To some, the term Happy Holidays is unwelcome whatsoever, often sighting that they miss hearing and saying "Merry Christmas". Like it's everybody else's fault they're miserable people who don't have a lot of friends. Psht. Happy Hanukkah.

TIS THE SEASON

We open scene to see the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts. Parked in front of it, conveniently noted as such by distinct lettering in it's paint job, is a Big Brothers and Sisters bus. Kids are disembarking the vehicle and crowding near the door, where we see Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, each wearing t-shirts that say Sidekick Training Day. Neither man seems enthusiastic.

This is fucked up.

Kinda, more creepy than anything else. Why does he want a sidekick?

He was a sidekick, once, maybe he thinks it'll be good for someone.

Whatever. So, are you guys ready?

The kids look around at each other while the bus driver gives a thumbs up while closing the door. The bus takes off. As dust is kicked into the faces of the disadvantaged youths and Cyberjaw and Diamondback, the door to the dojo opens. Clyde the orangutan runs through it, carrying a crate reading "PYROTECHNIC EXTRAVAGANZA" as he scampered off into the sounds of midday Alexandria. Robbie Bourbon swings the door wide open and shouts at Clyde.

FUCKING BANANA SUCKING NO-GOOD BASTARD MOTHER IS AN ORANGE FURRED WHORE SON OF A BITCH! COME BACK HERE WITH MY OVERPRICED KNICK-KNACK!

Robbie turns to see the children, disembarked from the bus.

Oh, shit, kids. Oh, yeah, congratulations, citizens, one of you will be selected to be my sidekick! So, first and foremost, do any of you have any powers?

Robbie looks inquizitively at the group of kids, ranging in age from 10 to 14. Most of the kids look bewildered, or bored.

Not all at once, heh. No super strength, no laser eyes, no grand scale matter manipulation? No summoning stuff? No magic? No super speed? Can any of you kids do your parents taxes?

One boy raises his hand.

"I can."

Oh, really?

"Yeah, my parents are dead, so they don't file taxes. Can we go inside?"

The group of kids rush the door of the dojo and go inside. The camera follows, to see the kids have dispersed throughout the dojo. Some kids went to the arcade, some went to the kitchen, where a buffet was set up, and started eating their weight twice over. Some kids just went and sat in the ring, these were mostly the older girls and a few boys. Cyberjaw, Diamondback, and Robbie are seen.

This was a bad idea.

What makes you say that?

This place is going to be a wreck.

Well, so what? Look, we'll get the testing started.

Robbie whistles and snaps his fingers. Someone whistles back.

Look, they're not henchmen, they're kids.

Yeah, they're a pain in the ass.

Okay, but, shit, how do I test who'll be my sidekick?

You can't.

Yeah. Poor kids suck, anyway.

Woah.

Robbie looks at Cyberjaw with his jaw dropped.

It's the holidays.

What? Okay, maybe it was...

It was. Indeed. Scrooge. Watch and learn.

Robbie walks over to the ring.

So, you guys...

"When are we getting our Xbox Ones?"

Your what?

"What, you're rich, it's Christmas."

Who said anything about an Xbox One?

"You did."

Nope.

"Yup. I just heard it."

The tweens in the ring laugh at Robbie, then go back to talking amongst themselves while ignoring him. Robbie trods back towards Cyberjaw and Diamondback. He pulls out two five dollar bills and hands one to each man. Both men give each other a high five and pocket their gambling winnings.

Well, shit. Sorry, you're right.

About what?

Poor kids suck.

Robbie clears his throat.

HEY, WHO WANTS THEIR XBOX ONE?

The kids all start to scream and run towards Robbie.

They're over there, in that room!

The kids rush down a new hallway in the dojo and into a darkened room. Robbie, Cyberjaw, Diamondback, and the camera head to another room that's on the other side of the hallway. Inside is a console with a series of monitors. On the monitors is a view of the room with the children inside. We hear a door shut and an electronic lock engage. Through the monitors we see the kids start to look nervously around, locked in the room.

Damn, what are you going to do?

What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

This Wednesday, I'm going to take Peter Gilmour by the back of his neck and shove his head up Dim's ass. Then, I'ma play miniature golf on them as they go through whatever head-up-ass Kama Sutra they fucking read. I'm going to wreck whatever goofy structure Peter Gilmour puts together. Hot damn, I can't believe I'm fighting a . I'm fighting someone who eats their finger paints, thinks their farts are potpourri, and sticks their fingers into wall sockets if unsupervised. And then there's Peter's partner, Dim, who makes that all seem fucking Nobel lauriette by comparison. Jesus. I'm about to beat the shit out of the mentally handicapped for the holidays, and you know what? It's what the people of the XWF deserve!

No, what are you doing with the kids?

Oh? Crazy purple knockout gas.

Wait, you're going to gas a room full of kids? You have a gas chamber?

Well, it's just crazy purple knockout gas. Mix of opioids, cannibinoids...

A mix of what?

Vicodin, roofies and the active ingredient in pot.

Jesus, you can't do that!

With that, Robbie, eyes still locked on Diamondback, presses a button on the console. Through the monitors, we see purple gas start to fill the room full of children. Initially, they try to rush the locked door, but collapse in short order, visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads.

Do what? C'mon, their ride will be here in eight hours, let's go get them their Xboxes.