The Sun was up and blasting its FM Raydio. The Van Man opened his eyes and realized he had slept in. He could forgive himself for it. It was Saturday and he had a full day ahead. His first stop was the Monrovia Pick-a-Part. The tire mount haunted him and he needed it. He needed the victory. Van Man would find the right one this time. He would be prepared.
He cruised in his van under the scandalous Sun. Down the two-ten into the San Gabriel Valley. The Sun was not laughing at him this day. It was smiling on him. It's my day, he thought. He arrived at the Pick-a-Part. Van Man got the correct measurements of the back door and entered the gate. The lot was full as fork-lifts brought vehicles to and fro. He searched up and down the rows of shattered autos. Van Man turned a corner at a rusted-out shit ford and spotted the treasure. A single ray of sunshine beamed onto the slivers of glass at the base of the old Chevy Van. It seemed to sparkle. And he had found it. The Chevy tire mount. Van Man compared the measurements. Perfect match. Hallelujah motherfucker, thought Van Man. He laid out his tools like a surgeon and went to work. He WD-40'd the bolts just to be safe. Van Man applied the ratchet to the first bolt. It broke off instantly. The bolt was so rusted that it crumbled with a little torque. The second bolt snapped apart like the first and Van Man was half-way there. Two more bolts remained and it had only been five minutes since he spotted the van. Too easy, he thought. And he was right. The last two bolts became the dragons that Van Man would have to slay. Three hours later, Van Man had vanquished the demons and held the tire mount above his head. Victory. Van Man needed to celebrate. He decided to attend a Halloween party. After all, he had his costume and needed to test it out.
The evening arrived and Van Man's van pulled into a grocery store parking lot. It was close to his destination and the perfect place to get into costume. First went on the Santa pants, then boots. He put on the Santa coat. Van Man wrapped the extra long black belt around his waist and tied a knot to keep it from falling off. He put on the twenty year-old wig and beard. Next came the hat. The final touches to his Bad Santa outfit were the cigarette that hung out of his mouth and the bag full of naughty and nice presents. Van Man looked at himself in the window of his van. Wonderfully nasty.
"Look guys, it's Santa!", proclaimed a male voice. Van Man turned around and saw a car with a Father and his Two Kids. The Kids had an awkward smile. The Father got a good look at Van Man and drove away.
Van Man arrived at the apartment where the party took place. He knocked on the door. The door opened and a man dressed as a girl scout greeted him. Van Man walked in. To his surprise, the Halloween party had a theme. Troop Beverly Hills. There were all sorts of girl scouts and even a Shelly DuVall. Where the hell is Craig T. Nelson?, he thought.
There was no time to waste. The Van Man turned to his Greeter Girl Scout and asked if he had been naughty or nice. The Greeter Girl Scout told him naughty. Van Man reached into his bag of presents and pulled out a condom. "Here you are, sonny", said Van Man. The Greeter Girl Scout looked at the yellow-colored condom in his hand. "Um, thanks Santa..."
Van Man continued on into the party. Some that were naughty received condoms. Those that were nice received condoms. The few that said they had been really naughty received pregnancy tests and lube. The party exploded from there. Drunk karaoke and piano players filled the night. One-thirty struck and Van Man knew it was time to leave. He said his goodbyes to Troop Beverly Hills and whisked off in his sleigh van.
The Moon glistened high above and the van pulled into its spot at the park. The Van Man disconnected his battery and noticed a message written in the dirt. It said JESUS SAVES and he could only guess the Red Truck Couple were the culprits. They had been naughty but he was out of condoms.