News reached Jaster's ears through various sources that today the Governor's office had been given several gifts, which gave him an idea of his own. Not to be outdone, the Aurkindar sent her what appeared to be a sealed can of potato chips.

To the Most Honorable Governor Fionna Helston al Amat,

In the ancient gift-giving tradition of my barbarous culture, I wish to welcome you to your new office as Governor with an invitation to a great feast. However, due to protests over our ceremonial boar hunt whose bounty was to feature prominently in the feast, the shamans decided it best to postpone until next quarter.

Therefore, please accept my humble gift of these Crispin's brand baked potato slices, which were to be consumed with the rest of my traditional lunchtime meal until someone ordered Chinese.

Sincerely yours,

Dib Jaster Aurene CEO, Dominion Exports

Upon opening the can unleashed several springy cloth snakes.

"Well, I'm not qualified," began Sergeant Smith slowly as he looked at the object in question from across the room. This was a safe distance....right' "They didn't even train me on muskets until this year, I got no idea how your newfangled bombs even work."

"My bombs?" Sergeant Anders crossed his arms. "What, 'cause they brought me in from Star's End, you think all these messes are my problem?"

"They are," Smith stamped his foot (likely causing everyone clustered fearfully on the story below to jump). He pointed. "I never have to deal with this crap, I barely know what it is, making you the expert."

"Fine, I'll deal with it," Anders conceded, but glared as he pulled out his comm to make the appropriate calls to his old colleagues. "But you know what we never got in Star's End" Zombies." Had to get the last word in, right before he dialed.

Smith grumbled crossly, drumming his fingers on his arms and wondering where the hell Corporal Jones got off to. They'd come in together, about to brief the kid on the situation, but then somewhere in the stairwell...."Gah," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with both hands, "dumb kid must've gotten lost..."

Anders was finally connected to a bomb specialist on his old squad, by the sound of things, because he was casting several glances at the device and describing it. 8 oz. sealed container, labelled Crispin's Baked Potato Slices. Picture of a dragon with a monocle on it. No, it wasn't ticking. No, it wasn't heavy, at least not according to the secretary who had handled it before; no, he wasn't about to check that out himself...

"Hey guys, what?s going on' Where's the governor?" Jones said as he breezed in.

"Jones! Where the hell have you been"!" Smith barked, whirling on him. Anders turned, eyebrows raised, ignoring the question on the other end of the line for a moment.

Jones shrugged. His eyes flickered dimly around the room, then fell on the device on the table. "Hey, chips," he said, and reached for them.

Smith threw out his arms: "You fool! Stop!"

"Jones, don't — " Anders began.

POP. The lid snapped off easily when Jones pried it, helped along by a dozen tightly coiled cloth-covered 'snakes' which sailed in every direction. Anders screamed and dove under the table, Smith tripped over the dropped comm and fell onto his butt, and Jones stared dully at the unfolding chaos.

For a moment silence reigned in the governor's office, while the device's projectiles rolled to a stop, one by one. It was broken only by the comm squawking, Anders"! Anders, what the hell just happened"! Did it go off"!" What was it"!

Smith opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling and uttered a soft groan. His hand searched the floor blindly, found the comm and lifted it slowly to his mouth. He licked at his dry lips, then managed, "We got mother****ing snakes."

A letter arrived for the governor, with the original bill attached. However, the check with which it was to be paid was conspicuously missing, though soon explained:

Dear Governor Fionna Helston al Amat, As an honorable tribal elder acting on the behalf of my barbarous and uncivilized people, I have decided to pay the bill in full, to the tune of ten thousand silver crowns. The honorable tribal elders of my people have limited skill in arithmetic because of our primitive culture, so I rounded up. However, as a result of my obvious illiteracy, I accidentally placed the check in the care of the RhyDin Watch & Militia Wounded Veterans Foundation instead of the Governor's Office. For this, I humbly apologize. Sincerely yours, Dib Jaster Aurene Grand Poobah of Dominion Exports

Riding the seasonal high as only the illustrious Miss McClae could do, one could imagine she was only all too delighted to oblige Governor Helston al-Amat and her request of the Sugar Plum-P Quarto's merry services. Given the source of the request as well as the recipient, Lilliana instructed her hired musical help to go with something silly, yet a bit benign. Then again, she knew the four men's singing was only half the hilarity, the other half was undoubtably their dainty winter wardrobe. And what better way to start one's busy day than to be greeted at your building's door by a whimsical winter's carol from Larry, Jerry, Barry, and Mortimer...

___________ ___________

Lined up as pretty and neat as you please, the four members of the Sugar Plum-P Quatro stood in wait for the good Grand Poobah of Dominion Exports, Dib Jaster Aurene. Hand in hand they formed a curious looking human chain before the building's door, tutu's glittering in the early morning's rays, smiles affixed to their jolly, mustached faces. Doubtless they received many a bemused and possibly horrified stare, but the gents paid it no mind. Save Jaster that is. It was only when they caught sight of their appointed recipient that they turned up the flare.

Moving in perfect sequence, all four men unhinged their chubby arms from one another, only to raise them up over their heads in a classic ballerina's form. As all four balanced off onto their right foot, the lefts out in the air kept their toes pointed. Unfortunately Mortimer couldn't keep his stance and nearly toppled into the partner to his right, Barry. Both earned momentary glances of contempt from Larry and Jerry.

Then, as if the costumes and theatrics weren't enough, the unlikely wannabe fairy messengers opened their jovial red faces and began to sing...

"Something just for you, a little something from Mrs. Fiona Helston al-Amat to spread the festive WinterFest cheer, in hopes that you remember this bit of the season for all your days after heeeeeeerrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Christmas comes but once a year And mostly it is swell But there's an epidemic That I think we all know well Your smile is frozen open There's a crazed look in your eye You overflow with compliments While trying to deny

That you loathe the gift you opened Though you try to keep your grace Your scary grin is frozen Don't you know you've got a case of

Present face Present face Present face Present face

Oh...thank you so much!

You really hoped your parents would Give you a great big check Instead, you got a puffy painted Hummingbird turtleneck You hoped for an engagement ring Inside that tiny box But your a**hole former future husband Only bought you socks

Now your face is all contorted As you're trying to erase The truth behind your smile Don't you know you've got a case of

Present face Present face Present face Present face

Oh...No, I really like it, it's cool, I love it...

Do they see how much I hate it" I hope that they don't know I can't tell if they're onto me Oh, please don't let it show

Baby Jesus got some gold What all infants prefer I bet he got the present face With francencence and myhrr

Christmas and his birthday Are both on the 25th It must have sucked to have to open Combination gifts

If Jesus couldn't hide it From his omnipresent place You and I are doomed To an everlasting case of

Present face

You shouldn't have!

Present face

Just what I wanted!

Present Face

For all the times I go fishing!

Present face, present faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace!"

As their voices rose and finally, finally fell, the quartet of oversized, overaged sugar plum fairies began to flitter off airy and joyful as could be. Unfortunately, it wasn't without Larry's tutu fluttering violently for a moment as a bout of ill humors decided to expel in a rush of air warm enough to steam like a breath. Only Jerry had the grace to fall back a moment, present Jaster with a calling card, and give their customer an apologetic bow. As he turned, Jerry shouted after his fellow Quatro about remembering to take his Bean-O.

http://growabrain.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2008/03/01/harbin_china.jpg ____________________________ ____________________________

Present Face, by Garfunkel and Oates.