1976 was one hell of a year. In February, Elvis Presley was made an honorary captain of the Memphis Police Department. He was doing shows in Las Vegas, while working on ending a mafia drug ring. Oh my sweet Lord, that Bicentennial was something else too. On this Christmas evening, Elvis was working through constipation. There was a complicated issue of the zero in the number two, or seeing a man about unloading some donkeys.
A previous happy Christmas in Bedrock.
It was Christmas day in Bedrock. In years past, it was a festive time of hustle and bustle and cheer and joy and camaraderie, but this year, due to the Great Depression, it was forlorn. Money was scarce, except for the fat cats, The Slates ,The Rockefellers and Clay Aikens.
You would never believe the horrors The Elf On The Shelf® saw; not that you could ever tell from that incredible manufactured poker face- that permanent winsome smile, those large painted eyes always looking away, the stupid lashes, and that damn eternal impish grin. He went by the name, Twenty Nine.
He could have led a more extravagant life if he really wanted to, but Mr. Potter was a miser through and through. His motto was simple: in order to retain wealth, one must retain wealth. You keep it, you horde it, because you never know what will come along. Finally, that opportunity of a lifetime came along. After months of nickel and dime-ing with shady Nazi businessmen, Mr. Potter acquired a pill that would allow him to live forever.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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