Son of Wal-Mart

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Mary-Lou was a human dumpling stuffed into a svelte size fourteen waitress uniform with dimpled arms and legs, her ample bosom straining the buttons, a truly awesome sight that had all male diners betting on when her feminine glories would spill out. Never had an event been so eagerly awaited, not since the Thanksgiving sale at Mabel's, which had resulted in fifteen black eyes, forty-six bloody noses, and two hundred eleven curses. All agreed that women were rabid creatures when it came to the last pair of designer shoes on sale for a mere twenty.

On this fair day, however, it was Armageddon. The world was scheduled to die at the precise time of 4:37 PM, although no one was really sure which time zone that was. The point was, this was the definite end-of-the-world.

No one had bothered to enlighten the citizens of Podunkville, so Mary-Lou darted to table and table, trying to take orders and trying not to slap Old Man Perkins and Older Man Townsend, who were wont to pinch her arse. "Look at her!" Perkins cackled, rubbing his hands, "God praise the Irish!"

The truth was that Mary-Lou wasn't Irish - she'd been born a proud mongrel of German-English-Polish-whatever mix - but a quirk of family genes had blessed her with flaming-red hair that curled past her shoulders in stubborn tangles, kept out of her face by a granny hairnet and two rubber bands.

Townsend glared at her with rheumy eyes. "God curse the Irish!" he roared, banging his fist against the cracked surface of their table. The assorted cups and saucers and condoms (even at his age, Townsend liked to say you had to be prepared) rattled. "They gave us those bloody elves! Prancing around in their green hats and tights-"

"Leprechauns," Mary-Lou said as she hurried past him. She dodged his snaking hand, and circled around the crayons the shrieking brat in the corner had thrown on the floor, and finally made it to the relative haven of the kitchen. "Where's that grilled cheese the Harrison boy asked for? Come on."

The short-order cook was staring at his stove. "I had a vision," he announced, the folds of his doleful face weighing him down. He had a spatula in a fist, but even as Mary-Lou watched, he waved it in the air. "The Virgin herself appeared in my butter and said we would enter a period of darkness and tumult, such as we have never known-"

She rapped his forehead with her knuckles. "You'll get tumult, all right, if you don't make my grilled cheese. And besides..." Mary-Lou pulled out her ace. "She had kids after Jesus, didn't she? So she's not a virgin anymore."

That made George blink, but much to her relief, he shoved two plates of sandwiches and French fries towards her. But even as she left him, she heard him muttering, "The Not-Virgin said the world would be destroyed at 4:37 PM."

Shaking her head, Mary-Lou plastered a smile on her face as she balanced the food on a tray. Her feet were aching, even in their sensible gym sneakers, and her rump was blue from Perkins and Townsend's pinching, but her shift didn't end until nine o'clock. What she wouldn't give to be twenty years old again, but she'd been thirty-five for ten years in a row.

The clock hands ticked towards destruction. The more discerning people hid in their specifically-made bunkers, praying for their eternal souls and dreaming of sweet heavenly rewards. The more cynical people fornicated in their houses and nightclubs, figuring that one last sin couldn't be so bad, not when there wasn't a god anyway. All around the world, boys were whispering in girls' ears, their busy hands slipping under shirts. Dying after a poor sexual experience of two minutes was infinitely better than dying with virginity still intact.

George was rocking back and forth, his arms around his knees, sobbing into his oil-smeared apron, his spatula clenched in a fist. "It's my fault!" he wept against Mary-Lou's soft, rounded shoulder. "I couldn't help it! How was I supposed to know the world would go boom?"

"There, there," she said, consoling him. Her knees were sore because she was kneeling on the floor, but at least her feet were getting some rest. The other waitresses were covering for her while she tried to talk him out of his funk. "What did you do that was so bad? Come now, tell Mary-Lou about it."

He lifted tear-drenched eyes to her face. "I... drank... Starbucks!" he moaned into her ear, nearly blasting the eardrum. "I didn't think a sip would hurt... I gave into the soulless embrace of consumerism!"

And that was when true evil entered the restaurant.

Or rather, it skipped into the place, but at the moment, Mary-Lou wasn't too fussy about things like that. She could only stare at him, her eyes growing wide, her mouth falling open, her breath coming short. Some people had collapsed in their booths, sliding down without a murmur, their eyes rolling backwards, but Mary-Lou was made of sterner stuff.

"No... no..." George whimpered, clutching Mary-Lou's arm, as they rose to their feet, clinging together in a drunken frenzy. "Not you!"

Evil had scorned the memo that said all villains needed black twirling moustaches and that they needed a cackling laugh. He was fat and jolly, his red-and-white suit emphasizing the roundness of his belly and girth, his white beard long and combed. He even had a hat on his head, his eyes twinkling as he said, "Ho-ho!"

"You're Santa Claus!" Mary-Lou blurted, ignoring poor George. "But it's not even Christmas!"

A look of annoyance flickered across Santa Claus's face. "You silly girl," he said to her, stroking his beard. "Don't you know I'm the Prince of Darkness himself? I strike fear into countless parents' hearts all the world when their vile brats scream about their Christmas gifts!" He pointed at his suit. "You think I chose this color by accident? Red means blood and horror!"

"Er, you're also wearing white."

