The wise, eloquent words of Alex Jones reverberated out of Santa's cheap, desktop speakers, guiding Kris Kringle. Miss Claus farted aggressively in his direction, ruffling the heavy down comforter that contained her. Santa turned the volume down fearfully in response, and turned on the poorly-written captions. Santa took another swig from the large, plastic jug of bottom-shelf whiskey in his left, matching it with a drag from the nearly-exhausted cigar butt in his right. Staring with blood-shot eyes at the flickering monitor screen, working the cigar smoke around in his mouth, Santa gazed longingly into the honest eyes of this revelatory prophet. Alex's masculine, wobbling jowls flushed with righteous indignation as he tore on, fire in his hazel blue-green eyes. Santa hung on every word "These fucking... These fucking 'things, they're goddamn lizards! Can you imagine? Goddamn lizard people, running the world!" Santa soundlessly mouthed along with Alex's passionate rant, mouth agape in awe. "Weather wars, earth-quake weapons, false-flag mass shootings, stuff I can't even TALK about! They are CHURNING OUR CHILDREN into fucking ADRENOCHROME! all this SHIT is being thrown at us from their underground bases! And do you know where this is being centrally conducted from, my loyal InfoWars viewers? A base on the motherfucking moon!" Alex continued, making explosion effects with his hands and mouth for emphasis. Santa nodded to the brave orator on the screen, vowing quietly "Not today, not this fucking Christmas. This stops here." as he radioed the flight-tower of his airstrip and sled-hangar, ordering his sleeping reindeer be readied.
The tired, shivering elves struggled to drag Santa's sleigh out in the biting cold, as the fat man paced nervously back and forth, his big, red coat clumsily buttoned and stained with whiskey. Even his loyal all-female reindeers were stubbornly resisting the sudden expedition in the biting cold. The antler-bearing Christmas deer taking their fury out on their small elven handlers as the snorting reindeer were lead out by their reins. Only noble Rudolph seemed poised and ready to perform Santa's bidding, the lead reindeer calmly assuming its position at the front of the sleigh, after horse-kicking a hapless elf in the shin to assert dominance. Santa stared at his brave, stalwart, magically enchanted, orgy-prone reindeer and sighed. He knew not everyone was coming back from this mission. Santa's Christmas magic was powerful, but it couldn't bring nine reindeer back-and-forth from the fucking Moon without Jack Frost claiming his due in the frigid cold of space. Santa grimly clipped a fresh Cigar, expertly shielding its tip from the high-velocity Arctic air, as he lit it up and puffed. A plan to protect his reindeer formulated, as the elves dragged their injured from the runway. Santa's eyes glinted as they dragged it out, his cherry-red masterpiece. Santa's 'whip' was more tricked out with arcane enchantments than a fucking Hindu Vimana. If anything could get him to the fucking moon, it was this old splinter-bucket that had hauled his fat-ass farther than numbers could count. His ass had left its mark over the millennia, a noticeable rear-shaped dent in the sled's stiff wooden driving seat. Time for Santa to leave a mark on someone else's ass for a change, he thought, stamping out his cigar as he clambered up to the reins with surprising grace.
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder-Mifflin and Blitzen! To the craters of the moon! To their underground bases!
Now dash away you cunts! dash away! dash away all! Rudolph lead the way, to the lizard-people halls!" Santa magically commanded to his freezing sled-team as they left behind the last vestiges of Earth's atmosphere. Santa realized he was really throwing his dick to the wind here, as he didn't even know -where- exactly on the moon the lizard base was, but fuck if that would stop him at this point. Jolly old Saint Nick had had the bright idea to feed his reindeer some dissident fairies, and his hopped up reindeer went flying through the friction-less void of space faster than ever before. Hours passed as he aimlessly scanned over the sea of tranquility, the ocean of storms, but nothing was really standing out to Santa. The whiskey was wearing off, and Santa was starting to feel indecisive about the whole affair, as the freezing cold of space crept past his red-coat, and impressive seal of man-blubber. Santa stared down listlessly, until he decided to check a larger crater to the south. As Santa Claus flew closer and closer to the Tycho crater, a strange bright-green glint caught his rheumy old eyes.
