BONG TV ROCKS

  How the Grinch Stole Christmas – Again A High Holiday Adventure It was supposed to be a quiet Christmas Eve . Santa was three cookies deep before he realized something was… different . Not bad different. Floaty different. The reindeer looked extra fluffy. The stars were vibing. And Mrs. Claus ’ fruitcake suddenly made sense. That’s when Santa giggled. Santa never giggled. The Setup The Grinch didn’t steal Christmas that year. He elevated it. He’d slipped Santa a batch of “special” cookies—green frosting, subtle skunk aroma, labeled “From Whoville PTA ” . Santa didn’t question it. You eat enough strange baked goods in a single night, you stop asking. Within minutes, Santa was philosophizing about time, bells, and whether chimneys were a social construct. That’s when the Grinch made his move. The Hijack “Listen, big guy,” the Grinch said, already buckled into the sleigh. “What if… instead of left at Greenland … we just kept going?” San...

  The Case of the Missing Red Stripes A Stoner Christmas Mystery A Budville Mystery Theater Original Nobody noticed at first. That’s how these things always start. It was December 23rd, the kind of cold that makes the smoke hang in the air like a bad decision. I was posted up in the back room of Benny’s Bodega & Tree Lot, rolling something medicinal and pretending not to listen to Bing Crosby for the fifth hour straight. That’s when I saw it. A candy cane. White. Minty. Clean. Too clean. No red stripes. I checked another. Same thing. Then another. Whole damn box looked like it had been bleached by the Ghost of Christmas Sobriety. I knew then—this wasn’t a supply chain issue. This was a job . Scene One: The Evidence Candy canes don’t just lose their stripes. Red’s not decorative—it’s structural. Tradition. Balance. The sweet meets the sharp. Yin meets yang. Without red, it’s just a breath mint with a hook. Someone had stripped the stripes. ...

PART IV — EPISODE III½: Rise of the Harmonic Order Rise of the Harmonic Order Chapter 3 — Ella & the Silver Harmonica The junk dunes of Rustville were quiet — too quiet — as Ella Tonewalker crouched beneath the skeletal ribs of a crashed ore hauler. Wind hissed through the metal shards like the wreck itself was whispering warnings. Rigs peered over her shoulder, servo-eyes flickering nervously. “You hear that?” he buzzed. Ella nodded. She felt it. A pressure behind her sternum. A faint warmth in her palms. A shimmer under her skin, like her bones were remembering a song she’d never been taught. The harmonica . It sat in her lap, silver and soft as moonlight, humming like it wanted to speak. “I don’t think it’s a normal instrument,” Rigs said. Ella scoffed. “No shit.” The Revealing Note She lifted it to her lips. The air buzzed — the entire scrapyard holding its breath. “Ella…” Rigs warned. “I know,” she said. “But I think it wants me to.” She blew. Just one...