The Prince of Darkness didn't like hearing that, it was plain, but he answered, even if it was a bit huffy. "It's for contrast. Makes the red stand out." He tugged on his beard. "I sense doubt under that roll of flesh-"

Now that narrowed Mary-Lou's eyes. A true gentleman never mentioned a lady's weight, and as the epitome of evilness, she felt he should have set an example for his legions of worshippers. "Hey now," she said, jutting her chin out in a pugnacious gesture, one that poor George evidently recognized because he was hissing into her ear. "You're fat too. What gives you the right to call me fat?" She strode towards Santa Claus, throwing George's hand off. "You know how hard I've been working on my diet? Do you?"

He had the temerity to go ho-ho again. "My dear, I invented the tradition of sugar cookies! Candy canes, gingerbread houses, hot cider, egg-nog - they're all designed with the purpose of getting people fat. Lazy minds, lazy bodies, it's so much easier to conquer their hearts. Now I shall commence Armageddon."

The diners not already praying started. Even the atheists were praying because this evilness was something they could recognize. Only Mary-Lou stood upright, her pride smarting from his comments about her weight.

"What do you mean by Armageddon?" she said.

"Nuclear war!" George moaned from his kneeling position on the ground. He had his arms covering his head, so his voice was muffled. "Ice Age, Mary-Lou! Earthquakes and lightning and cities vanishing in a flash-"

The Prince of Darkness looked displeased. "Oh, I wouldn't do anything so unoriginal," he said repressively, buffing his fingernails on his Santa suit. His smile broadened as he swung around, facing everyone in the restaurant. "I'm... going... to... make... it... Christmas everyday! Every single day!"

Mary-Lou frowned. She wasn't quite religious, but somehow she'd always thought Evil was supposed to be more impressive than this. What George had just described was what she would have picked as a more logical alternative.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

The force of Santa Claus's eyes pinned her on the spot. "You heard me, girl. Parents will be forced to stand in long lines. They will fight over the last toy and give up any semblance of sleep to wrap the stupid gifts. Even the children will suffer." Sheer delight radiated from him in waves. "They'll behave. If they don't, they won't get any presents. The strain of good behavior will break the minds of the vile brats-"

Mary-Lou had always considered it rude to interrupt a person, but since Santa Claus wasn't exactly human, she lifted a hand. "But I'm not a parent," she pointed out. "I'm not a child either. I don't see how-"

That seemed to stump him momentarily. "Everyone will do greeting cards the old-fashioned way. They'll make them and mail them-"

"No..." she whispered, her resolve crumbling bit by bit. She'd always done her cards after New Year's Eve because, well, it was so much easier. "You can't do that."

"Oh yes. All stores will have extended hours, and yes, that includes restaurants-"

She clapped a hand over her mouth. December had always driven the customers to the stores in droves, searching for the perfect gift. It also meant that the diner stayed open late, feeding hungry patrons, and thus it led to a pair of sore feet and an aching back for Mary-Lou. The only reason she put up with the month was because of the paycheck.

Clearly delighted by her horror, Santa Claus nodded in gleeful satisfaction. "I am the Prince of Darkness. I am the Overlord of Consumerism, the Alpha and the Omega, the Master of Store Chains, the Son of Wal-Mart-"

"You can't do this!" she squeaked.

"Do you think it's an accident that you can rearrange SANTA into SATAN?" He spread his arms, his face glowing as he surveyed the shocked, dead-white faces of the restaurant's customers and staff alike. "I have existed for thousands of years, welcomed into your homes as an example of goodness! Your wallets belong to me-"

"No! No!" George screamed, his arms and legs spasming on the floor in a parody of a twitching spider. "Have mercy on us!"

Santa Claus rubbed his belly. "Ho-ho! My dear boy, I can do anything I want!" He swung towards Mary-Lou. She braced herself for the final blow, one that would surely crush her fragile spirits. "No more Christmas sales!"

"No... more... sales?" she whispered, unable to comprehend what he'd just said. "No coupons? No discounts? No certificates?"

"None!"

The world grayed as Mary-Lou stumbled under the awful weight of his ban. In that moment, she finally understood the meaning of malevolence when she looked at the Prince of Darkness himself. Never would she be able to get four-for-three at the book stores. Nor would she be able to find clothes or food at cheap prices.

"Come and worship Me!" His voice had changed from a booming laugh to a sly, slithering voice that crept under her skin. "We are Legion! We shall live forevermore and more! Never shall you know a moment's peace!"

No more Christmas sales. No more Christmas sales!

Mary-Lou's mind broke. She screamed like a banshee, flying back to the kitchen, her mouth distorted in an inhuman wail of rage, one that embodied every woman in the world bereft at the thought of never seeing another discount. Her wild gaze fell onto the frying pan George had left on the stove, and she lunged for it.

"WE ARE LEGION!" she shrieked as she brained the Prince of Darkness, the Overlord of Consumerism, the Alpha and the Omega, the Master of Store Chains, the Son of Wal-Mart - among other titles.

And thus did true evil perish in a red-and-white ooze, smelling faintly of sulfur and candy canes, on the floor of the diner with an appalled audience looking on.

It was approximately 4:38 PM, Santa Claus having stopped the prior minute to monologue, but now that he was vanquished, the clock hands everywhere ticked on placidly. Armageddon had come and gone, but as George said, there was always another Armageddon waiting in the wings. Her name was Valentine's Day...

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AUTHOR NOTE: I had a random conversation with Lord Iron-Balls about his story ideas, and so I jokingly said, "she'll be a gum-snapping red-haired diner waitress, forty-five years old, who gets to save the universe." And then all of a sudden, I KNEW that was the story! So I really have no choice but to blame LIB for this insanity.