Pak'tar watched the unnatural bogey closely on his advanced radar apparatus, following his operational directives to remain hidden as best he could. Pak'tar kept trying to make sense of what he was seeing with his slit eyes. The unannounced craft's incredibly advanced cloaking field was used to make it appear as some kind of... animal-powered sleigh, as it zoomed over their sovereign territory, examining the surface with an undetectable scanning array. The reptilian head of security realized the timing was too perfect, however, signaling that this was the lead-up to an incredible threat. The Grand Conclave of Ruling Matriarchs was being secretly convened at their most secure underground Moon-palace, and this craft was appearing right as the most important rituals of the sacred meeting were gearing into full swing. Knowing secrecy was no longer an option, as it suddenly dived right for the closest entrance to the palace in the Tycho crater, Pak'tar activated the defensive laser-battery surrounding the hidden entry-point. Again, Pak'tar suspected some kind of advanced, manipulative stealth field, as he could not believe his eyes. The engorged, cancerous lump on the invader's lead pack-animal began glowing in the same frequency of their pulse-lasers, somehow absorbing and nullifying the incredible bursts of photon energy. Picking up speed, the cloaked vessel seemingly slammed into the inner walls of the crater, as suddenly all of Pak'tars local sensors in the area went dead. This was it, they were being invaded, and it was his responsibility to protect the assembled rulers under his guard. Security klaxons blared in every barracks and check-point across the facility, though Pak'tar hesitated to interrupt the main meeting directly, given the stakes of angering a Matriarch.
Sczalia lorded over the lesser queens assembled around the long-table. Her ivory-white scales waxed, buffed, and resplendent, her mighty wings artfully tucked to her back, her heaving, scaled bosoms left assertively bare. The reptilian high-born queen was in her element, seated at the highest throne of power in the symbolically arranged conclave. Supping from a chalice of adrenochrome in one powerful claw, steaming nun rib-eye in the other, the reptilian queen basked under the intense glow of the Holy Emitter. The sacred ritual-piece was an incredibly powerful ultra-violet lamp, the meetings ceremonially inducted with a basking session to settle their normally violent and domineering Reptilian spirits to allow for diplomatic treatise. The sacred moment of contemplation was interrupted, however, as security klaxons began blaring in their most sacred audience chamber. Sczalia fumed at this incredible insult, rage filling her cold-blooded body as she wondered what could possibly prompt such transgress, before the security sirens, lights, and all other electronics in the heavily fortified royal hall were suddenly silenced, dim back-up lights quickly returning. The collection of Reptilian high-commanders snarled and hissed, rising as they balked at the sudden dimming of the Holy Emitter, as Sczalia sought to regain control of the situation. But before she could even speak, a deafening pounding sound was issuing from the other side of the incredibly thick, sealed security door locking access to the paranoid Reptilian queens. Communications cut-off, even their powerful psychic abilities rendered useless by the special alloy coating the chamber to prevent astral projection, telepathy, or other forms of eavesdropping, the muscular Reptilian warlords assembled around the only entry-point, preparing for battle. Gigantic, dense muscles rippling under scaled-skin in anticipation, psionic projections shimmering in the air, they awaited their coming foe. The pounding continued, on and on, until at last the gigantic, incredibly dense security door caved in, as the waiting matriarchs unleashed a massive hail of lethal mind-bullets.
The Reptilian security team was cut down almost instantly, the collected warrior's armor unable to deflect the powerful psionic blasts of an enraged matriarch, especially a whole conclave of them. Pak'tar stumbled forward, mortally wounded, clutching a bleeding hole in his chest, as he struggled to hiss out "He's... already here... with you..." before collapsing, dead. Sczalia whirled around, just in time to catch a shaky glimpse of the red-suited interloper. Strange, plastic, pistol-shaped emitters in his hands, Santa twirling in a horizontal somersault behind the line of Reptilian matriarchs, firing his shrink-rays akimbo. Sczalia was incredibly confused as her sense of scale and proportion abandoned her, as she rapidly sunk to the floor, the grunting fat man now relatively gargantuan. Santa Claus scanned over the reduced, now-diminutive conclave of Reptilian queens, who scurried wildly around on the floor in a hysteric panic. Cursing, Santa realized this was going to be the hard part, as he spent the better part of an hour trying to corner and catch the wriggly little lizard people, smart as a whip, but too small to effectively evade him in the chamber for long. No other Reptilian in the base dared fight Santa at that point, after he had defeated their best and bravest, the remaining security forces cowardly skulking to the far corners of the base. Eventually, wheezing with exhaustion, Santa grabbed over the last little lizard, a white-scaled beauty, even his shrink-ray unable to diminish her incredible lizard-breasts. Sighing with satisfaction, Santa hucked the last shrunken Reptilian into his magical velvet sack.
