Dec. 20: The Christmas Elf who loved Groundhog Day
So there was this Christmas elf, see? Actually, he wasn't a real elf.
He was a theatre student at an undisclosed community college in an
undisclosed large city in the Canadian province of Alberta. This elf
needs a name so we'll call him Mr. S.
Christmas was coming and Mr. S wanted to get a part-time job so he could buy Christmas presents. There was this event planning company in his city so he went there and told them he was an actor and they said they had a shitload of Christmas parties coming up and they would happily pay him minimum wage if he dressed up like an elf and went to these Christmas parties.
He put on the elf costume and he looked like this:
His first Christmas party was for the The Oomfoofoo Corporation (Oomfoofoo being an old Gaelic word for 'Business comprised of middle aged men who like to get horribly drunk and say outrageously rude things.) Mr. S went to this Christmas party and was told that his job was to ensure that everything ran smoothly. He was to bring people food and alcohol, clean up spilled food and alcohol, and always wish people Merry Christmases despite how rude they were.
Mr. S was not alone. He had another elf "helping" him. This elf was a girl. She looked like this:
Now there is a reason why the word helping is in quotation marks in the paragraph above the picture of the hot elf-ette. It's because the elf-ette wasn't really helping Mr. S serve food and alcohol and clean up spilled mashed potatoes. Instead, she did other things like:
- Flick her hair
- Flirt with guys old enough to be her dad
- Laugh like this: "tee hee"
- Collect tips
Later, Santa showed up. The party planner told Mr. S that Santa needed him to help him get his costume on, so Mr. S went into another room with the actor playing Santa so the party planner could do important things like look at his clipboard and scowl.
"Holy shit am I ever hungover," said Santa as he threw his massive Santa costume bag onto the floor. "I can't be spending all night drinking whiskey at Ranchman's. When am I ever going to learn that when 18 is gone, it's gone forever? Dig that fat suit out of the bag for me, willya? I been lugging that sonofabitch around for the past hour."
Mr. S reaches into the bag and pulls out a beige fat suit. It smells like pee.
"That freakin dog," growls Santa. "Ah shit I'm going to have to dryclean that sonofabitch. There goes my profit for this show. How much are they paying you to prance around in that faggy costume?"
"six fifty an hour."
"Ho ho ho," Santa laughs. "Are you ever getting burned. I told those cheap pricks that if I'm going to play Santa, I want a hundred bucks minimum. I'm getting one fifty for this gig. 'Course, all Christmas parties need a Santa. They don't need elves - no offense."
"None taken."
"Course that little blonde hottie in the other room's another story. Holy shit what I'd like to do to her. How'd you like her to sit on your..."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Event planner sticks his head into the room. "You're not dressed yet? Come on, Peter, these folks want to see St. Nick."
"Yeah yeah yeah. I gotta take a dump first."
"Well make it fast."
Event planner leaves. Santa Peter says after him "Why don't you wipe my ass for me too, ya cheap bastard?"
Santa Peter tells Mr. S to dig out thecostume while he goes into the adjoining bathroom to do his business. It's all laid out by the time he's done. He pulls on his pants and tells Mr. S to put on his boots while he rosies up his cheeks. He carries on with a neverending monologue as he gets into the Christmas spirit. Mr. S learns the following:
- He doesn't believe in God. Also, everyone who believes in God is an idiot.
- He has two ex-wives whose sole purpose in life is to see if they can treat him worse than the other ex-wife.
- His son was suspended from school for allegedly assaulting his ex-girlfriend, but he's sure the bitch made it up.
- Everyone who loves Christmas is a stupid moron idiot.
- Only sport worth watching is American football - especially the Chicago Bears.
- On Boxing Day, he's going straight to Future Shop to buy himself a new television set.
Now he's all dressed and his cheeks are rosy and the fake beard is as white as snow and the open bathroom behind him no longer smells like a garbage can at Kentucky Fried Chicken.
"Do I look jolly enough?" he asks.
"Yes," says Mr. S
"Man, do I ever need a drink."
Out Santa goes, bellowing ho ho ho, and Mr. S follows him like exhaust. There is now a throne in the room and Elf-ette is posing next to it like Vanna White. Event planner sticks a Polaroid in Mr. S's hands and tells him his job is to take pictures.
And that is what Mr. S does for the next 45 minutes. Grown men and women sit on Santa's lap, Elf-ette smiling next to them, and Mr. S takes a picture, hands it to the people as they leave Santa's throne, and then the process starts over again.
When it's done, Elf-ette announces that she's going to sing some Christmas carols. Elf-ette can't sing but it doesn't matter. She's pretty.
