“Fairy” was one of the nicer things they called him. He was Helicopter Middle School’s favorite whipping boy, the constant target of harassment and ridicule from the other helicopters. He felt the sting of their taunting, the pain of their insults, and even – when no teachers were looking – the brutal slap, slap, slap of their rotor blades.

“I’m gonna be a traffic copter when I grow up.” “I’m gonna go into drug interdiction like my dad.” “Hey, guys, what about Syma Fairy? I heard that tiny little cabin of his can seat twelve gnats. Too bad gnats can already fly!” No, their insults were not especially clever. But they still hurt – especially because he knew they were true. The other kids ran on AvGas or jet fuel. He ran on a Li-poly battery and 6 AA’s for the controller. He knew he’d always be different from the others. And he cried.

But then came that fateful Christmas. A little boy in Kentucky wanted a helicopter more than anything. But his parents absolutely forbade him to own a real, full-size one. Perhaps their hearts were not warmed by the Christmas spirit, or maybe they just didn’t have room for a real helicopter. Anyway, Santa Claus was hella bummed. “If I can’t make that delightful boy happy,” he sighed to Mrs. Claus, “I may as well cancel Christmas.”

It just so happened that his faithful helicopter Vixen X-71 was just outside the window and heard everything. Quick as an Airwolf, Vixen X-71 sped off to Helicopter Middle School and found the undersized little helicopter that his son Vixen X-72 had told him about. “Syma Fairy, please help the little boys and girls of the world! Santa Claus needs a helicopter small enough that this little boy’s parents will let him have it, or he’s just going to wash his hands of the whole Christmas deal. Santa didn’t say anything about assorted colors, or a three-channel transmitter that lets you fly three copters at once, but I’m sure those features won’t hurt. Please, please, won’t you help save Christmas?”

Syma Fairy’s little face lit up. At last, a chance to show the others what he was really worth. “Help you? Help you? You people make my life a living hell because I’m different, and now you want my help? You scumbags can kiss my tail rotor! The nerve!” Syma Fairy went on like this for several minutes, using words that he certainly didn’t learn at Helicopter Middle School, laughing all the while.

And that’s the story of how the Syma Fairy Remote Controlled Micro Helicopter didn’t save Christmas. Man, that winter really sucked.

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