A/N: We’re baaaack! Here’s the long-awaited third chapter of the Nanaclones. Thanks for reviewing and waiting so long!!!!

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a cackle was heard… except for the evil cackle that belonged to the head Nanaclone. "Bwahahahaha" she cackled, glancing merrily at the inferno in her fireplace. It would be perfect for tonight’s operation…

 "Won't you turn out the fire tonight?" asked her unsuspecting grandchild, interrupting the maniac woman’s happiness. The irritated Nanaclone whipped around from her contemplation of the fire. "I'll turn off the Santincinerate- uh, I mean the fire when you go to bed," she replied, a false smile plastered on her face. The little child nodded, thoroughly creeped out, and headed upstairs to bed. The Nanaclone watched the slow retreat cautiously from her chair, eyes slanted behind her coke bottle glasses. When the little brat took too long, she snapped, “Move it! Santa hates lazy bastards like you!” and her grandchild tore up the stairs.

The Nanaclone grinned wickedly and turned back to the fire. "Bwahahahaaaaaaa...." She laughed again and cranked the “fireplace” temperature. This “fireplace” was actually the Santincinerator ©, a Nanaclone device designed to destroy the ultimate symbol of childhood laughter and gifts and….the Nanaclone hissed….fun. Thinking of that awful word and the obese man who brought it, she spun the Santincinerator’s temperature dial all the way up to BBQ: Texas style, the hottest there is. She sneered at the massive flames that were threatening her Oriental rug. "Those brats in Massachusetts don't know what a real BBQ is!” Luckily, the Nanaclone had a connection in the Texas Nanaclone Trainee Facility by the name of Ann Iuspa. This lady, known as the “Tell-Tale Aunt”, had shown her the formula for getting Texas-rancher-on-meat-rampage size flames. Not even Chris Kringle had a chance against the blazes of a cow-hungry cowboy!

Her plan to destroy that universal symbol of joy and potbellies was going to work perfectly. Once that fat load of “love” and “brotherhood” dumped his bag of goodies down the chimney, he was going to be in for a char-broiled treat. And none of the brats in Massachusetts would ever experience that disgusting ceremony of Christmas again…

The head Nanaclone shivered at past memories of Christmas day. "They will bang on pantookas and play noisy games like sherwhowhatsgrump. Then they'll feast.” She shuddered with revulsion. “They’ll feast and feast…on who-pudding and rare who roast beast." She hissed at the thought. "Thank Satan I bought my Santincinerater to rid the world of that fun-carting chunk of lard Santa Claus." 

Suddenly an intense pain struck the Nanaclone right in the black hole where another grandmother would have had a heart. She hissed, leaning forward towards the fire. Her nostrils flared and she whipped her head around the room like a trapped rabbit. “I smell….” She twitched. “I smell….” The Nanaclone almost upchucked her dinner of prunes and spinach. “I smell fun.”

Santa Claus was coming.

She could smell that fun-loving bastard in the air, and so much joy, so much merriness…it made her sick. Sick to the pits of the prunes in her stomach. She tore towards the control hidden on the underside of her piano bench. It controlled the strength of the fun shield around her house. Obviously this Santa character was taxing the current low setting, Bella. (This level was named for a certain senile neighborhood dog, whose oddities occasionally made children laugh at her, not with her)

But Santa was clearly causing more fun than some senile old Labrador. The Nanaclone cranked the dial all the way to Holiday, second in power only to Willis. (This level took its name from the head of the Nanaclone resistance Corps, also known as the NRC)

There was a loud bang on the roof, and the Nanaclone braced herself for another fun convulsion. But the good ol’ FunShield came through for her after all. She grinned maniacally and picked up a poker in her two gnarled hands. The fun-carting Santa was coming across the roof above her head, ready to bestow gifts on the undeserving grandchildren in her house. Sucker.She advanced towards the roaring inferno that was her fireplace, swinging the sharp metal poker astride her shoulder.

Velvet slid along brick as Santa’s suit-covered bulk came down the chimney.

Not a creature was stirring in the house.

Even the Nanaclone’s black hole had stopped beating.

“Ho, ho, ho---ly Moly!” Santa landed with a thump in the roaring blaze, and the Nanaclone screeched with glorious victory.

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A/N: Don’t worry; that’s not the end. We’ll post the next chapter soon! Thanks again for reading and/or reviewing!!!