Communication is hard.  Sometimes you're sure you've explained a thing, and your listeners are nodding along and you think:  "Yes!  The problem of making minds meet has once again been defeated!"

    Then you find out that your extremely lucid explanation of "stocking stuffer" has been translated by the Orcish mind into "stalking stuffer."  And that the enthusiastic Band, determined to wrest holiday joys from the arms of whoever's holding it, is on its marauding way to the mall. 

    The Orcs like living gifts, and what could be a better stuffer to stalk than a miniature pinscher, or a Chihuahua, or a teacup poodle?  Nothing!  Nothing could be better!

    It took us three hours to find those friggin' Orcs.  Grimp, Jed and I shoved our way through all the branching arms of the mall, certain we'd find the orcs molesting Santa, or eating dog food in the pet store, or spraying each other with fart odor at the novelty shop.  But we couldn't find them, until we went outside to escape the forest of human elbows.  There we saw them, stalking. 

    The Orcs prowled the insanely crowded parking lot, hiding behind faux-wood paneling on station wagons, blending in with poles, and deftly stealing coddled pets from the arms of ladies in heels and pink jackets.  The orcs would grab the dogs, stuff them into an enormous, red santa stocking Gogog stole off a light pole, and then run away, leaping cars and toddlers.

    When we found them, they had 12 squirming toy creatures in that one stocking.  It was indeed stuffed.  The Grimp had to smack Gogog on the knuckles with a lightning ruler to make him drop the stocking.  When he did, that stocking regurgitated its yipping beasts, who went bounding away on their spindly legs. 

   Brakes squealed, kids began yelling, "Mom, look what I found!" to enraged females on aching feet, and sobbing ladies in pink jackets crouched to the ground, calling for Princess, Champagne and Truffle, in desperate, nasal voices. 

   Under cover of mayhem we bundled the Orcs back into the Van.  Five minutes before we got back to the Tower, there was a "Yipe!" from Oog's armpit.  He'd stolen a stuffer.  Grimp let  him keep it.  So Oog is having a very happy holiday.