Well, it's that time of year again, time to wrap presents, drink hot chocolate, and crash spaceships into uncharted worlds stranding you forever in the depths of outer space. Which, on the whole, is better than being trapped in the mall.


Captain Dennis Martin maintained confidence in the ability of the human mind to make sense of the interworkings of cosmic chance and necessity, right up until the moment he smashed his giant spaceship directly into a planet, at which point his confidence was slightly shaken. Hey, at least this planet has an outhouse! Might come in handy.


It's at this point of our story - panel two - where everyone, even down to small children and the more intelligent breeds of dog, realize exactly what's going on here and who this lonely spaceman has happened to run into, that our wrecked pilot has, of course, crashed on the planet of the Gorton's Fisherman.


"It's bigger on the inside than the outside! Which is what's going on with what appears to be my massive beer gut, which in reality is toned, sexy abs."


Some mysterious fellow operating some sort of secret manufacturing facility that is both sufficiently out of the way, yet accessible to major transit routes? I mean, he's describing a meth lab behind a truck stop, is what this sounds like.


Eyes narrowing threateningly, the meth dealer promises swift retribution for any client who fails to follow his precise instructions.


They want what he's selling pretty bad? Meth! Gotta be. Even the Wizard Of Oz's Tin Man and his brother think so!


"Here, this is a 12-gauge. I'm not expecting any trouble, but you never know. Just keep your eyes open."


He's made his list, and now he's checking it twice, determining the relative moral values of everyone on it, condensing a year's worth of complex situational choices into a simplistic either/or matrix. Put THAT in your little children's song!


Captain Dennis Martin maybe be a highly trained space pilot with years of experience, but sometimes he's a little slow to pick up on subtle and not-so-subtle clues as to his current situation. Which is one that involves a treehouse and lots of fudge-coated cookies, I suspect.


Oh look, the guy who corkscrewed his zillion dollar space cruiser into a planet is wondering what kind of ship they're taking? What do you care? Gonna wreck this one too?


And there you have it, the big twist ending, it was Santa Claus all along, how dare we presume in our ignorance of the universe that somewhere out there in the vast trackless spaces there isn't a space-warp planet inhabited by elves and reindeer and jolly Kris Kringles? And with this plea for science to please not demolish our faith in God, or Santa Claus, or something, we will merely wish you all a merry space Christmas and to all a good space night, as we all find ourselves metaphorically hanging desperately to the back of a sleigh as it's pulled through an irrational tear in the very fabric of existence.

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