Sczalia was having a hard time adjusting to all this. She had suffered enormously to get to her position in life, endured terrible, humiliating things, but this? This was beyond her realm of experiences, reduced to an insignificant size, powers crippled, stuffed into a foul-smelling rucksack with the rest of these useless bitch-lizards. For once, the wily Reptilian monarch spent more time ruminating than plotting, feeling suddenly hopeless in the face of this inexplicable adversary. Everything in her people's culture was focused on dominating through strength, intelligence, and skill, so how was this strange entity able to so effortlessly upstage and defeat her, from the center of her power? She just couldn't put the pieces together, as bright light suddenly filled the dark sack, as the once-mighty Reptilian monarchs scurried under toys, in the dark corners of the sack. Only Sczalia remained, defiantly looking up at the big, bearded conqueror with her fierce, now tiny, red eyes. He reached down, and plucked her up, Sczalia attempting to bite at his hand, only to get a mouth-full of thick, unyielding calloused skin. Santa squeezed the feisty lizard gently, until she settle down, as he gently placed her in the stiff plastic Barbie dress, and clasped the other-side shut around her tightly. Sczalia waddled her shortened, scaly, clawed hands through the arm-holes of the humiliating, unflattering monkey-dress, hissing in indignation as Santa gingerly placed her in a vertically sliced, fold-out, incredibly detailed dollhouse. One by one, Sczalia watched the magical human place each ruling Matriarch of the Reptilian high-borne lines into the doll-house rooms with her, each garbed in outlandish, completely unfashionable human clothes. Sczalia was almost ready to negotiate peace terms with the old human, as he gently closed the doll-house shut, enshrouding her in darkness, the only sound the confused whispers of the other restrained matriarchs.
Santa gently placed the doll-house down in the young girl's room, trying to quietly sneak out, before a confused, nasal voice called out from behind him "Santa? Santa is that you?" Santa thought about taking out his HK USP 45 and silencer, but realized nobody would believe a child with downs-syndrome anyway, as he turned around and bent to one knee, opening his arms wide as he responded "Sarah Bakerson? My favorite little good girl! I have a very special present for you this Christmas, go on, open it up. It's Christmas morning already!" Santa said, hugging the mentally impaired child as he free-styled it. The genial mongoloid child excitedly bent down, as Santa showed her the latch for the doll-house, watching as she carefully opened it. The little girl gasped in surprise, and happiness, as she saw the dressed up assemblage of little lizards "Oh my God, Santa! How'd you know... I love lizards! Cute lizards! Hehehe. Dis one's my favorite." she said innocently, grabbing at the white-scaled lizard in a yellow, plastic Barbie sundress. "That's right Sarah, Santa is your god. Now be very careful with these lizards, don't lose them, and make sure to feed them and clean out their dresses... occasionally. I'm counting on you to be a responsible little girl with these new 'dolls', understand Sarah?" Santa said, as the moon-faced child nodded affirmatively.
After several weeks of the degrading treatment, Sczalia was starting to notice some of the other matriarchs crack-up. The constant tea-parties, baby-voiced 'feeding times', and dress-up events were breaking the wills of the Reptilian high command. Sarah's cheerful innocence masked a child-like cruelty that slowly needled at the prideful psychic lizard women. Sczalia's mind was locked in constant rumination, as her large scaled breasts chafed terrible under the tight, poorly color-coordinated dress she was propped up in. Some of the other queens were submissively falling into their roles, cheerily peeping manic greetings at Sczalia when they were placed together in the doll-house, accepting the new names Sarah bequeathed them with. Even Sczalia's will was breaking, after Sarah glued a tiny sombrero to her head, completely clashing with the entire available wardrobe available to her. After the weeks turned to months, Sczalia began to anxiously wonder, if it would be better to simply accept her new role as a mentally disabled child's doll. Her pride made the concept difficult to swallow, but the constant anxiety of trying to maintain her facade of dignity was exhausting for the Reptilian queen's increasingly fragile mind. One day, Sczalia simply stopped resisting, and quietly assumed a submissive t-position as Sarah began dressing her in a onslaught of garish, kitschy outfits.