You gotta add the detergent before you drop the fabric softener, ya know? So read these before you read this. Man, people should add fabric softener to their pools so their bathing suits stay soft all summer.
December 1 December 9 December 17
December 2 December 10 December 18
December 3 December 11 December 19
December 4 December 12
December 5 December 13
December 6 December 14
December 7 December 15
December 8 December 16
After touching the artifact you’re transported from the corn fields to an alien craft. You’re on the bridge of the ship surrounded by friendly-looking beings.
“My name translates to ‘Dylan’ in your tongue,” the alien with the biggest dick begins. “But you may call me anything you’d like including ‘Butt Duck’. Our species cares not for such trivial things as names.”
“Pleasure to meet all you shit pads,” you say, extending your hand and testing the limits of this name thing. “You may call me ‘Lord’ or whatever, I guess I don’t care either.” ‘Lord’ was your old college nickname that went extinct once your legendary volleyballs skills diminished after that taco-laden summer of ’06.
“Tell us of your journey and what it is like to have hair,” responds Dylan.
You bring them up to speed on your adventure and they seem pretty into it judging by all the gasps. Then again, maybe gasping is how they piss or something, who knows?
“You have faced many hardships, young warrior. Feel free to rest and eat while we tend to your wounds,” the fattest alien says.
You spend the next couple of hours completely relaxing, eating and getting medical attention from another alien who tells you some really funny stories about a species of aliens who worship twine. You’re chilling in the quarters they provided when Dylan politely knocks, then enters.
“It seems your journey is almost to an end. It might be wise for you to go on your way,” says Dylan. He’s not being pushy or anything but you’re kind of pissed that he’s not letting you hang out.
“Thanks Dog Stain, but why do you think my journey is almost over? This thing could go on forever for all we know,” you retort.
“Earthen Christmas falls on the twenty-fifth moon of December, correct? If your data is accurate, your journey should end on that same day,” he says while staring at your new haircut that the on-ship stylist gave you.
You never really put much thought into it, but he’s probably right. If this Advent thing holds it should all be over after the 25th gate.
“Hmm, you’re right. You guys are smart. You even correctly assumed that the birth mark on my leg is actually a deep set wine stain from that time I went camping and took peyote. I just need to find another date gate and I’ll get out of here. You got anything that says ‘December 20′ lyin’ around?”
Dylan’s head starts to glow and he hums a tune that sounds like a shitty, early Beatles track. Another alien enters the room, its head glowing in the same fashion. It’s holding something.
“Trent, show the Earthling the relic,” Dylan says to the new alien.
Trent hands you a thin, cardboard box-like thing and immediately you recognize it as a classic Advent calendar.
“Where did you get this?”
“We went shopping two days ago in Michigan,” responds Trent.
Upon closer inspection, the calendar is used up until December 20th.
“We have enjoyed your company and your recipe for chili. We never thought to add cinnamon. Good luck and hopefully we will see you again,” says a teary-eyed Dylan.
You want to give him a hug but he smells like dead frogs that have been wrapped in wet carpet. You open the December 20th window on the calendar to find a little chocolate underneath. It looks like this:
You give the aliens a quick wink then pop the chocolate in your mouth. As soon as it starts to melt you disappear, onto your next stop. If only it were another alien craft, that was fun!
GLENN W. MACAULAY 