"Dooon't haaaave aaaaah coooow ... maaaaaaaaan," Inflatabart wheezes. His eyeballs sag to the side as his mouth caves in, head rolling back at an 180-degree angle. A young girl looks out from the window of her 12th-story apartment. She kisses her Rosary and contemplates death.
The Elf On The Shelf Balloon
"William." The aging balloon-maker shakily downs another sip of brandy, hoping it will silence the voice. "Will. Make me huge," it whispers.
"I am in your mind, and I shan't leave."
The piercing gaze of the Elf on the Shelf cuts through the man's drunken stupor. "N-no. I won't. I won't do it," he protests. A tremor runs through his arm as he dabs a handkerchief over the sweat pooling in the furrows of his brow. "William. You shall. You shall do it, William."
"Thank you for your loyalty, William. Now you die."
The giant Elf on the Shelf balloon smirks, relishing in the dismayed cries of innocent people as it squats over Midtown and drops a humongous Christmas-deuce.
The giant prehistoric squirrel is slowly pumped full of life-giving gas. A muffled "MMMGHROORN" emanates from its pre-formed mouth.
"I HAVE NO MOUTH AND I MUST SCREAM."