And so, here we are.
The winter solstice has arrived. December 21st. The dawn of the damned.
On this, the shortest day of the year, we free men are forced to cower in fear. Our weakening sun will meekly appear around 9am before quickly scurrying away like a squirrel bleeding mortally from its anus. A thousand-year reign of darkness will then set upon the earth, and we mortals will fall under the dominion of lump-bellied trolls, with their moistened snouts and lazy eyes. These twilight creatures will pause from their rat-feasts only to give rousing salute to their queen, the archwidow Nancy Pelositron.
Setting out as a ragtag band of scouts in search of a food source, we will be forced to confront this grim new world order. Giant hissing centipedes will slither away from the beams of our flashlights while the naked pleasure-trolls will writhe invitingly in an attempt to lure away weak-willed members of our army of men. Slowly our numbers will dwindle, as men follow their vain desires unto death and other scouts vanish into the shadows, torn asunder by rabid, sharp-toothed moongoblins.
Finally, when I am the lone remaining man, I will encounter the Gray Witch herself, Nancy Pelositron. In an act of sheer desparation, I will pull the pin from my last hand grenade and lob it into the meter-wide orifice between her teeth. Diving beneath a troll corpse for cover, the blast of the explosion will be muffled by her soft brain tissue and titanium skull. The tortured screeching of the nethercreatures will howl across the prematurely dark skies, and I will wipe my face off with satisfaction, knowing I have secured one more solar cycle for humanity.
With steeled resolve, I will then return to the shelter and inform my fellow refugees of their newfound freedom. We will celebrate with whisky and horse nog, and all will be made right.
How do you like me now?