Dalton until he was just feet away from him. The elves suddenly became silent.
"So," continued Santa, "what I want to ask you is this. Dalton, with your skill in fighting, won't you protect my bar tonight?"
Dalton glanced at the bar, then the elves, then Cubit and Rubtub who were standing on either side of them.
"Of course I will," he replied.
The elves started cheering. "Hip Hip, Hooray! Hip Hip, Hooray!"
"Excellent!" Santa hollered.
Santa turned to his elves.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, "he howled, "The Frisky Elf is now open!"
"Hooray! Hooray!" the elves applauded.
Dalton entered the rustic establishment and turned on the lights. The bartenders took their positions behind the old, wooden, shabby bar. The elves began pouring in.
"Let's get tanked!" one of them yelled as they pushed their way into the watering hole.
Soon, the bar was overflowing with Santa's little helpers, all of them pounding beers, doing shots, and singing their favorite Christmas tunes.
Dalton stood, his right elbow resting against bar as he leaned back, Cubit and Rubtub standing at either side of him.
"Well I'll be a lesbian's cactus," Rubtub commented, "I've never seen this place so jam packed!"
"This is incredible!" Cubit added. "Everyone is having so much fun! Thank you, Dalton! This is all because of you!"
Suddenly, they heard a loud bang. The bar fell silent.
"What in tarnation was that!?" Rubtub yelled.
"I don't know," responded Dalton, "I think it came from outside."
He approached the door, with Rubtub, Cubit and the other elves following closely behind. Dalton and his cadre exited the bar. They could make out a black thick smoke in the foreground as fire blazed from several of the houses. Assembled outside of the tavern was a large group comprised of KGB Rodent Infiltrators and Spetsnaz, the latter of which were clad white and grey camouflage, black combat boots, and white ushankas displaying metal-red and gold sickle-and-hammers.
Positioned in the center of the gathering was a man in a man black wool overcoat.
"Dalton," Dimitri Staliv uttered in a brisk voice, "so nice to finally meet you in person. It appears Santa really has gone to great lengths to guard this establishment."
Dalton stood, fists clenched and eyes narrowed, the elves congregated behind him.
"I must say, Dalton," Dimitri continued, "considering your reputation, I thought you would be...bigger."
"Wow," Dalton replied, "I've never heard that one before."
"Infiltrators! Spetsnaz!" Dimitri Roared as he gestured at the bar. "ATTACK!"
The raccoons, Spetsnaz, Carlov and Frank charged.
"We're with you Dalton!" Cubit hollered
"Yeah!" thundered Rubtub, "this is our bar!"
Dalton striated his stance, left leg forward, and bent his knees.
Their opponents continued to advance.
"Brace yourselves!" Dalton shouted.
The mobs clashed. A raccoon lunged at Dalton, who greeted the critter with a right front kick to its chin. He then turned to his right, delving a quick jab followed by a mighty right hook to the face of a soldier.
The elves jointed in the melee, kicking, punching, scratching and biting every rodent and Spetsnaz that crossed their paths.
The fighting persisted as Dalton and Santa's little helpers held their own against the much larger group of communist cronies.
"Dalton!" shrieked Rubtub, pointing. "Look!"
Dalton turned. Dimitri was driving off in a white snowmobile, dragging a timber palette with several brown, hefty wooden boxes on top.
"He's stealing our alcohol!" Cubit cried. "Dalton, go after Staliv. We can hold them off!"
Dalton ran off after Dimitri as sped away.
The vehicle was too fast. Dalton broke off his chase and rushed towards stable located at the side of the workshop. He opened the wood gate. The reindeer were standing on either side of the structure. He jumped on the back of one and clicked his heels against his sides.
"On Rudolf!" Dalton commanded.
The reindeer galloped out of the entryway and took off into the air. Rudolf kept climbing until they were about several hundred feet off the ground.
Dalton scanned the area.
"Rudolf, night vision." He ordered.
Rudolf's nose lit up, a shiny red glow illuminating from it.
Dalton pointed. "There he is!" He exclaimed.
Rudolf dove at the Staliv like a torpedo bomber.
"Rudolf," Dalton said as they continued to plunge, "after I jump off, go back and help the others.
Rudolf nodded and grunted in acknowledgement.
They were within feed of Dimitri. Dalton jumped off onto Rudolf's back, and squatted. He then launched himself off the reindeer, tackling Dimitri and knocking him off the snowmobile. Both men rolled in the snow as the vehicle slowly came to a stop.
The adversaries stood up, drenched in snow and sweat. They were just feet away from each other.
Dimitri dusted some of the snow off then laughed.
"HAHAHAHA!" he chuckled. "Oh, Dalton. I have to hand it to you. You truly are one of the toughest people I know."
Dimitri took a few steps back.
"But..." He continued, "I think it's about time that you finally meet your match."
Dimitri lifted his right arm, placed his fingers against his mouth, and whistled.
Something was gradually approaching from the distance just behind Dimitri. It was a tall, muscular man. He had short spikey blonde hair. He was shirtless, only wearing bright red shorts and thin white shoes. His hands were covered in white hand wraps.
Dalton recognized him. It was Ivan Drago, the infamous Soviet boxer. But there was something different about him. His right arm, shoulder, and right side of his face were silver and metallic, minus a red radiance emitting from where his right eye should have been.
"I am sure you have heard of my associate," Dimitri pronounced, "Mr. Ivan Dago. As you can see, we've made a few improvements to him after his unfortunate loss in 1985. Meet the new and improved Robo Drago!
Drago stood next to Dimitri.
"I'll leave you two to talk things over." Dimitri said.
He turned around, walked over to the snowmobile and got on.
Dimitri spun his head around.
"Goodbye, Dalton." He commented as he speed off back towards Christmas Village.
Drago remained still, staring at Dalton, not blinking once.
"You will die." Drago said in an intimidating, monotone Russian accent.
Dalton got in his fighter's stance. This was going to be the toughest battle of his life.