And now the roast beef has been eaten and the wine has been drunk and the taxis have been called to take drunk Oomfoofoo executives home. Santa has become Peter again and he can be heard in the backroom swearing at the Santa bag for not being big enough to stuff the Santa costume in. Event planner smiles at Elf-ette as she pulls on her jacket.
"Thanks for coming," he says.
"I had such a great time," she says, glowing. "I made more than a hundred dollars in tips. I'm going to buy myself a new pair of shoes tomorrow."
"You deserve it. Can you do a few more parties next weekend?"
"Umm... yeah!"
Event planner looks at Mr. S. Goodbye smile. Hello frown.
"I got some complaints about you," he says.
"Oh no. What did you hear?"
"That you weren't jolly enough. It's supposed to be Christmas. Everyone should be in a good mood and when you're not, you turn the party into a real downer."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time."
"I don't think there's going to be a next time. I have a lot of people who want to be Christmas elves and I think I'm going to give them a try instead."
"I understand."
"I need that costume back on Monday morning. Please wash it first."
Mr. S, in rare display of self confidence, removes the elf costume in front of the event planner and leaves it lying at his feet.
Now out of the convention centre and into the parking lot, where it is minus 35 and the wind is screaming swear words and it is cold cold cold. Mr. S yanks open the door of his used 1981 Mazda GLC, climbs behind the wheel, and turns the key in the ignition and nothing happens. Car is dead. Sighing, he gets the jumper cables out of the backseat and looks for someone to give him a boost.
There's a brand new pickup truck next to him. In the passenger seat is Elf-ette. Next to her is a tall rugged looking dude who probably makes a living punching bears. They are making out so passionately and it looks like he is trying to stick his tongue so far down her throat that it will come out her asshole.
Mr. S knocks on the window, thus interrupting the makeout session. Two shocked unbelieving people look at him. "Oh it's the other elf from the party," elf-ette says.
"What?" boyfriend asks.
"Can you help me?" Mr. S holds up the cables. "I need a boost."
"Can't. We're in a hurry."
"Yeah, sure. Merry Christmas."
Mr. S climbs back into his car. Elf-ette and her boyfriend make out for another 10 minutes and then they leave. Soon Mr. S will go back into the convention centre and ask if anyone would mind giving him a boost. No one will want to and so he will have to call a taxi to come boost him and the taxi company will charge him $25 and that will be more money than he made at the Christmas party.
On the drive home, he will tell himself how much he hates Christmas and how he looks forward to Groundhog Day.
Christmas was coming and Mr. S wanted to get a part-time job so he could buy Christmas presents. There was this event planning company in his city so he went there and told them he was an actor and they said they had a shitload of Christmas parties coming up and they would happily pay him minimum wage if he dressed up like an elf and went to these Christmas parties.
He put on the elf costume and he looked like this:
His first Christmas party was for the The Oomfoofoo Corporation (Oomfoofoo being an old Gaelic word for 'Business comprised of middle aged men who like to get horribly drunk and say outrageously rude things.) Mr. S went to this Christmas party and was told that his job was to ensure that everything ran smoothly. He was to bring people food and alcohol, clean up spilled food and alcohol, and always wish people Merry Christmases despite how rude they were.
Mr. S was not alone. He had another elf "helping" him. This elf was a girl. She looked like this:
Now there is a reason why the word helping is in quotation marks in the paragraph above the picture of the hot elf-ette. It's because the elf-ette wasn't really helping Mr. S serve food and alcohol and clean up spilled mashed potatoes. Instead, she did other things like:
- Flick her hair
- Flirt with guys old enough to be her dad
- Laugh like this: "tee hee"
- Collect tips
Later, Santa showed up. The party planner told Mr. S that Santa needed him to help him get his costume on, so Mr. S went into another room with the actor playing Santa so the party planner could do important things like look at his clipboard and scowl.
"Holy shit am I ever hungover," said Santa as he threw his massive Santa costume bag onto the floor. "I can't be spending all night drinking whiskey at Ranchman's. When am I ever going to learn that when 18 is gone, it's gone forever? Dig that fat suit out of the bag for me, willya? I been lugging that sonofabitch around for the past hour."
Mr. S reaches into the bag and pulls out a beige fat suit. It smells like pee.
"That freakin dog," growls Santa. "Ah shit I'm going to have to dryclean that sonofabitch. There goes my profit for this show. How much are they paying you to prance around in that faggy costume?"
"six fifty an hour."
"Ho ho ho," Santa laughs. "Are you ever getting burned. I told those cheap pricks that if I'm going to play Santa, I want a hundred bucks minimum. I'm getting one fifty for this gig. 'Course, all Christmas parties need a Santa. They don't need elves - no offense."
