The Millionaire Waltz

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Ahh, Christmas... a celebration honouring our common god, Market Economy, who will fulfill our plastic and disposable fantasies on these most prestigous of days. But let's not get sentimental. Allow me to tell you a true tale involving an unsung relative of a certain video gaming icon. Meet Thelia, the mastermind behind the Creamy Raisin Cakes-recipe in the 1930s. Y'know those irresistably moist delicacies which are adored throughout our pancake-shaped planet and the sole thought of every hungry biological organism on the system, don't you? It's impossible to measure this recipe with something as trivial as monetary or historical value; but to get some perspective, The Ark of the Covenant, The Dead Sea Scrolls, even the original ultra-rare "Blackie Ritchmore's Bowrain" debut tape easily pale in comparison next to this fragile item which rests safe and sound under Thelia's pillow, the one with handsome little Plum Uncle-pictures dotted all over. Being a textbook tree-hugger weirdo-hippie in the eyes of your average Homo Sapiens, Thelia envisioned that she'll put a halt to the pain and misery of the world by uniting humans under a single banner with her fabulous bakings. Nobody knows how exactly. But hot damn, what couldn't these splendid cakes do?

If such harmonious coexisting would've only been a walk in the park. Before long, Louis Bouchard Senior (a criminally insane, self-centered capitalist pig who fertilizes his money tree with the blood, sweat and tears of his subordinates), got wind of Thelia's ultimate SECRET No. 1. You see, God appeared in this greedy burgess' dream and tipped him about the recipe. God then teased that if Bouchard was to worship him with the recipe's powers, God would grant a gargantuan pile of cash-shaped blessings as a divine pat in the back. Bouchard's ornithologists hijacked the forementioned sheet of paper the morning after. Thelia cannot remember the ingredients by heart and, the worst of all, if the raisins aren't prepared precisely the right manner their ionized neutrons cause mutations within the cream's sulfides, transforming any poor unsuspecting cake-eater into the most despicable lifeform, a social media influencer, within nanoseconds. In short it is paramount Thelia reclaims this paper of unrivaled importance before Bouchard's diabolical shenanigans are set to motion.

As the night comes down she manages to locate Bouchard's hideout due to an unexpected bug. With her LU-C1F3r -handguns utilising nearly soundless cutting-edge low-velocity 6.66 millimeter ammunition manufactured by Beelsebub Firearms and Napkins Co., Thelia takes matters into her own hands by infiltrating this absurd, juvenile, amateurish and pseudo-historical office of Bouchard's. Too bad she hurts herself to the brink of a Game Over-screen whilst creatively tumbling down the building's chimney but luckily the facility's redneck sentries are probably on their legal "Grandpa's old cough medicine"-break. However if they hear too much hellish racket you can bet your bottom dollar bill they'll come running. What's more these buffoons won't hesitate to pull the trigger should they spot something too alien; say, a commie trollop poking around on Christmas Eve. Therefore staying all hush-hush would be Thelia's best bet of not becoming a gift-wrapped coffin for the local undertaker...

*Thee are but 3 secrets.
*What were you in your former life?
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