Christmas Countdown Day 15
Deep beneath the North Pole, a giant conveyor belt carried sugar, flour, and sprinkles from the cookie factory into the Christmas Kitchen. It had never carried elves. Until now.
“The Conveyor Belt Catastrophe”
(featuring four elves who desperately need physical therapy)
After fourteen straight days of mayhem, explosions, glitter inhalation, attempted acrobatics, a tunnel collapse, and Bob weaponizing a ham…
The Chaos Four did not wake up refreshed.
They looked like the opening scene of a Christmas-themed medical drama.
Peppermint clutched her lower back like she was ninety-seven.
Buttercup walked with a dramatic, exaggerated limp.
Mason’s hair was glued together in three different places.
Joe sat at the table staring into nothing, whispering,
“Why do I keep saying yes to this?”
Peppermint slapped the table and groaned, “We keep going.”
Her spine popped loudly.
Nobody commented.
Which meant it was officially time for…
A new bad idea.
Peppermint slammed her mug of mediocre elf-coffee on the table.
“Today,” she declared, “we take the factory route.”
Joe’s eyes widened.
Buttercup dropped her bagel.
Mason whispered, “Finally…”
Peppermint spread out the blueprint like a general about to commit a war crime.
THE PLAN (in theory)
Deep beneath the North Pole, a giant conveyor belt carried sugar, flour, and sprinkles from the cookie factory into the Christmas Kitchen.
It had never carried elves.
Until now.
The idea:
1. Sneak into the cookie production room.
2. Hop on the conveyor belt.
3. Ride it straight into the kitchen like secret agents.
4. Grab the hot chocolate.
5. Escape before anyone notices.
It was actually… shockingly reasonable.
Joe even said, “This might be the least stupid plan we’ve had.”
Buttercup: “Don’t jinx it.”
Mason: “I brought knee pads.”
Peppermint: “Why—”
Mason: “You’ll see.”
STEP ONE: Gaining Access
The elves slipped into the cookie factory through a side door left cracked open by a distracted intern elf named Larry.
Peppermint: “Look! No alarms, no guards—this is perfect!”
Joe: “Too perfect…”
Buttercup: “Stop narrating your paranoia.”
They tiptoed past:
two frosting cannons
a vat of molten chocolate
a pile of gingerbread men in therapy
and Larry, who was napping standing up
Finally, they reached the main conveyor system.
It whirred.
It hummed.
It glowed with the warm promise of sugar-related doom.
Peppermint grinned.
“Everyone on!”
STEP TWO: The Conveyor Belt Ride
At first, it was… peaceful.
Warm air.
Soft hum.
Peppermint leading the group like a peppermint-scented surf queen.
Buttercup waved like she was in a parade.
Joe clutched the belt with white knuckles.
Mason held his hands up like a roller coaster.
Then they saw the sign.
“SECTION AHEAD: DECORATION ZONE.”
Joe: “What does that mean—”
He didn’t finish.
Because suddenly—
FWOOOMP!
A frosting cannon blasted Peppermint in the face.
Buttercup screamed.
Joe shrieked.
Mason laughed like a man unhinged.
The conveyor carried them directly into:
the sprinkles waterfall
the icing downpour
the marshmallow flinger
the gumdrop shooter
and the “festive glitter bath” (Mason’s favorite)
Peppermint emerged looking like a bedazzled cupcake.
Buttercup was covered in rainbow drizzle.
Joe was encased in a perfect coat of glossy icing like an emotionally distressed cake pop.
Mason: “I LOVE THIS RIDE.”
Peppermint: “WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DECORATED—WE ARE TRYING TO SNEAK IN—”
But the conveyor belt did not care.
STEP THREE: The Kitchen Transfer Shoot
At the end of the belt was a bright red sign:
“TRANSFER TUBE TO KITCHEN: CAUTION.”
Peppermint yelled, “THIS IS IT! BRACE YOURSE—”
The floor dropped.
All four were sucked into a transport tube like screaming, frosted spaghetti.
They shot upward.
Spun sideways.
Did a loop.
Buttercup yelled, “WHY DOES THIS HAVE A LOOP?!”
Mason: “THIS IS AMAZING.”
Joe prayed.
STEP FOUR: Bob Happens
They shot out of the tube—
—not into the kitchen—
—but straight into a tower of storage boxes, creating an avalanche of sprinkles, pots, pans, and one very upset elf who had been alphabetizing spices.
Peppermint sat up, dizzy, dripping frosting.
Joe crawled out of a tub labeled “Nutmeg.”
Buttercup disentangled herself from a giant whisk.
Mason popped up wearing a pot as a helmet.
Then they heard it.
The dreaded sound.
The Ham Tap.
Bob stepped around the corner wearing…
The baby carrier.
With a ham swaddled inside.
Like a proud, exhausted father.
His eye twitched.
His voice was dangerously calm.
“What,” Bob said slowly, “is happening.”
Peppermint tried: “We’re… uhh… testing quality control?”
Joe muttered, “We failed.”
Buttercup saluted for no reason.
Mason waved from under the pot helmet.
Bob inhaled. Deep. Ancient. Bone-tired.
“GET. OUT.”
He pointed toward the exit with the ham like it was a badge of authority.
The ham jiggled with rage.
Peppermint sighed. “Attempt nine?”
Joe: “Failure.”
Buttercup: “Catastrophe.”
Mason: “10/10, would ride again.”
❌ Attempt #9: FAILED
Conveyor belt: 1
Chaos Four: frosted, sprinkled, emotionally compromised
Bob: moments from retirement
Peppermint wiped icing off her face.
“We try again tomorrow.”
Joe groaned.
Buttercup nodded bravely.
Mason opened his mouth—
Everyone snapped:
“NO MORE IDEAS FROM YOU.”
(He absolutely has ideas.)