"None taken."
"Course that little blonde hottie in the other room's another story. Holy shit what I'd like to do to her. How'd you like her to sit on your..."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Event planner sticks his head into the room. "You're not dressed yet? Come on, Peter, these folks want to see St. Nick."
"Yeah yeah yeah. I gotta take a dump first."
"Well make it fast."
Event planner leaves. Santa Peter says after him "Why don't you wipe my ass for me too, ya cheap bastard?"
Santa Peter tells Mr. S to dig out thecostume while he goes into the adjoining bathroom to do his business. It's all laid out by the time he's done. He pulls on his pants and tells Mr. S to put on his boots while he rosies up his cheeks. He carries on with a neverending monologue as he gets into the Christmas spirit. Mr. S learns the following:
- He doesn't believe in God. Also, everyone who believes in God is an idiot.
- He has two ex-wives whose sole purpose in life is to see if they can treat him worse than the other ex-wife.
- His son was suspended from school for allegedly assaulting his ex-girlfriend, but he's sure the bitch made it up.
- Everyone who loves Christmas is a stupid moron idiot.
- Only sport worth watching is American football - especially the Chicago Bears.
- On Boxing Day, he's going straight to Future Shop to buy himself a new television set.
Now he's all dressed and his cheeks are rosy and the fake beard is as white as snow and the open bathroom behind him no longer smells like a garbage can at Kentucky Fried Chicken.
"Do I look jolly enough?" he asks.
"Yes," says Mr. S
"Man, do I ever need a drink."
Out Santa goes, bellowing ho ho ho, and Mr. S follows him like exhaust. There is now a throne in the room and Elf-ette is posing next to it like Vanna White. Event planner sticks a Polaroid in Mr. S's hands and tells him his job is to take pictures.
And that is what Mr. S does for the next 45 minutes. Grown men and women sit on Santa's lap, Elf-ette smiling next to them, and Mr. S takes a picture, hands it to the people as they leave Santa's throne, and then the process starts over again.
When it's done, Elf-ette announces that she's going to sing some Christmas carols. Elf-ette can't sing but it doesn't matter. She's pretty.
And now the roast beef has been eaten and the wine has been drunk and the taxis have been called to take drunk Oomfoofoo executives home. Santa has become Peter again and he can be heard in the backroom swearing at the Santa bag for not being big enough to stuff the Santa costume in. Event planner smiles at Elf-ette as she pulls on her jacket.
"Thanks for coming," he says.
"I had such a great time," she says, glowing. "I made more than a hundred dollars in tips. I'm going to buy myself a new pair of shoes tomorrow."
"You deserve it. Can you do a few more parties next weekend?"
"Umm... yeah!"
Event planner looks at Mr. S. Goodbye smile. Hello frown.
"I got some complaints about you," he says.
"Oh no. What did you hear?"
"That you weren't jolly enough. It's supposed to be Christmas. Everyone should be in a good mood and when you're not, you turn the party into a real downer."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time."
"I don't think there's going to be a next time. I have a lot of people who want to be Christmas elves and I think I'm going to give them a try instead."
"I understand."
"I need that costume back on Monday morning. Please wash it first."
Mr. S, in rare display of self confidence, removes the elf costume in front of the event planner and leaves it lying at his feet.
Now out of the convention centre and into the parking lot, where it is minus 35 and the wind is screaming swear words and it is cold cold cold. Mr. S yanks open the door of his used 1981 Mazda GLC, climbs behind the wheel, and turns the key in the ignition and nothing happens. Car is dead. Sighing, he gets the jumper cables out of the backseat and looks for someone to give him a boost.
There's a brand new pickup truck next to him. In the passenger seat is Elf-ette. Next to her is a tall rugged looking dude who probably makes a living punching bears. They are making out so passionately and it looks like he is trying to stick his tongue so far down her throat that it will come out her asshole.
Mr. S knocks on the window, thus interrupting the makeout session. Two shocked unbelieving people look at him. "Oh it's the other elf from the party," elf-ette says.
"What?" boyfriend asks.
"Can you help me?" Mr. S holds up the cables. "I need a boost."
"Can't. We're in a hurry."
"Yeah, sure. Merry Christmas."
Mr. S climbs back into his car. Elf-ette and her boyfriend make out for another 10 minutes and then they leave. Soon Mr. S will go back into the convention centre and ask if anyone would mind giving him a boost. No one will want to and so he will have to call a taxi to come boost him and the taxi company will charge him $25 and that will be more money than he made at the Christmas party.
On the drive home, he will tell himself how much he hates Christmas and how he looks forward to Groundhog Day.
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