Sausagey Santa by Iii Carlton Mellick Page A

archeology, mountain climbing, wilderness survival, cave exploration, anthropological studies, kayaking, and swimming around in sunken pirate ships while fighting off man-eating sharks and terrorists with spear guns. Nothing gets me more pumped than listing to Spelunker while driving my sports utility vehicle to work every day.
    But I doubt I’m getting the CD for Christmas. I never get what I want. I’ll probably have to buy it for myself next month.
     
     
    Decapitron wants the same thing for Christmas every year: Transformer toys.
    She actually really does think of herself as an evil Transformer. She even has a secret Decepticon tattoo on her shoulder that you have to rub in order to see it. Ever since she was a kid she wanted to be an evil robot that could transform into different things. At first she wanted to be able to transform into a space ship. Then she wanted to be able to transform into an electric boa constrictor. Then a laser cannon. Then a monster truck. Then a guillotine, so she could actually decapitate people.
    These days she wishes she could transform into a nuclear submarine. She could do a lot of damage if she could turn into a nuclear submarine.
     
     
    “What are you doing under there?” an angry voice says to me.
    I look back to see a small tapping foot outside of the Christmas tree.
    “You’re not allowed in there.”
    It’s my daughter, Nora.
    “Coming,” I say, needles poking into my hands and elbows as I crawl out from under the tree, knocking ornaments down as my back brushes against the lower branches.
    I peek out from under the tree like a bad dog hiding under a bed. She stares down at me with a disgusted look on her face. Blue and green lights sparkle against her braces.
    “How many times do I have to warn you?” she says, wiping the open wound on the side or her face with a towel. “You go under there one more time and I’m going to have Mom return all of your presents.”
    Even though she’s seven years old, Nora is the boss of the family. I’m pretty sure she is the anti-Christ, which is why I don’t fuck with her. Even Decapitron doesn’t dare defy the kid. It’s probably the gory black growth on the side of her head that makes her seem so damned scary. It’s a morbid balloon of flesh shaped like an adult male hand growing out of her brain and gripping the side of her skull. It is constantly pulsating and bleeding, and requires constant care. The doctor said she probably wouldn’t live to see her first birthday, but that son of a bitch didn’t know what he was talking about. I should have sued his ass. If I knew she was going to live this long I probably would have given her up for adoption years ago.
     
     
    For Christmas, Nora asked for a neural implant so she could plug her brain directly into the computer. Technology is advancing so quickly these days that it’s hard to keep up with all the inventions. First, there was the Internet. Then came holographic movies. Then helicopter backpacks. Then laser eyes. Now they invented a way to plug computers directly into your brain. You can upload 110 MB of knowledge an hour into your mind now or you can download your memories onto a disc so that you’ll never forget them.
    It’s all still pretty new. Not a lot of people can afford the surgery yet and there’s a lot of skepticism about its safety. A few people at work have done it because the company paid for the operation. They say that in about five years everyone will have it done and no company will hire you without it. I really hope they are wrong. My employer already owns most of my time, all I need is for them to own part of my brain too.
    Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford to get Nora the operation for Christmas. It’s so far out of our budget it’s ridiculous. We’d have to put a second mortgage on our house. I don’t even know if it is legal for minors to get the implant. She’s going to be fucking pissed tomorrow morning and I know she’s going to blame