The son of a mythical horny Santa Claus-like creature is determined to avenge his father by luring the farmers to the French Riviera - a culture so alien and sophisticated - that no farmers have survived there longer than 48 hours.

The Fellowship of the farmers is an absurd romantic rural comedy mixing elements of occultism, horror, bizarre folklore and extreme moonshine-idealization with french decadence and jet-set life. The story begins with the son of mythical horny Santa Claus-like creature determined to avenge his father killed by the farmers for seducing their milkmaids, and he fools the megalomaniacal moonshine-king Mjolkior playing on the former honorable farmer's vanity, luring the unsuspecting peasants down to the French Riviera - a culture so alien and sophisticated - that no farmers have survived there longer than 48 hours.

Rypekroken is haunted by a horny Santa Claus-like creature who seduces all the milkmaids in the small village. The farmers form a fraternity and swear an oath in milk and blood, and kills the Santa (Nissen) led by the honorable farmer MJOLKIOR. TURID, one of dairymaids becomes pregnant with the creature and bear his son alone in the woods and leave him there to die. 18 years later the son of the this son knocks on Mjølkiors door disguised as a journalist who reportedly wants to make a documentary about Mjolkior - the hero of the Battle of Rypekroken - and his noble French descent. This is nonsense to fool the farmers to their certain death on the French Riviera, a culture so sophisticated that no farmer has survived there longer than 48 hours. Santa's son plays on Mjolkiors thriving megalomania and lures the Brotherhood to Nice (ancient Nizzum) Santa's City, where Mjolkiors old enemy TROLLGEIR is waiting for him. In Nice the farmers is shocked to find that the supply of moonshine is particularly poor and they must make do with only "red french lemonade" (wine) and gourmet meals which portions are unaccustomed small. They are fooled into believing that cocaine is "local moonshine powder" and they are quickly exhausted by jet-set life, and hungering for their tonic, moonshine.—Pål Erik Gulliksrud