The Girl Who Was Chased by an Abominable Snowman with a Machete

bizarro fantasy by Jodi MacArthur

So, I was camping.

At the north pole.

On a Sunday.

In winter.

And this giant ball of snow came rolling up to me. I thought it weird, but I was like, in freakin’ Antarctica. Or Artica. Which eva one’s on top, like who cares? The point is weird things happen there. Santa and shit. Anyway, I poked at it with my rattlesnake boot and it grew teeth and coal eyes and started chomping at me.

Of course, I ran.

I ran like the devil would, if a giant snowball of heavenly angel feathers came to hell for a joyride. Anyway, I realized I was on a mountain slope, so I grabbed this ancient surfboard that just happened to be poking up out of the snow. I figured it was left over from the polar shift from a hundred million years ago when Antarctica was all tropical and shit.

Or maybe some freakin’ aliens from the future left it for me.

Anyway, I go surfing down this mountain slope,and the snowball with teeth and eyes is rolling along behind me. Then I realized it was growing bigger, not only bigger, but fuzzier.

It was then I realized it was the dreaded abominable snowman. I was like, “Whoa!” I skidded down to the bottom of the slope, and luckily there was this ice-covered lake. So I just went totally surfing across, then flipped off my surfboard when I hit a giant rock. The thing was right behind me and had the magical powers of stopping right before it hit me.

It rose to its full five feet of round snowball, abominable height. Frosty the snowman never looked so toasted. And worse, it had a machete. Yeah, I know! A real machete. It was all sharp and stuff too.

There is a moment in everyone’s life where they have to decide if they want to live or die. Personally, I thought this trip turned out pretty rad, and I didn’t mind if right then I was killed by the abominable snowman. But then I realized, that I’d never, like, bleached my hair, waxed my legs, gotten eyelash extensions or whatever they are called. And this — this is something to live for.

If I was a dude, I could have died happy. But I wasn’t, so I wouldn’t.

The abominable snow man raised his machete above his head, ready to slice me into two, and that was when I pulled the flute out of my jacket and called for my favorite pet. Big Foot Yancy. (She lives all the way in Texas, but she has a flying carpet that can instantly put her wherever she wants.)

She became my friend the day I freed her from a cactus and centipede of ginormous proportions (I was on spring break). She calls me her stupid little friend. Which, I think is personally kind of offensive, but who else can say they have a friend pet Bigfoot?

So instantaneously, Yancy was there. I said, “Stomp that motha to the ground!”

Big Foot Yancy raised her foot.

“Stop!” yelled the abominable snowman.

Yancy’s foot held in mid-air.

“What?” I said.

“I ate Santa!”  Then it laughed this evil, demon laugh and swung its machete straight at me!

I dodged and fell to the ground and said, “Liar!” Duh. Santa is unkillable. He’s got all those freakin’ elves and magic and shit.”

I guess Big Foot Yancy didn’t know that. How could she, living in the desert with those lizards and rattlers and shit? Yancy sobbed. She beat her chest. She wailed. “Santa!”

Abominable snowman turned to look, and that’s when I grabbed that machete right from its fuzzy palms and sliced it down the middle.

Out popped Santa. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Big Foot Yancy was in such a hurry to hug the Old Fat and Jolly that she stomped on the abominable snowman, and the thing was totally smooshed.

Arm in arm, with Santa in between, we walked backed to the campfire and drank hot chocolate.

Man, great times. Beauty can save your freakin’ life, you know? I saved Santa. He promised me Lady Gaga eyelash extensions for Christmas. Glitter mascara and shit.  He’s the best.

I owe big time to Big Foot Yancy. Friends are friends to the end.

And that’s what happened, I swear. I promise. Mom, do not freak out. I’ll totally be home on the weekend.  Kay? This was the best Christmas break eva.

Love you,

Jenn

Copyright January 2011 by Jodi MacArthur

Exiled in deep southern Texas, Jodi MacArthur is a Seattle author hoping to write her way back to the Pacific Northwest. She writes omnivorous fiction favoring fable, suburban punk, horror and bizarro fantasy.

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